“Is he dead?” she asked as Conrad went quickly to her.
“Yes, he’s dead. Go back to your room, please. There’s nothing you can do.”
There was an expression of stricken horror in her eyes that frightened Conrad. Every scrap of colour had left her face.
“How did it happen?”
“He fainted in his bath. The water was too hot.”
“Fainted in his bath?” she repeated slowly. “Are you trying to tell me it was an accident?”
“It was an accident all right. Now please go into your room.”
Madge came to the door and put her hand on Frances’s arm, but Frances stepped away from her. She continued to look at Conrad, her eyes glittering. ,
“That man murdered him! Pete said he would do it, and he’s done it! Pete knew he was going to die. He said one of you would sell him out! That’s how they got at him! He knew it was going to happen! He knew it!” She began to cry, tears running down her white face. “He said even you could sell him out!”
“You mustn’t talk like that!” Conrad said sharply. “It was an accident. No one could have got at him. Sergeant O’Brien and I were outside the door the whole time. No one could get in through the window. The water was too hot, he fainted and hit his head on the taps.”
She stared at him, her lips trembling.
“Do you really believe that?”
“That’s how it happened.”
“But it didn’t! He was murdered! You’re not going to let this man get away with it, are you? You can’t let him get away with it!”
“What man are you talking about?” Conrad said, a creepy sensation going up his spine.
“Maurer! Maurer did this! Pete said he was going to do it, and he’s done it!”
“Maurer didn’t kill Werner,” Conrad said patiently. “You’re just guessing. It was an accident.”
“But he did do it!”
“Now look, please go and lie down. You’re upset, and I understand that. You must leave this to us to handle. No one could possibly have got at Weiner. I’m sure of that.”
Frances stood for a long moment staring at Conrad, her fists clenched, and as he watched her, she seemed to grow older before his eyes, and her face hardened until he scarcely recognized her.
“I’m going to tell you something,” she said in a quiet fierce voice. “Maurer must pay for this. I don’t care now what happens to me. I’ll give the evidence you want. I did see Maurer at Dead End! He did murder June Arnot! I saw him do it!”
IV
Charles Forest and Captain McCann got out of the police car and ran up the steps to the verandah of the hunting lodge, their shoulders hunched against the rain.
Conrad came out to meet them.
The three men walked into the big lounge, and as McCann pulled off his raincoat, Conrad said. “She’s going to talk! We’ve got Maurer where we want him at last! She actually saw him do the job!”
McCann paused, his arm half in and half out of his coat, and he glared at Conrad. His fleshy face turned purple and his small eyes gleamed redly.
“Then why the hell hasn’t she talked before?” he snarled.
“It’s quite a story,” Conrad returned. “Before we go up, you’d better hear it.”
McCann threw his coat into an armchair and walked with a slow heavy tread to the fireplace. If this was true, he thought, then Maurer was finished. McCann didn’t kid himself that Maurer would go to the chair without blowing the lid off the organization, nor would he keep quiet about the money he had paid McCann in the past.
McCann was alarmed, and he had difficulty not to show it.
“Are you sure she isn’t lying?” he said, clenching his fists behind his back.
“Yes, I’m sure of that,” Conrad returned, “but you can judge for yourself when you hear what she has to say.”
Forest sat down and took out his cigar-case.
“Tell me about Weiner first,” he said.
“There’s not much to tell,” Conrad said. “It was damned bad luck. He had a bath tonight. O’Brien and I took him to the bathroom, and O’Brien thoroughly searched the room before Weiner went in. We waited outside. After twenty minutes I called Weiner to come out, but he didn’t answer. We found the door locked. We broke it down and found him drowned in the bath. The Doc said he had a superficial injury at the back of his head. He thinks Weiner got into the bath, came over faint, tipped back and banged his head on the taps.”
“People usually face the taps when they take a bath,” Forest pointed out.
“Yes, but apparently Weiner didn’t. Anyway, he was dead by the time we got him out, and there was nothing we could do for him.”
“Are you quite sure no one could have got at him, Paul? It seems odd to me that the door was locked.”
“It seems odd to me, too, but I’m certain no one could have got into the bathroom while he was in it. The window is much too small. It would take a dwarf a good ten minutes to wriggle through, and in that time Weiner could have raised the alarm. No, I’m positive it was an accident.”
“Hmm, this has shot a big hole in our case,” Forest said. “We needed corroboration, and Weiner could have given it to us.”
“Wait until you hear what Miss Coleman has to say. I think you’ll agree with me her evidence will stand up without corroboration.”
“Well, what are we waiting for?” McCann growled. “You wanted to tell me something, Paul?” Forest asked, ignoring McCann.
“Yes.” Conrad lit a cigarette, went on, “You remember you suggested she was keeping quiet for a personal reason? You were right. She had a very personal reason for not admitting she saw Maurer, and now I’ve heard her story, I can’t say I entirely blame her for keeping quiet. She wanted to avoid the publicity. Her name’s not Coleman. She has a name known all over the world. Her father- was David Taleteller.”
Both Forest and McCann stared at Conrad.
“You mean the Boston vampire?” Forest said, and Conrad could see how shocked he was.
“Yes, that’s the man. I don’t suppose there is anyone who has read the papers who doesn’t know about Taleteller, and hasn’t been revolted by his ghastly child murders. You will remember he was finally caught in the act and lynched by an infuriated mob who wrecked his house, killed his wife and very nearly laid hands on his daughter. And that daughter is Frances Coleman. Now do you understand why she had a horror of being dragged into the limelight? She has successfully hidden her real identity and has started a new life for herself. For the past six years she has been living as Frances Coleman, and up to the time she called on June Arnot she believed she had hidden her real identity for good. Then June Arnot was murdered, and Frances actually saw the murder committed. She realized that if she gave evidence the press would quickly find out who she was, and once more she would be faced by the horrible stigma of being the daughter of the most revolting killer of the century. She couldn’t face up to it, so she refused to admit she had seen Maurer, and I can’t blame her, can you?”
“Well, no,” Forest said slowly. “This is, of course, a very special case. But why has she changed her mind? You say she is now willing to give evidence?”
“Oh, yes, she’ll give evidence. She thinks Maurer killed Weiner and she doesn’t want him to get away with it.”
“And yet she was willing to let Maurer get away with June Arnot’s killing?” McCann snapped. “That doesn’t add up, does it?”
“June Arnot meant nothing to her, while Weiner did. Weiner saved her life, and his death shocked her. Personally I think she has been wavering for some days, and his death clinched it. It’s a psychological reaction.”
“Why does she imagine Maurer killed Weiner?” Forest asked sharply.
Conrad shrugged.
“I don’t know. Weiner told her Maurer would get him, and I guess she believes him. Nothing I can say will change her mind on that. She doesn’t pretend to know how Maurer got at Weiner, but she is absolutely certain he did get at him.”
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“You’re quite sure he didn’t, Paul?” Forest asked quietly.
“I can’t be positive,” Conrad said irritably. “But I’ll be damned if I can see how he did it, if he did do it.”
“You’re both making Maurer a bogey man,” McCann snarled. “When are you going to see this girl?”
Conrad swung around, stung by McCann’s bullying tone.
“See here, Captain. I’ll have you remember she is a material witness, and as such is under the court’s protection. I’m not going to tolerate any police methods when we question her. You have been asked here as an interested party, but that gives you no right to get as tough as I imagine you think you’re going to get! So watch it!”
McCann’s eyes snapped and his face became swollen with pent-up fury.
“You can’t talk to me that way…” he began, when Forest interrupted.
“Yes, we can, Captain,” he said. “I support what Conrad’s just said. This girl’s an important witness, and I’m going to see she gets treated right.”
“She’s an accessory after the fact!” McCann said, controlling his temper with an effort. “And there’s nothing either of you can say that’ll make her anything else!”
“Oh, skip it,” Conrad said impatiently. “Let’s go up and talk to her. We want Maurer, and this girl can give us Maurer. That’s all there is to it. So get off your high horse and calm down.”
For a moment he thought McCann was going to take a swing at him, but McCann managed to control himself.
“Okay,” he said, biting off each word. “Let’s get at her!”
The three men went up the stairs to Frances’s room.
They found Frances, white-faced with dark shadows under her eyes, standing by the window. Madge Fielding was with her.
“Miss Coleman, this is the District Attorney,” Conrad said, “and this is PoliceCaptain McCann. They have come to hear your story. Gentlemen, this is Miss Coleman.”
Forest came over and smiled at Frances.
“Sit down, Miss Coleman,” he said. “I’m glad you’re going to help us. I want you to know I fully understand why you have hesitated to give us a statement before now, and I want you to know we shall do our best to protect you against publicity or any unpleasant consequences that may follow a trial.”
Frances didn’t meet his eyes.
“Thank you,” she said, and sat down.
“You have no objection if your statement is taken down in writing?” Forest went on.
“Oh, no. I — I want it in writing.”
Conrad made a sign to Madge, who went over to the table, sat down, and opened a notebook she had ready.
“Go ahead,” Forest said to Conrad. “You handle it.”
Conrad came over to Frances.
“Just to get the record straight. Miss Coleman. You are Frances Coleman, and you have no fixed address at the moment, is that right?”
Frances looked up at him.
“Yes.”
“On the 9th of this month you went to see June Arnot?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you go and see her?”
“I was out of work,” Frances said, twisting her hands in her lap. I hadn’t any money. I once worked with Miss Arnot. I had a small part in one of her films. She was about to make another picture so I went to ask her if she could find a part for me.”
“And did she see you?”
“Yes.”
“What time did you arrive at Dead End?”
“It was a little before seven: about ten minutes to seven.”
“The guard sent you up to the house?”
“No. He phoned through to the house and they told him Miss Arnot was in the swimming-pool. He phoned through there, and Miss Arnot said I was to join her at the pool.”
“And did you?”
“Yes. It was a long walk from the gates, and it was a very hot evening. Miss Arnot saw how hot I was and she told me to have a swim first. She was in the pool, and she swam to the edge when she saw me. She said I’d find a costume in the changing room and I was to come into the pool.”
“And did you?”
“I — I didn’t have time to get to the pool. I went to the changing room and began to undress, then I heard Miss Arnot call out as if she were greeting someone.”
“What did you do?”
“I was undressed by this time. I didn’t do anything. I stayed in the dressing room, trying to find the costume Miss Arnot said was in one of the cupboards.”
“While you were looking for the costume, did you hear anything?”
Frances gave a little shiver.
“Yes. I heard a shot; it sounded some way off. Then after a minute or so, five or six more shots.”
“What did you do?”
“I stood listening, then I heard Miss Arnot scream out. It was a horrible sound. I grabbed up my dress and holding it to me I ran to the door of the changing room.”
“And did you see anything?”
Frances nodded. Her face was now white and strained.
“What did you see?”
“Miss Arnot was lying on the ground, near the pool, and a short, thick-set man in a black suit was bending over her. He wrenched off her swim-suit. In his right hand he was holding a knife: it was a broad-bladed thing, and it glittered in the sunshine. Miss Arnot seemed partially stunned. She was feebly trying to push his hand away. Before I could do anything, he — he stabbed her.”
“Did you cry out? Did you let him know you were there?”
Frances shook her head.
“Oh, no. I knew he had killed her. No one could have lived after the awful wound he gave her. It was horrible!” She looked away, her lips trembling. “I was paralysed with fear. I couldn’t move or make a sound. He straightened up and kicked her as she lay dying on the ground. I saw his face. I’ll never forget it. He
looked like a wild beast.”
Conrad took a packet of photographs from his pocket.
“Will you look through these and see if you can recognize the man who killed Miss Arnot?”
Her hands shaking, Frances took the photographs. She had only to turn two over before she found the picture of Maurer. She handed it to Conrad.
“This man.”
“All right,” Conrad put the photographs down. What happened next, Miss Coleman?”
“Another man joined him, and they both stood over Miss Arnot. I was terrified. I hid in a shower cabinet.”
“I would like to establish this other man’s identity,” Conrad said. “Would you look at those photographs again and see if you can recognize him?”
Frances went through the photographs. When she came to Toni Paretti’s photograph, she studied it for a brief moment, and then handed it to Conrad.
“That’s the man.”
“Well, fine,” Conrad said. “What happened when you were in the shower cabinet?”
The two men remained outside the changing room for several minutes, then I heard a splash as if they had thrown Miss Arnot’s body into the pool. Then the short thick-set man came into the changing room. His hands were covered with blood. I could see him through a gap in the curtain. He washed his hands, and all the time he hummed under his breath.” She suppressed a shiver. “It was the most cold-blooded sound I have ever heard.”
McCann couldn’t restrain himself any longer. Inwardly raging as he listened, realizing the deadliness of this girl’s story, he burst out, “That’s a fine piece of imagination! Do you know what I think of it? I think the whole story’s a damned he! I don’t believe you saw Maurer!” He leaned forward, his bull neck swelling with rage. “You’ve got a thing about Weiner, haven’t you? You fell for him, didn’t you? Just because he’s got a face that’d haunt a house you went soft on him. You’ve got a nutty idea Maurer killed Weiner. Okay, you want to take it out on Maurer, so you cooked up this yarn. That’s the way it goes, isn’t it?”
Conrad, his face flushing and his eyes snapping, started to say something, but stopped as Fores
t gave him a sign. Forest was looking at Frances, and Conrad looked at her too.
Far from being cowed by McCann’s shouting voice, she faced him angrily.
“I’m telling the truth!” she said fiercely.
“Yeah? Then why the hell didn’t you come out with this story before? You don’t kid me, and you wouldn’t kid a jury!
“You’ve got hot pants for Weiner, and you’re trying to get even with Maurer!”
Again Conrad started in to take Frances’s part, but again Forest stopped him.
“How dare you speak to me like that!” Frances flared. “You sound very anxious to protect Maurer! Pete said there were policemen who’d sell him out. Were you the one who sold him out?”
If she had struck him across the face, McCann couldn’t have reacted more violently.
“By God!” he shouted, his face going blotchy. “You can’t talk to me like that, you little bitch!”
“That’s enough!” Forest snapped. “Watch your language, Captain! I’m sure Miss Coleman didn’t mean what she said.”
McCann clenched his fists, words refusing to come. He was badly rattled. This girl had got unpleasantly near the truth, and he realized he was to blame for trying to take Maurer’s part.
“I can prove what I’m saying,” Frances went on, turning to Forest. “I can prove every word!”
“How can you do that, Miss Coleman?”
“Maurer took a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his face with it,” Frances said quietly. “As he did so, he flicked out a gold pencil. It fell on his shoe, and then rolled across the floor and went down a drain in one of the shower cabinets. Maurer tried to get it up, but he couldn’t reach it. This other man said they had to go, but Maurer said the pencil had his initials on it, and he had to get it. The other man said no one would ever see it down there, and there was no way of recovering it. Maurer finally agreed to leave it.” She turned to look at McCann who was standing stiff and motionless. There was blood on Maurer’s shoe,” she went on, “and some of the blood got on to the pencil. You have only to get the pencil, prove the blood belongs to Miss Arnot, and then perhaps you’ll believe I’m telling the truth!”
This Way for a Shroud Page 20
