Murder in Luxury

by Hugh Pentecost

  "Who is he, Mark?"

  "I don't know. You don't know?"

  "Mark, I came into the suite, went straight down the hall to the bedroom, switched on the lights, and... and there he was! I just got a glimpse of him. I ran out of there and to the phone. I didn't go back! I waited in the outside hallway for you."

  Chambrun reappeared. He was the hanging judge, but I knew it wasn't aimed at Valerie. Disturb the orderly workings of his hotel and he is suddenly a dangerous enemy.

  "There isn't anything we can do until the police come, Mrs. Summers," he said. "We can't touch the man or move him to try to identify him. I know this is a shock for you and it's not going to be easy. The first thing the police are going to ask you is how and where you spent your evening."

  "I can answer that," I said. "I came up here at a quarter past six and invited Valerie for a drink and dinner. She went back down the hall to her room, changed, and then we went to the Blue Lagoon. We stayed there till a little after eleven. I had to make my rounds, I brought Valerie back up here, went down to the Trapeze and the switchboard found me there for her. She was never out of my sight in all that time— quarter after six till about twenty past eleven."

  "A useful alibi," Chambrun said. "I don't suppose the man was there in your bedroom when you went to change."

  "I don't believe you've asked me that, Mr. Chambrun!" she said.

  "Keegan may find a lot more curious things than that to ask you," Chambrun said. "I can tell you one thing. He wasn't killed after Mark brought you up here at eleven-twenty. Blood's dried on the rug, early rigor mortis has set in. He's been dead for quite some time—hours I'd say."

  "So the alibi does it—as if she needed an alibi," I said.

  "You notice anything queer about the bedroom, Mark?"

  "Aside from a dead man on the floor—no."

  "The bed wasn't turned down," he said.

  Valerie looked at him as if he was off his rocker. "I don't understand," she said. "The bed wasn't turned down?"

  "Routine," he said. "The floor maid would normally come in about eight or eight-thirty to turn down your bed. For some reason she didn't come. Mark, call the housekeeper's room and ask her, or if she isn't there, the floor maid to come in here."

  It was typical, I thought, for Chambrun to be concerned about a minor slipup in the hotel routine when we were confronted by a murder. Then I almost got down on my knees to apologize to him. Sure, he was aware of every detail of the hotel's operation, which is why he is so superlative at his job. In this case the detail he'd noticed could be very important. If the maid had come into Five A to turn down the bed at eight or eight-thirty and found the dead man, she'd have reported it at once. It would have helped answer the question of when it happened. If she had come in and he wasn't there, that would have told us something, too. The point was she hadn't come at all. Why? I thought I knew the answer even before I got the housekeeper on the phone.

  Mrs. Kniffin is a motherly old biddy who supervises the housekeeping services on a half dozen floors. She'd been at the job for almost twenty years, totally reliable, almost frighteningly efficient. Luckily she was in the housekeeper's room on Five when I called in.

  "Mr. Chambrun's down the hall in Five A, Mrs. Kniffin," I said. "Could you see him for a minute?"

  "What's wrong?" the old gal asked,

  "The night maid didn't turn down the bed in here," I said.

  "Oh, for heaven's sake!" Mrs. Kniffin said. She sounded disgusted. "Be right there."

  I crossed the room and rejoined Chambrun and Valerie. He was talking to her quite gently. "You're quite right to be frightened, Mrs. Summers," he was saying. "The same kind of violence happening to you two nights in a row is not acceptable as a coincidence. Not to me, at any rate, nor will it be to the police. You'll be in for a long and exhausting questioning. It's going to be very hard for them to believe that you can't explain or suggest an explanation for what's going on."

  "But I don't know, Mr. Chambrun!" Valerie almost shouted at him. "The man last night I never saw before in my life. This man—I only just glanced at him—is a stranger. Last night there could have been a

  dozen explanations for how a man got in the wrong apartment, or why he was there deliberately. If he'd heard in the neighborhood that I was wealthy, he may have thought I'd have jewels or valuables. But this...!"

  "You're going to have to look at a lot of ugly facts, Mrs. Summers," Chambrun said. "There is someone missing, don't you see? The man last night didn't shoot himself and then dispose of the gun. We haven't searched the bedroom here, but there's no gun in sight. Missing is a killer, in both instances. Keegan is going to convince himself that there is no one missing, that the killer is you."

  "But Mr Chambrun—!"

  "There is a difference between this situation and the one last night," he said, in a flat, unemotional voice. "Someone had to be able to break into your apartment last night without leaving any trace of how it was done. You had the only key—except the superintendent and possibly the owner. Since the superintendent and the owner seem to be accounted for, Keegan chose to believe that you had some dealings with a drug and sex peddler."

  "But I never—"

  "It's different here," Chambrun said, not letting her interrupt. "Any numbe. of people could get into this suite while you were dining with Mark. The maid should have gotten in. A bell captain or bellboy could get a key from the front desk. Maintenance would have a key for emergency purposes. I'm afraid Keegan won't be impressed. The simplest answer, to him, would be that you let the man in. That he was already in your bedroom, dead, when Mark stopped by tp invite you out for a drink/'

  "That I could go to my room and change my clothes with a dead man lying on the floor?" she asked, eyes wide as saucers.

  "If you were cold-blooded enough to kill, Mrs. Summers, you would be quite capable of changing your clothes in the presence of a corpse."

  "Oh my God!" she said, and covered her face with her hands.

  There was a knock on the outer door and I went to admit Mrs. Kniffin. With her was a uniformed maid looking scared out of her wits. Mrs. Kniffin, starched and stiff, barged past me.

  "You sent for me, Mr. Chambrun?"

  He gave her an old-friend smile. "How are you, Gladys?" he said. He glanced at the maid. "This is Agnes Mueller. How is your family, Agnes? Is your sister doing well in school?"

  What a man! He knows everything about everybody who works for him. That's why they would all die for him.

  Mrs. Kniffin gave Valerie an unfriendly look. "What is this nonsense about the bed, Mr. Chambrun," she said.

  "It wasn't turned down," Chambrun said.

  Mrs. Kniffin looked at the frightened Agnes.

  "There was a 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door," the maid managed to say.

  "I assumed that," Chambrun said, "but I just wanted to hear it from you. It's not going to be a secret for long, Gladys. A man has been killed in the bedroom. The police are on their way. I noticed that the bed hadn't been turned down and I simply wanted to know why." The two women looked frozen where they stood. Chambrun turned to me. "Was there a sign on the door when you called on Mrs. Summers at six-fifteen?"

  "Positively not," I said.

  "Did Mrs. Summers leave a sign on the door when you went out?"

  "Of course not."

  "And when you came back at eleven-twenty?"

  "No sign," I said.

  "If you think Agnes is lying about the sign..." Mrs. Kniffin said, hackles up.

  "I don't think any such thing," Chambrun said. "Thank you both. The police will be asking you about this. Don't be frightened. Just tell them how it was, Agnes."

  "Y-yes, sir."

  "By the way, Agnes, what time did you come here to turn down the bed and see the sign on the door?"

  "We do this hall about eight-thirty," Mrs. Kniffin cut in. "It could have been a little after; eight-forty, quarter to nine."

  Chambrun nodded. "So at least we know when the killer was in
here with his victim," he said. "Tell me, Agnes, did you see any strangers in the hall before that time, or later?"

  "That's a silly question, Mr. Chambrun," Mrs. Kniffin said. She had been around long enough to take no nonsense, even from the Man. "There are no permanent residents on this corridor. We don't see anything but strangers."

  Chambrun smiled at her and gave her a courteous little bow. "I stand corrected, Gladys. Tell me, Agnes, did you notice sometime later that the sign was gone?"

  "No, sir," the maid said. "I'd finished with this corridor. I had no reason to check it out again. After I've turned down the beds I go to the housekeeper's room and wait for calls. Someone may need fresh towels or something. It's been a quiet evening."

  "Not for much longer," Chambrun said, his smile evaporating.

  The thundering herd was on us; cops, plainclothes detectives, police photographer, and a Black Irishman with a bitter look to him.

  "I take it we don't need a court order for this, do we, Mr. Chambrun?" Keegan asked. "Where is it?"

  FOUR

  There is something almost grimly impersonal about the police in action. That "May I see your license, please," deadpan approach, indicating that there is no chink anywhere for sympathy or understanding to seep through. It's a technique, not inhumanity. A team from Homicide going to work has that blank-faced efficiency that has a way of letting you know that you can expect nothing but a hard time from them. Each of them knows exactly what to do; the man with the camera, the fingerprint men, the deputy medical examiner, the men searching the entire premises, in this case for a weapon. A uniformed cop guarded the door. None of us was free to leave Five A without permission from the man in charge, Lieutenant Keegan.

  Chambrun was permitted to use the phone, and he spent quite a while in the far corner of the room, obviously making more than one call. Mrs. Kniffin and Agnes Mueller were huddled across the way from him, whispering together. I stood by Valerie's chair, my hand on her shoulder. I could feel her whole body trembling. If you minded your conversation being overheard there was nothing to talk about but the weather. Jerry Dodd had not reappeared, and I gathered he was giving Keegan's men a guided tour of the suite. There was a back way to the service area, another way in and out a killer could have used. The murderer could have gone that way, used the service elevator to go up or down, gotten rid of his gun on any one of forty floors—if he wanted to get rid of it. I had the uncomfortable feeling that Five A was about as accessible as Grand Central Station. Unless the doors, front and back, were locked and bolted on the inside it would be relatively simple to come and go if there was no one in residence to blow the whistle on you.

  Chambrun came back from the phone and stood in front of Valerie, looking down at her.

  "I've arranged to move you out of here as soon as Lieutenant Keegan is through with you, Mrs. Summers. We have a room on Twelve, and my secretary, Miss Ruysdale, will stay there with you. I've called Gardner Fails to tell him what's happened. He's agreed with me that you need a lawyer whose business is criminal cases. I've called a man I know, Andrew Lukens. He's on his way. I urge you to follow his instructions exactly, without any deviation."

  "I...I don't understand why I need a criminal lawyer," Valerie said, her voice shaken.

  "Because you are going to be a prime suspect, Mrs. Summers. I don't happen to think you are, you understand, but if I were Keegan I would have to prove it out. He'll be taking a statement from you. It shouldn't be very complicated. You left your suite here about six-thirty with Mark. There was no one here when you left. You spent roughly five hours in the Blue Lagoon with Mark; Cardoza, Jake Floyd, the waiter who served you, all witnesses to that. Mark brought you back up here, said goodnight to you at the front door. You came in, went down the hall to your bedroom, found the body, called Mark for help. You may not be able to prove what you did last night, but there are no ifs, ands, or buts about tonight. The man wasn't killed after you got back here from the Blue Lagoon. He'd been dead for some time."

  "You thought I might have killed him before I went out with Mark," Valerie said.

  Chambrun shook his head. "I thought Keegan might think that," he said.

  "I'm very grateful, Mr. Chambrun." I could feel her relax just a little.

  "I don't want to make things any more difficult for you than they are, Mrs. Summers," Chambrun said. "I told you earlier that I can't view this as a coincidence. Somebody is trying to turn your life into a gruesome nightmare. Who, Mrs. Summers? Who hates you? Who wants to harm you?"

  She stared at him, eyes wide and frightened. "I...I don't have any friends, Mr. Chambrun. By the same token I don't have any enemies."

  "I'm afraid I don't think so," Chambrun said. "Think!"

  At that moment Keegan, followed by Jerry Dodd and a uniformed cop, came out of the bedroom section of the suite.

  "I'm going to need a statement from you, Mrs. Summers," the detective said. "The rest of you I'll take, one by one, when I'm through with Mrs. Summers. Can you all wait for me in Mr. Chambrun's office?"

  "I've arranged to move Mrs. Summers to Room 1216 when you're through with her, Lieutenant," Chambrun said. "My secretary, Miss Ruysdale, will stay there with her. Our security people will guard the hallway."

  'That will depend on what she has to tell me," Keegan said. "Now, if you'll all go down to Mr. Chambrun's office..."

  Valerie reached up and her fingers closed on my wrist, cold, desperate. "Please!" she whispered.

  "I spent the entire evening with Mrs. Summers," I told Keegan. "It might save time if I stayed here with her. I can corroborate everything she'll have to tell you."

  He gave me a tight little smile. "You can do your corroborating later, Mr. Haskell," he said. "Now, all of you, get moving."

  I glanced at Chambrun for help, but he refused to look my way. I bent down and touched Valerie's cheek with my free hand.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "See you as soon as I can."

  She let go my wrist and lowered her head, making a little moaning sound.

  Chambrun and Jerry Dodd and I, along with Mrs. Kniffin and Agnes, went down to Chambrun's office on the second floor. The two ladies seemed to need to use the plumbing facilities in Chambrun's dressing room, just off the office.

  Chambrun went to the sideboard. There is a Turkish coffee maker there that Ruysdale keeps going for him round the clock. It's pretty vile stuff, I think, and nobody touches it but the Man.

  "Anyone's entitled to a drink who wants one," Chambrun said, as he carried a demitasse over to his desk.

  I went to the sideboard and poured myself a stiff slug of Jack Daniels. Jerry Dodd filled us in on some facts we didn't have.

  "No gun," he said. "Not anywhere—so far. Kee-gan's got a couple of men searching the service area, top to bottom. Take him about three days if they want to sift all the trash cans."

  "You don't have a high opinion of Keegan?" Chambrun asked.

  "He's a mean sonofabitch," Jerry said, without emotion. "But he's a good cop. The boys in the district attorney's office love him, because when he presents them with a case it sticks. His middle name is Thorough.'"

  "He comment to you at all about what he found in Five A?"

  "He said, That crazy dame is at it again. This time we've got to put her away before she tries another time.' He's convinced about her, Mr. Chambrun, but he won't drop the net over her until he's got all the pieces together."

  "Your opinion?" Chambrun asked, sipping his coffee.

  "I don't have an opinion yet," Jerry said, "I don't have a handle yet to start with. I didn't pay much attention to what happened last night—in her Tenth Street apartment. Read the story in the afternoon Post when I heard she was here in the Beaumont. It could have been a robbery, a falling out between thieves, I thought. Or the lady could have had some kind of relationship with the dead man, rowed with him, and let him have it."

  "And disposed of her gun, went to the theater, and didn't call the police for hours?" I said. "That's pretty far out."r />
  "We don't know that she went to the theater," Chambrun said.

  "You buy Keegan's theory?" Jerry asked the Man.

  "I haven't bought anything," Chambrun said. "Not Keegan's theory, not Valerie Summers' story. Either way we have a psychotic killer operating here in the hotel. If the lady gets by this present inquisition we'll move her to 1216. Then we see to it, Jerry, that nothing more happens. Nobody that you don't know gets in to see her. We guard the hall, we watch her round the clock. This is our ball park and we keep it safe."

  "Right," Jerry said. "I'll set things in motion."

  "We're protecting the lady from someone, or someone from the lady," Chambrun said. "Whichever way it is, the buck stops here."

  "Right," Jerry said, and took off.

  Chambrun sat still, staring down at his empty coffee cup.

  "You say we don't know if she went to the theater last night," I said. "But we do know that tonight she was with me for five solid hours. I'll swear there was no 'Do Not Disturb' sign on her door when we left at six-thirty, or when we got back at nearly eleven-thirty. She wasn't killing anybody at eight-thirty or after when Agnes saw the sign. She was with me, with Car-doza and Jake Floyd and a whole roomful of people to back it up."

  "We don't know that she hadn't already killed the man when you called on her at six-fifteen," Cham-brun said.

  "What happened? Did he decide to hang out the sign for her before he went back in the bedroom and died?"

  He glanced at me, his eyes cold in their deep pouches. His precious hotel had been bloodied. "The lady sold her story to you?" he asked.

  "The 'lady,'" I said, exasperated with him for hanging onto Keegan's notions, "was in—what shall I say? Shock? Depression? A mood of 'gloom and doom,' she called it. Finding a dead man on the living room rug in her apartment brought back a chain of horrors to her. Her mother died giving her life. Her husband was burned alive in a hotel fire. Her only friend after that was killed, along with her infant son, in a plane crash. She feels she's bad luck for anyone close to her."