The Virgin Kills

by Raoul Whitfield

  I said: “It might not have been figured just that way. It almost failed to work, that’s all.”

  The door shut behind the figure of Sonia Vreedon. I said to Mick:

  “I don’t think Vennell’s dead.”

  Cy Dana was watching me narrowly. He didn’t speak. There was a little smile on his lips. Mick O’Rourke drew a deep breath.

  “In the Case of Raepner versus Lane, it was the contention of the State of Delaware, based on the transcript of the Case of the State of Montana against Wappinger, that the corpse is necessary proof—”

  Cy Dana said grimly: “Well, the stroke is dead. Vollmer is the crew doctor, and he doesn’t talk like a fool. He says it’s murder.”

  I said softly: “Babe Harron’s dead. Vennell has disappeared. Latham sent for the police, and unless I’m figuring all wrong, the copper that came aboard has brains. He’s going to learn a lot of strange things.”

  Cy said: “Sure, Al. But I can’t give him much.”

  I said: “I can’t give him much.”

  We both looked at the big fellow. Mick reached for his cigarette pack.

  “I can’t give him anything but love,” he said very grimly.

  6

  LITTLE WHITE LIES

  SONIA VREEDON stood near the rail, aft, and looked toward the Jersey shore. I whistled a little as I approached. There was no one else aft, and it was pretty dark. Only a few stars showed through breaks in the clouds. At intervals thunder rumbled distantly.

  Sonia heard me whistle and turned. She leaned against the rail with her arms spread along it. I had a funny feeling inside of me when I looked at her.

  I said: “Has Risdon talked with you yet?”

  She shook her head. Her gray eyes were on mine; her complexion was smooth and perfect. She was breathing a little quickly.

  “Has he talked to you?” she asked.

  I said that he hadn’t. She said that she thought Don Rayne was inside the captain’s quarters now, and that the detective seemed to be talking with the yacht guests one at a time.

  I said: “That makes it easier—for him. If any of us make mistakes, he can check, up. We don’t know what the other fellow said.”

  She looked a little puzzled. “Why should any of us make mistakes?” she asked.

  I said: “Sonia—there might be a reason.”

  A little color got into her cheeks. I smiled into her eyes.

  “I can go back to the Miss Vreedon if you want me to,” I said.

  She shook her head. “No, don’t,” she said. “Be honest with me, will you, Al?”

  I frowned a little. “If it doesn’t hurt too much,” I agreed.

  “Hurt you—or someone else?” she asked.

  I said: “Me—or someone else.”

  I was smoking a cigarette; she let her eyes inspect it. I fished out another for her, lighted it.

  “Thanks,” she said. “Who is this Mick O’Rourke, Al?”

  I smiled. “Just a big bruiser who’s been reading things—and likes it,” I said. “He’s a funny case.”

  She shook her head. “He isn’t funny,” she corrected. “And he isn’t dumb—not the way I mean. What did Vennell want him aboard for, Al?”

  I widened my eyes. “Vennell—want Mick aboard?” I said. “What makes you think—”

  Sonia shook her head sadly. “You can’t act, Al,” she said. “That sort of stuff is just as good as an answer.”

  I frowned past her, toward the lights of the Jersey shore. There was a lot of boat traffic on the river; yachts were sailing downstream. Already there was a thinning out of the craft gathered for the Regatta.

  I said suddenly, looking at Sonia squarely:

  “You’re pretty crazy over Tim Burke, Sonia?”

  She started. Her body jerked a little, and her arms came away from the rail. Then she relaxed again.

  “Tim’s pretty swell,” she said slowly.

  I nodded. “He rowed a nice race,” I said. “And he’s a good, strong swimmer, too.”

  Some of the color went out of her cheeks. She took her gray eyes away from mine. Her slender, brown fingers tapped the rail.

  “If Risdon asks me tough questions—ones that might hurt somebody—should I tell him the truth, Sonia?” I asked.

  She didn’t answer that one right away. And when she did answer it, her voice was very soft, and a little tired.

  “Yes,” she said.

  I shrugged. I looked toward the California boathouse and half closed my eyes.

  “That poor kid, Harron,” I muttered. “Just at the peak of his college years. Just ready for—”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head from side to side almost savagely. Her lips trembled a little, but she didn’t speak. I looked away from her, and didn’t look at her again until she said:

  “What about Vennell?”

  I shrugged. “He’s hard,” I said. “You know that—and I know it.”

  She said: “Why do you say I know it?”

  “The Virgin was on the west coast, six months ago,” I replied. “You come from California.”

  “What of that, Al?” she asked. “What’s that got to do with my knowing he’s hard?”

  I lighted another cigarette from the glowing tip of the one that was almost finished.

  “I’ve watched you—and I’ve watched Eric Vennell,” I said. “I’m not a friend of his—when he invites me anywhere, there’s a reason. And I’ve got a hunch he’s that way with most people. It’s always been Vennell first. I’ve seen him looking at you, watching you. And a couple of times I’ve seen you looking at him. You two know each other.”

  She sucked in her breath sharply. Then she sighed a little.

  “But what about Vennell?” she asked again. “You don’t think he’s dead. Mick O’Rourke doesn’t think so, either. Babe Harron wasn’t close to either of you. His death doesn’t hit you very hard. But if you thought Vennell was dead, even though you hated him, you’d have acted differently.”

  I said: “That sounds like good reasoning.”

  She nodded, her eyes serious. “But you don’t answer my question. What happened to Vennell?”

  I shook my head. “The last I saw of him he was sort of staggering along the deck, forward on the port side. There was a lot of wind and rain. I went after him—and I didn’t find him.”

  She said with an edge in her voice: “Why did you go after him?”

  I looked toward the Jersey shore for a few seconds. Then I said softly:

  “You can ask the damndest questions, Sonia.”

  She didn’t reply. But her cool gray eyes were on mine.

  “There was something I wanted to ask him,” I said finally.

  She nodded, her face set. “How much he had lost on California?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “No—I knew the answer to that one.”

  Her eyes widened again. She spoke slowly.

  “You knew how much?”

  I nodded. “He didn’t lose a cent on California,” I said quietly. “And you know it.”

  Her lips moved, but she didn’t speak. She closed her eyes, and her body swayed a little. I said:

  “You know what you’re doing, Sonia—you’re probably the coolest, sanest woman on the Virgin. But this spot is tough, and it’s going to be tougher. I’d be—careful.”

  She opened her eyes. “Why did Eric want Mick O’Rourke as a bodyguard?” she asked very steadily.

  I smiled at her. “Why did Tim Burke swim out to the Virgin last night?” I said.

  She took both arms away from the rail and stood very erect. She was breathing swiftly, and her face was very pale. For a second I saw fear in her eyes, and then it was gone. She got calm—very calm.

  “You saw him,” she said, and there was no questioning tone.

  I nodded. “And I saw you,” I said. “And I heard you talking with him.”

  She was silent. A boat whistle came from the far side of the Hudson. There was a very dull rumble of thunder. Then s
he spoke. Her voice was a little shaken, but clear.

  “And I know that you brought O’Rourke aboard to protect Vennell,” she said.

  “That would be pretty hard to prove,” I said quietly.

  She nodded. “Perhaps. And it would be pretty hard to prove that Tim Burke swam to the Virgin.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so—not with things started along those lines,” I replied.

  Once again I saw fear in her eyes. She touched my arm with the fingers of her right hand. She smiled a little and the fear went away.

  “Well—what if Tim Burke did swim out to the yacht to see me?” she said defiantly.

  I frowned. “I don’t think it would be a nice thing for Risdon to know,” I said.

  She shook her head. “Of course it wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be pleasant—for me. It was long after midnight—”

  She checked herself, flushed. I said:

  “Don’t feel bad about admitting it for the first time, Sonia. I knew he was here. I watched him swim back, and I heard you tell him to get started.”

  She said: “What are you going to do about it, Al?”

  I frowned. “What shall I do?” I asked. “I certainly won’t volunteer the information to Risdon. And if I’m asked directly—”

  I hesitated. She said: “Well—what then?”

  “It’s up to you,” I replied. “I’ve lied before in my life. And I expect to lie again. Lying for you would be a pleasure, only—”

  “Only what?” she asked.

  “There’s a chance I’d get trapped. And that would make matters a lot worse.”

  She nodded her head very slowly. She said:

  “I don’t quite see how Risdon would force you to lie—about Tim.”

  I skipped my cigarette into the water. Faint lightning color showed momentarily in the western sky. It seemed to be getting warmer; there was little breeze.

  “Risdon might not ask me,” I said. “But someone else might.”

  Her keen eyes were looking into mine again. Her voice held a slight husky note.

  “Who else?” she asked.

  “Babe Harron is dead,” I said. “Two doctors believe he was murdered. There’s probably an autopsy on now. That’ll decide. If it’s murder, they’ll work from the boat-house end, of course. And they won’t miss much. Harron’s father has all sorts of money. You think Tim Burke got away from his sleeping quarters and back again—without being seen?”

  She shivered a little. Then she closed a fist and battered it into the palm of her other hand.

  “Damn it!” she said fiercely. “Tim shouldn’t have—come out.”

  I said grimly: “He certainly shouldn’t—have come out here.”

  We were both silent for a little while. I looked down at the water; it was quite calm now. She spoke very softly, almost as though she were talking to herself. Her voice was toneless.

  “Tim might have got out here—and back there—without being seen. There’s a chance.”

  I shook my head. “I saw him,” I corrected.

  She said in a tone that was suddenly hard:

  “But you said you’d lie for me.”

  I smiled. “Yes. But just at the time that Tim Burke left this yacht, Vennell’s cabin was entered. And Carla Sard was moving around at that time.”

  Sonia drew in a sharp breath. She said:

  “You think—she may have seen Tim? May have heard us?”

  I frowned. “Why not?”

  Sonia shook her head. “I don’t think she did,” she said slowly, softly.

  We were both silent for several seconds. Then she said:

  “A little while ago you said that Vennell didn’t lose any money on California, and that I knew it.”

  I waited, but she didn’t go on. She kept her eyes on mine. She said:

  “What makes you think I knew it?”

  I smiled a little. “There was the radiogram that you dropped when you ran up the companionway, after you told Tim Burke to get overboard,” I said slowly.

  Once again I saw fear in her eyes; her slender body was taut. She started to speak, but she didn’t. I got another cigarette from my pack.

  She said: “What radiogram?”

  I made a clicking sound and shook my head.

  “This isn’t getting us anywhere, Sonia,” I said. “You ask questions, and you already know the answers. I know them, too.”

  She said: “Just the same, I didn’t drop any radiogram.”

  I nodded. “All right, you didn’t drop any radiogram,” I said. “But I found one. It was in code—and it was for Vennell. It wasn’t the sort of thing that required a Van Dine character to decipher. Even I got the answer.”

  Sonia said grimly: “And then you knew that Vennell wasn’t betting on California?”

  I nodded. “And you knew it—before I did,” I said.

  She didn’t deny that. But she said very thoughtfully:

  “I sensed it.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  She looked serious. “Vennell is a gambler—and he likes the odds against him. When he wins, he likes to win big.”

  I nodded. “And Vennell lost a lot of money lately,” I said. “There were a lot of crews in this race—and he couldn’t be too sure of the favorite. So he just went and picked a long shot.”

  Sonia said: “Navy?”

  “That would have been tough,” I replied. “But it would have been nice if he’d picked Columbia, wouldn’t it?”

  She said: “Did he?”

  I looked her in the eyes. “You’ve brains,” I said. “What did you figure from that radiogram?”

  She spoke steadily. “I never had a radiogram, Al—I swear to that. I didn’t drop it.”

  I believed her. I wanted to believe her, and probably that made it easier.

  “All right,” I said. “Well, I figure Vennell had an awful lot of money on Columbia. He was getting pretty nervous. He was worried, maybe about other things besides the bet. It looked as though California was going to win—but Columbia did the trick. I caught a glimpse of his face as he turned away from the rail. It wasn’t pretty to look at.”

  Sonia Vreedon’s eyes were narrowed. She said huskily:

  “Why not—if he’d won?”

  “It didn’t look as though he were going to win—until the last minute,” I replied slowly. “Vennell got a jolt. It takes a few seconds to recover.”

  Sonia had her gray eyes almost closed. She said in almost a whisper:

  “Then what happened—to Vennell?”

  I shook my head. A steward came along the deck calling:

  “Mr. Connors—Mr. Connors—”

  I said: “Here!”

  He came up close to us and smiled at me. He was short and ruddy-faced.

  “Mr. Risdon would like to see you in the captain’s quarters, sir.”

  I nodded and he went away. Sonia touched my wrist. Her fingers were cool.

  “I think—it had better be the truth, Al,” she said softly.

  I nodded. “Tim Burke’s—a lucky guy,” I replied. “It’ll be the truth, Sonia.”

  She smiled a little, and there was color in her cheeks. I turned away and followed the steward toward the bridge. A radio or phonograph on a passing yacht was playing “Little White Lies.” I shook my head and went inside of the captain’s quarters.

  2

  Latham was seated on a small window seat, his body sprawled a bit. Risdon sat behind a desk on which were a lot of papers. He was smoking a thin cigar and had a pencil in his right-hand fingers. Mick O’Rourke leaned against the far wall of the room. The big fellow was grinning.

  I said: “Hello—this looks like business.”

  The captain said nothing. Risdon cleared his throat and got a vacant stare in his eyes. They didn’t look so green in the light of the cabin. Mick said:

  “Funny business, Al.”

  Risdon gestured toward a chair and I went over and used it. He said:

  “Before I ask some questions, un
derstand this, Connors. There may be a connection between the disappearance of Eric Vennell—and the murder of this stroke, Harron.”

  I widened my eyes. “Autopsy finished?” I said. “It is murder, then?”

  Risdon shook his head. “I haven’t got word,” he replied. “But I saw Harron at the boathouse. I got word that something was wrong, and I was on the Highland side of the river. I went down. He has the mark of a hypodermic needle just to the right of his left shoulder blade, up pretty high. It’s the only mark on his body. The chief and I were talking when Captain Latham’s messenger reached the Poughkeepsie police station. Talking on the phone. He told me to come out.”

  I didn’t say anything. Mick O’Rourke said:

  “Supposin’ some guy got shot, down in New York, at just about the time Harron keeled over, and Vennell disappeared—do you figure he’s mixed up in it, too?”

  Risdon smiled coldly. “The more you talk, the more I like it,” he said. “The first thing you know, you’ll say the wrong thing.”

  Mick said: “Jees—I never thought of that.”

  Risdon looked at me and spoke in a casual tone. He kept his eyes partially closed.

  “O’Rourke says he’s an ex-actor and an ex-prizefighter. He says you run a column for a New York newspaper, and he furnishes you most of the stuff that goes into it.”

  I grinned at Mick. “Most of the funny stuff,” I agreed.

  Risdon nodded. “He says Vennell wanted you along on the yacht because you were old friends, and that you brought him along because you wanted to keep writing the column.”

  I nodded. “That’s about right,” I said.

  Risdon tapped an end of his pencil against the desk surface.

  “I wouldn’t lie, Connors,” he advised. “This is serious business.”

  Mick said with sarcasm: “Sure—maybe Vennell’s dead. You can’t tell.”

  Captain Latham spoke. “Connors was somewhere prowling around the decks when Vennell’s cabin was broken into last night,” he said calmly.

  I nodded. “That’s right,” I agreed. “It looks like I burn for the job.”

  Risdon snapped: “What were you doing on deck after three in the morning?”

  I grinned at him. “Couldn’t sleep—went out for a little air.”

  He made some notes. Mick chuckled.