Lay Her Among the Lilies vm-2

by James Hadley Chase

  He let me talk. His grey-green eyes didn’t shift from the elaborate silver pen set on his desk. His big frame didn’t move. His mahogany-coloured face was as expressionless and as empty as a hole in a wall.

  I began by showing him Janet Crosby’s letter, then told him about my visit to Crestways, the state of the place, that Maureen was supposed to be ill, that Janet had been playing tennis two days before she died of endocarditis. I mentioned Dr. Bewley, and that Benny Dwan, who worked for Dr. Salzer, had tailed me. I told him briefly of my visit to Eudora Drew, how Dwan had arrived and had strangled her. I dwelt on my interview with Captain of Police Brandon, and how he had warned me to lay off Salzer and Maureen Crosby. I mentioned casually that Brandon was prejudiced in their favour and why. I went on to describe how Dwan had tried to shoot me, and how he had been knocked off by someone who drove a car with diamond-tread tyres. I mentioned that Sergeants MacGraw and Hartsell had driven a car fitted with such tyres. I concluded by telling him of my visit to Nurse Gurney’s apartment, and of the fat woman who ate plums and how Nurse Gurney had vanished. It was a long story, and it took time to tell, but he didn’t hurry me or interrupt me or suggest I should cut out the details. He sat staring at his pen set, as still as the Graven Image, and I had an idea he wasn’t missing anything, that every little detail registered, and behind that blank, empty mahogany face, his brain was very, very much awake.

  “Well, that’s the story,” I concluded, and reached forward to knock my cigarette ash into the ashtray on his desk. “I thought that you, as the Trustee of the estate, should know about it. I have been told by Brandon to return the five hundred dollars.” I took out my wallet and laid the money on the desk, put my finger on it and without any show of reluctance, pushed it towards him. “Strictly speaking that lets me out. On the other hand you may think there should be an investigation, and if that’s what you think I would be glad to carry on. Frankly, Mr. Willet, the set-up interests me.”

  He turned his eyes on me and stared. Seconds ticked by. I had the idea he wasn’t seeing me. He was certainly thinking.

  “This is an extraordinary story,” he said suddenly. “I don’t think I would have believed it if I didn’t know your organization by reputation. You have handled several tricky jobs for clients of mine, and they have spoken very highly of you. From what you have told me I think we have grounds to begin an investigation, and I should be glad if you would handle it.”

  He pushed back his chair and stood up. “But it must be understood that such an investigation must be secret, and my firm must not be associated with it in any way. We will be prepared to pay your fee, but you must keep us covered. Our position is a difficult one. We have no business to pry into Miss Crosby’s affairs unless we are certain there is something wrong, and we are not certain of that, although it looks like it. If you uncover any tangible evidence that definitely connects Miss Crosby with these extraordinary happenings, then, of course, we can come out into the open. But not before.”

  “That makes it awkward for me,” I pointed out. “I was relying on you to keep Brandon from bothering me.”

  There was a twinkle in his eyes as he said, “I’m sure you will be able to handle Brandon without my help. But if the going happens to become difficult you can always quote me as your lawyer. If there was an assault I should be happy to represent you in court without charge.”

  “That’s swell,” I said sarcastically. “But in the meantime I have been assaulted.”

  He didn’t seem to think that was anything to worry about.

  “No doubt you will adjust your fee to cover personal risks,” he said lightly. “After all, I suppose a job like yours does involve risks.”

  I shrugged. The fee, I told myself, would certainly be jacked up to the ceiling.

  “All right,” I said. “Then I can go ahead?”

  He began to pace about the room, his hands behind him, his head bent, frowning at the carpet.

  “Oh, yes. I want you to go ahead.”

  “There are some questions I’d like to ask,” I said, lighting another cigarette. “When did you last see Maureen Crosby?”

  “At Janet’s funeral. I haven’t seen her since. Her affairs are quite straightforward. Any papers that need her signature are sent to her through the mail. I have had no occasion to see her.”

  “You haven’t heard she is ill?”

  He shook his head. No, he had no idea she was ill.

  “Are you satisfied Macdonald Crosby’s death was an accident?” I shot at him.

  He wasn’t expecting this, and looked up sharply.

  “What do you mean? Of course it was an accident.”

  “Couldn’t it have been suicide?”

  “There was no reason why Crosby should have committed suicide.”

  “As far as you know.”

  “A man doesn’t usually kill himself with a shot-gun if he owns a revolver, and Crosby owned a revolver. A shot-gun is liable to be messy.”

  “If he had committed suicide would it have affected his estate?”

  “Why, yes.” A startled look came into his eyes. “His life was insured for a million and a half dollars. The policy carried a non-payment suicide clause.”

  “Who received the insurance money?”

  “I don’t quite see where all this is leading to,” he said, returning to his desk and sitting down. “Perhaps you will explain.”

  “It seems odd to me that Salzer, who is not a qualified doctor, should have signed the death certificate. The coroner and Brandon must have agreed to this. I’m trying to convince myself there was nothing sinister in Crosby’s death. Suppose he did commit suicide. According to you the estate would have lost a million and a half dollars. But if a nice, willing quack and a grafting coroner and Captain of Police got together it could be arranged to look like an accident, couldn’t it?”

  “That’s a pretty dangerous thing to say. Isn’t Salzer qualified?”

  “No. Who received the insurance money?”

  “It was left to Janet, and at her death to Maureen.”

  “So Maureen now has a million and a half in cash; is that right?”

  “Yes. I tried to persuade Janet to invest the money, but she preferred to leave it in the bank. It passed in cash to Maureen.”

  “What’s happened to it? Is it still in the bank?”

  “As far as I know. I have no access to her account.”

  “Couldn’t you have?”

  He regarded me steadily for a moment or so.

  “I might. I don’t know whether I’d care to.”

  “It would be helpful to find out just how much is left.” I nodded towards Janet’s letter lying on the desk. “There’s this business of blackmail. And if Franklin Lessways, the coroner, and Brandon had to be squared it is possible not a great deal of it remains. I’d be glad if you could find out.”

  “All right. I’ll see what can be done.” He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “I suppose I could take action against Salzer if what you say is true. He had no right to sign the certificate, but I’m not anxious to come out into the open just yet. There seems to be no doubt the shooting was accidental. The insurance company was satisfied.”

  “They would be if Brandon and the coroner passed the certificate. It looks to me as if Salzer is financing Lessways as well as Brandon. What do you know about Lessways?”

  Willet grimaced.

  “Oh, he could be bought. He has a pretty rotten reputation.”

  “Did you know Janet Crosby well?”

  He shook his head.

  “I met her two or three times. No more.”

  “Did she strike you as having a bad heart?”

  “No; but that doesn’t mean anything. Lots of people have bad hearts. It doesn’t always show.”

  “But they don’t play tennis two days before they die as Janet did.”

  I could see he was beginning to get worried.

  “What are you hinting at?”

  “Nothing. I’m just stating
a fact. I’m not sold on the idea she died of heart failure.”

  While he stared at me the silence in the room was heavy enough to sink a battleship.

  “You’re not suggesting…” he began and broke off.

  “Not yet,” I said. “But it’s something we should keep in mind.”

  I could see he didn’t like this at all. “Suppose we leave that for the moment?” I went on. “Let’s concentrate on Maureen Crosby. From the look of the house and from what Nurse Gurney tells me it is possible Maureen isn’t living at Crestways. If she isn’t there—where is she?”

  “Yes,” he said. “There’s that.”

  “Is she in Salzer’s sanatorium? Has it occurred to you she may be a prisoner there?”

  That brought him bolt upright in his chair. “Aren’t you letting your imagination run away with you? I had a letter from her only last week.”

  “That doesn’t mean much. Why did she write?”

  “I asked her to sign some papers. She returned them signed, with a covering note thanking me for sending them.”

  “From Crestways?”

  “The address on the note-paper was Crestways.”

  “That still doesn’t prove she isn’t a prisoner, does it? I’m not saying she is, but that’s another thing we shall have to keep in mind.”

  “We can find out about that right away,” he said briskly.

  “I’ll write to her and ask her to call on me. I can find some business excuse for an interview.”

  “Yeah. That’s an idea. Will you let me know what happens? It might be an idea to follow her when she leaves you and find out where she goes.”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  I stood up.

  “I think that’s about all. You’ll remember to check on her bank statement?”

  “I’ll see what I can do. Go slow on this, Malloy. I don’t want any blow-back. You understand?”

  “I’ll watch it.”

  “What’s your next move?”

  “I’ve got to do something about Nurse Gurney. I liked that girl. If she’s alive, I’m going to find her.”

  When I left him he wasn’t looking like the Graven Image any more. He was looking like a very worried, much-harassed, middle-aged lawyer. At least, it showed the guy was human.

  II

  The desk sergeant said Mifflin was free and for me to go on up. He looked at me with hopeful eyes, and I knew he was expecting me to name the winner of tomorrow’s races, but I had other things on my mind.

  I went up the stone stairs. On the landing I ran into redheaded Sergeant MacGraw.

  “Well, well, the Boy Wonder again,” he said sneeringly. “What’s biting you this time?”

  I looked into the hard little eyes and didn’t like what I saw in them. This was a guy who would enjoy inflicting pain; one of those tough coppers who would volunteer when there was a softening job to be done, and how he would love it.

  “Nothing’s biting me,” I said. “But if I stick around you long enough something may.”

  “Smart—huh?” He grinned, showing small yellow teeth. “Keep your nose clean, Wonder Boy. We’re watching you.”

  “Just so long as you don’t shoot me through the head,” I returned, pushed past him and went on down the corridor to Mifflin’s office.

  I paused before I rapped and looked over my shoulder. MacGraw was still standing at the head of the stairs, staring at me. There was a startled expression on his face, and his loose-lipped mouth hung open. As our eyes met, he turned away and went down the stairs.

  Mifflin looked up as I entered his office and frowned.

  “You again. For Pete’s sake don’t keep coming to see me. Brandon doesn’t like it.”

  I pulled up a straight-back chair and sat down.

  “Remind me to cry when I have time. I’m on official business. If Brandon doesn’t like it he can go jump in the ocean.”

  “What business?” Mifflin asked, pushing back his desk chair and resting his big hairy hands on the desk.

  “One of the nurses attending Miss Crosby has vanished,” I said. “Brandon should be interested because this nurse is employed by Salzer.”

  “Vanished ?” Mifflin repeated, his voice off-key. “What do you mean—vanished?”

  I told him how I had called on Nurse Gurney, how the front-door bell had rung, how she had gone to answer it and hadn’t returned. I gave him the details about the fat woman in the empty apartment opposite, the plum stone on the escape and how simple it would have been for a strong man to have carried Nurse Gurney down the escape to the waiting car.

  “Well, that’s a damned funny thing,” Mifflin said, and ran his fingers through his shock of black hair. “About a couple of years ago another of Salzer’s nurses disappeared. She was never found.”

  “Did you ever look for her?”

  “All right, Vic, you needn’t be that way,” he said angrily. “Of course we looked for her, but we didn’t find her. Salzer said he thought she had run away to get married. Her father wasn’t struck on her boy friend or something like that.”

  “Salzer hasn’t reported Nurse Gurney is missing?”

  He shook his head.

  “He’d scarcely have had time, would he? Besides, she might have remembered something and gone out to get it. There must be any number of reasons why she left the apartment.”

  “Without shoes and stockings and in the middle of a conversation? Don’t kid yourself. This is kidnapping, and you know it.”

  “I’ll go over there and talk to the janitor. You better keep out of this. I’ll tell Brandon the janitor reported it.”

  I shrugged.

  “Just so long as something’s done. This other case interests me. Who was the nurse?”

  Mifflin hesitated, then got up and went over to one of his many filing cabinets.

  “Her name was Anona Freedlander,” he said, pawed through a number of files, selected one and brought it to his desk. “We haven’t a lot of information. Her father’s George Freedlander. He lives at 257 California Street, San Francisco. She disappeared on 15th May of last year. Salzer reported to Brandon. Freedlander came to see us, and it was his idea she had run off with this boy friend, a guy named Jack Brett. Brett was in the Navy. A couple of weeks before Anona disappeared he deserted. Brandon said we needn’t look too hard; we didn’t.”

  “Did you ever find Brett?”

  “No.”

  “I wonder how hard you are going to look for Nurse Gurney.”

  “Well, we’ll have to be convinced she has been kidnapped. Brandon won’t act on your say-so. It’ll depend on Salzer.”

  “This damned city seems to be run by Salzer.”

  “Aw, now, Vic, you don’t mean that.”

  I got to my feet.

  “Find her, Tim, or I’ll start something. I liked that girl.”

  “Just take it easy. If she has disappeared we’ll find her. You’re sure that horse Crab Apple’s okay? I don’t want to lose five bucks.”

  “Never mind Crab Apple. You concentrate on Nurse Gurney,” I said and stamped out of the room.

  I drove back to Orchid Buildings. Paula was waiting for me in my office.

  “We go ahead,” I said, and sat down behind my desk. “I’ve seen Willet, and he’ll finance an investigation, but he wants to keep his firm well in the background.”

  “Plucky of him,” Paula said scornfully. “You take all the risks, I suppose?”

  “He seemed to expect to pay a little extra,” I said, and grinned. I told her about my visit to Headquarters. “This guy Salzer seems in the habit of making his nurses vanish. You note the date? May 15th: the day Janet died. No one’s going to convince me her disappearance doesn’t somehow tie up with Janet’s death.”

  Paula studied me.

  “You think Janet was murdered, don’t you?”

  I lit a cigarette and put the match carefully in the ashtray before replying.

  “I think it’s possible. The motive’s there: all that money
. She certainly didn’t die of heart failure. Arsenic poisoning, among other poisons, produces heart failure. An old goat like Bewley might easily have been deceived.”

  “But you don’t know! “Paula said. “Surely you don’t think Maureen murdered her sister?”

  “The incentive is pretty strong. Besides collecting a fortune of two million dollars there’s also the little insurance item. I don’t say she did it, but that kind of money is a big temptation, especially if you are in the hands of a blackmailer. And another thing, I’m not entirely satisfied that Crosby himself wasn’t murdered. If there had been nothing wrong about the shooting why didn’t Salzer call in someone like Bewley to sign the death certificate? Why sign it himself? He had to square Lessways, the coroner, and probably Brandon. It was either suicide or murder. I’m willing to bet it wasn’t an accident. And as Willet pointed out, if a man owns a revolver he isn’t likely to shoot himself with a shot-gun: so that leaves murder.”

  “You’re jumping to conclusions,” Paula said sharply. “That’s your big failing, Vic. You’re always making wild guesses.”

  I winked at her.

  “But how I do enjoy myself.”

  III

  As a form of relaxation I do jig-saw puzzles. Paula gets them for me from a legless hero she goes along and talks to on her afternoon off. This guy spends all his time cutting jig-saws from railway posters Paula gets for him. They make terrific puzzles and one takes me about a month to do. Then I pass it on to a hospital and get another off Paula’s pal.

  From long experience in doing these puzzles I have found the apparently small and unimportant-looking piece is very often the key to the whole picture, and I’m always on the look-out for such a piece. In the same way, when I’m on a job I’m always on the look-out for some insignificant trifle that appears to have no bearing on the case, but very often has.

  I had been sitting in my office for the past hour, brooding. The time was a few minutes past seven. The office was closed for the night. Only the whisky bottle remained.

  I had jotted down a number of notes that looked impressive, but didn’t add up to much. And on reading through the list of likely clues I paused at Douglas Sherrill’s name. Why, I asked myself, had Janet suddenly broken off the engagement a week before Macdonald Crosby’s death? This fact didn’t appear to have any bearing on the case, but it might have. I couldn’t be sure until I found out just why the engagement had been broken off. Who could tell me? Douglas Sherrill, obviously, but I couldn’t go to him without tipping my hand, and I wasn’t ready to do that at the moment. Then who else was there? I consulted my notes. John Stevens, Crosby’s butler, was a possibility. I decided it wouldn’t be a bad idea to see what kind of a guy Stevens was. If he looked as if he could be trusted it might pay me to take him into my confidence. Martha Bendix had said he now worked for Gregory Wainwright.