Headless Lady

by Clayton Rawson

  “The boys have been living in hopes our Paula would lead them to the missing Duke, the liquidated Maxie Weissman’s hotshot mouthpiece. She has been stripteasing the force for three weeks, and, just when they decided to pinch her (!) and find out what she was hiding, she does a fadeout… The D.A. had kittens all up and down Centre Street—the cutest things!

  “Tommy Mannering, nitery addict and blonde fiend, was also stood up. Rumor has it that he is still waiting outside the powder room at the swank Crystal Club, and there is some talk of applying gilt and keeping him on as a permanent exhibit … Your correspondent also hears that the Duke was the finger man in the matter of his boss’s late demise via the Chicago typewriter route with Bo Lepkewitz cast as the trigger man.

  “Things we won’t know until tomorrow: How does Paula hope to hide the phiz that launched a thousand champagne buckets? … Has she joined the Duke, and where? … What happened to Maxie’s do-re-mi, and why have two of Gavigan’s pet gumshoes been living at Bridgeport in the house where Maxie got it in the neck? … And will the D.A. recover?”

  When I had finished, O’Halloran added, “Wilbur is still wondering how Paula expected to be able to hide out without being recognized. Her face has been on the cover of every picture magazine in town more than once, and a couple of years back she was in Hollywood. Her shape had so much oomph that it took the producers three pictures to find out she couldn’t act. But as soon as I hit the show I knew the answer. Somebody was using his head and she was minus hers. She was the Headless Lady. And when she was off duty and had a head, she wore blinders; and—”

  “And,” Merlini interrupted, “she’d done a color change from brunette to blonde. She’d bleached her hair. Why, if you told Schafer this story, was he so upset when he discovered the corpse was a brunette?”

  O’Halloran said, “I’m afraid I didn’t tell the Captain everything. I told him I was following a hunch of my own on the Duke. I told him I’d discovered he used to be with a circus, and I thought it was this one. Now I know where the Duke is; and, after all the spade work I’ve done, I don’t see why Schafer and Hooper should reach out and grab a fistful of that reward.”

  “The Duke, then—” Merlini started.

  “Now wait,” O’Halloran objected. “Let me get on with my story. I found Paula, and then I discovered that the show’s route had been juggled around, that nobody seemed to know why, and that they all thought it looked queer. Knowing what I did, I thought I saw some sense in it. The show has been heading in one hell of a hurry for Canada. By the quickest route; that explains the long jumps and the fact that they’ve been dating some towns that are way too small. It looked a hell of a lot as if the Duke might have gotten out of the country; and that Paula, with her Dad’s help, was on her way to join him. I decided to tag along, nab him when she connected, and collect the reward. But it didn’t pan out that way. Next thing I knew the Major dies in what everyone thinks is a car smash. Then you two guys show up and things really do begin to happen.”

  “You didn’t suspect the accident was a phony?” Merlini asked.

  “No. Why should I? I wasn’t interested in the Major particularly. I was busy keeping both eyes on the Headless Lady. But your arrival had me worried. I’d discovered that circus people practically never look at a newspaper and that Paula, with a little care getting to and from her trailer, could probably pull it off and reach the Duke in Canada before she was recognized. When you showed up I wasn’t so sure. I didn’t know that you two hadn’t read the papers either. And I was still wondering what Pauline had gone to your place for. I see now I should have figured it was the Headless Lady apparatus, but at the time I didn’t get it. So I gave you some attention, hoping you’d drop a hint that would give me a lead.

  “You ducked out on me after we had seen Pauline and Joy do their tight-wire act, and so I trailed along in the background, keeping my eyes and ears open. I saw you meet Keith, overheard part of what he told you about his suspicions, and was right behind you when you broke into the Major’s trailer. When you found that broken windowpane you almost found me too, because I was just outside getting an earful. Then, when I heard you decide that the Major had been bumped off, I figured Paula for the rap, though I couldn’t see much motive unless maybe the old man had renigged on helping her and was going to turn her in. And when Pauline said that what she had to tell would hit the front pages of every paper in the country, I knew she was thinking of Paula and had picked the same horse. When she went out for her perch act and somebody cut the lights, it looked like Paula more than ever. Particularly since she had no alibi. She was apparently working in the Headless Lady apparatus, but there was no way of proving it was her and not someone doubling for her.”

  “And you didn’t arrest Paula then because you were still hoping she’d lead you to the reward?” Merlini asked. “That makes you an accessory after the fact, doesn’t it? You concealed the fact that you had reasonable grounds to believe her guilty.”

  “Yeah, it would, if I’d had any real evidence to back up my theory. I didn’t have, of course, because, as Paula’s own murder has proved, she wasn’t the guilty party after all. And then when she didn’t show up in Norwalk this morn—”

  “Hold it,” I broke in. “You’re skipping. You eavesdropped at our door in the hotel last night too, didn’t you?”

  “At the hotel? No, sorry. Did someone—”

  “Someone got an earful,” Merlini said. “But go on. When Paula didn’t arrive on the lot this morning—”

  “Well,” O’Halloran continued, “I began to think I’d pulled a bloomer, that she’d lammed and that I was out of luck all the way around. I was parked behind the side-show tent, chewing my nails and waiting for her to show, when you and Harte got there. I’d been worrying some about where you’d got to, too. I must have passed you on the road when you were finding the empty trailer. You pulled in and parked your car right alongside mine. I was on the floor by that time, and I overheard your talks with Joy and Keith. That didn’t make me any happier—but right there was when I got my break.”

  “But I didn’t mention murder then,” Merlini said. “Only that we’d found her empty trailer.”

  “I know, but the important thing was that I discovered somebody else listening in on your broadcast. I heard somebody sneak up on the off side of my car and squat on the running board. When he heard you say you’d found the empty trailer, he scrammed quietly. I edged my car door open a crack and got a look at his back. Then when you and Keith moved off I came out of hiding and went after him. He made a beeline for Pauline’s trailer. The Negro Mac had on guard was snoozing, and this guy ducked in.”

  “Garner!” I said.

  O’Halloran nodded as Farmer drove our car onto the circus lot.

  One of the Chief’s men on duty at the entrance stopped us. Merlini put his head out enough so that the man got a quick glimpse of his uniform cap. “Special detail, New York Police,” he said gruffly. “When Chief Inspector Gavigan arrives tell him I’d like to see him in Miss Hannum’s trailer.”

  The cop nodded and Farmer stepped on the gas. “Take us around by the cookhouse,” Merlini ordered. “And we’ll park there until we’ve heard the rest of O’Halloran’s yarn. There’ll be cops by the side-show top where we were before.” Then he asked O’Halloran, “A point of information: Was Garner wearing his tramp make-up when you caught him eavesdropping?”

  “You’re catching wise, aren’t you?” O’Halloran said. “Yeah, he was. And since then I’ve done a little nosing around, and I’ve discovered he never did wash his face much. He wore his make-up around the lot much more than was necessary. While you were arguing with Mac about seeing Pauline, he was inside having a heart-to-heart chat with her, mostly in whispers, so I couldn’t get much of it. But I did hear him threaten Pauline. He said he’d kill her if she gave him away. He had a gun, and when you two and Mac barged in, he backed into the wardrobe. You know now why Miss Hannum wasn’t saying very much. He was right there w
ith a heater all set to go. I began to have hunches fast along about then, and I started checking his alibis.”

  “So Paula did lead you to the Duke after all?” Merlini said. “Garner is the Duke. He came from a circus originally and, when he wanted to hide out, he came back to one. His manner of concealing himself is identical with Paula’s, perhaps because he thought of them both. A man wearing the heavy, grotesque grease paint of a clown is hiding behind the best disguise in the world. He might just as well not have a head at all. So we have a headless man as well as a headless lady. And his alibis—”

  “Aren’t any of them worth a continental damn,” O’Halloran said. “When Major Hannum’s ‘accident’ occurred, Garner was supposed to be working in the Wild West show. Any one of the other clowns could have taken his place, and his own mother wouldn’t have caught it. Same thing when Pauline fell and the evidence was stolen from the trailer. Someone else subbing for him in the tramp get-up. I questioned the other clowns this afternoon, and I couldn’t find anyone who’ll swear positively he was in that clown car when it made the trip over this morning. Most of them were asleep, and the others didn’t notice. The Duke is the guy you’ve been hunting who is so smart about not leaving any decent clues—a hotshot mouthpiece like him knew enough to try to make his killings look like accidents. And he came within inches of getting away with it. He’s your murderer. But I’m going to be the one to pick him up. I’ll give him to Hooper, and you two will be in the clear.”

  “Why, for God’s sake,” I asked, “didn’t you spill that when Schafer and Hooper arrested us?”

  O’Halloran grinned. “Couple of reasons. First, I had to take time out to do some heavy thinking. There was so damned much evidence in that car of yours I began to wonder for a minute if maybe I wasn’t slipping some. I wasn’t completely sure that maybe you two hadn’t done it after all. And besides, the Captain had a whale of a lot more evidence for his theory than I did for mine. If I’d a popped with my dope on the Duke, they’d have arrested you just the same, picked up the Duke because he was wanted, and grabbed off the reward. Maybe I’d get a piece, maybe not.”

  “O’Halloran,” Merlini said quietly, “I’ll have to admit that you’ve solved the case. You’ve supplied the one bit of information I’ve been wanting desperately ever since Monday night. But there’s one small error in your theory that you should fix.”

  “What’s that?” O’Halloran looked at him apprehensively.

  “The murderer’s identity,” Merlini said. “You’ve put your money on the wrong horse. The Duke is not the murderer.”

  “The Duke isn’t—” O’Halloran’s voice was flat and empty like a busted balloon. He stared at Merlini. “You got a better guess?”

  “I think I will have,” Merlini said. “Some of the most surprising ideas are beginning to occur to me.”

  O’Halloran gave him a hard, incisive stare. “I don’t know what bee is buzzing in your bonnet, but I’m still betting on the Duke. And I’m picking him up right now.”

  “I don’t think—” I began, got an admonishing poke in the ribs from Merlini’s elbow, and changed the ending to read: “—that he’ll like that much.” What I had intended to say was, “I don’t think that’s going to be as easy as you think. Last we knew Garner had disappeared.”

  “I know he won’t like it,” O’Halloran said. “And he’s got a gun. Before I tackle him I’d like mine back.”

  Merlini produced it and gave it to him. “Yes. I guess you had better have it.”

  O’Halloran said, “I want to hear those surprising ideas of yours, but I’ll just attend to this first. Even if he shouldn’t be the murderer, there’s that ten grand.” He left on a run.

  Merlini turned to Farmer, who had been quietly taking it all in. “Let him find out for himself that the Duke-Garner is A.W.O.L. We’ve got O’Halloran’s story, and I’d rather not have him around for the next few minutes. He’s too set in his ideas. But you might mosey along after him, Farmer, and report on what happens. I don’t know where the Duke is, and if he should still be around, O’Halloran might find him.”

  Farmer said, “Okay. What about letting me have one of those ‘Forty-some-odds’ just in case?”*

  “He’s asking for one of your guns, Ross,” Merlini translated. “You come with me. We’re going to see Pauline Hannum.”

  I gave Farmer a gun, and we separated. Merlini and I made for the back yard. The performance in the big top was nearly over. I could hear the raucous amplified voice of the announcer saying, “Ladeez and gen-tul-men, please remain in your seats until the show is all out and all over! The arena track must be clear for our final presentation. The Chariot Races! The first event—a thrilling exhibition of dare-devil equestrianism, the Five-Horse Roman Standing … ”

  Merlini’s hand was closing around the doorknob of Pauline’s trailer when the door suddenly opened. Mac Wiley ducked and came out. He was closely followed by a figure whose square shoulders, determined chin, and bright blue eyes were all too familiar, as were the perturbed scowl and the sharp bite his words held.

  “Merlini,” he barked. “What the everlasting, blazing, blue hell are you and Ross doing in those uniforms?”

  It was Chief Inspector Homer Gavigan.

  * Forty-some-odd: A gun, so called by con-men who seldom, if ever, use them and pretend, as the phrase indicates, not to know even the proper caliber designation. The Farmer, Merlini tells me, gives himself away on several occasions by using rather more big-con argot than a short-con grifter should.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Who’s Who

  MERLINI LOOKED AT ME. “Lieutenant Harte,” he said, “this man is a dangerous character. If he makes trouble place him under arrest.” Then he faced Gavigan. “I’d rather be arrested for impersonating an officer than for exhibitionism. What do you want us to do—turn nudist? You had your colleagues deprive us of our clothes. And how’d you get here so fast—did you charter a witch’s broomstick?”

  “No—a plane.” Gavigan’s frown was still forbidding, but his eyes twinkled. “I might have known jail wouldn’t stop you. What did you pick the locks with—your teeth?”

  “That’s such a prosaic suggestion, Inspector. I said ‘Open Sesame’ three times, and the walls of Jericho fell flat. Mind telling us why you had us thrown into durance vile?”

  “I didn’t think you’d stay there long,” Gavigan admitted. “But I thought it might keep you in a safe place long enough so that I could get here and take over. This isn’t your sort of case. It’s full of gangsters and gunmen. I was afraid that that sort of professional criminal might reply to your subtle and fine-drawn methods of detection with a machine-gun barrage. I thought you might be more comfortable in Hooper’s jail than on a morgue slab.”

  “The morgue slab would be lots cooler than the fire Ross and I have jumped from the frying pan into. Your well-meant solicitude has resulted in our breaking half the penal laws of the State of New York. When Schafer and Hooper catch up with us, you’re going to have to go to bat for us—that is, if you want this murder case solved.”

  “That’s what you think,” Gavigan said. “I’ve got it solved!”

  “Oh,” Merlini said sharply. “Arrested the villain?”

  “I’m going to just as soon as I’ve heard your story.”

  “He’s still on the lot, then?”

  “He’s still on the lot?” Gavigan asked. “Who’s still on the lot?”

  “Why, the Duke, of course. Isn’t he the man you want?”

  “The Duke? How did you know he was anywhere around here? Miss Hannum says she didn’t tell you.”

  “He’s the bee in O’Halloran’s bonnet. We’ve just heard all about the Duke and Maxie and the Vanishing Lady.”

  “O’Halloran?” Gavigan said. “Martin O’Halloran? Has he got a finger in this pie?”

  Merlini nodded. “Both fists. And he seems to have stolen a march on you. He’s scouring the lot for the Duke now with visions of a ten-grand reward
under his hat.”

  “He won’t find him,” Gavigan stated. “The Duke’s lammed. And I sent Brady in to put a four-state alarm out on the teletype. He and Keith Atterbury’s car have been missing ever since the matinee. I want him, all right, but not for a murder rap. The murderer is still around. Say, where are Schafer and Hooper? Haven’t they discovered you’re gone yet?”

  “Well,” Merlini said a bit uneasily, “I imagine they are beginning to get the idea. I think you’d better make your arrest before they show up. They’ve some awfully biased ideas on the subject, all of which concern Ross and myself. And I doubt if our escape is any contribution toward establishing our innocence. So Pauline finally admits that the tramp clown, Garner, is the Duke and that the Headless Lady was her sister, Paulette Hannum, café society’s Paula Starr?”

  “Yes. When we told her the Duke had run out, she talked. She says she was afraid to before because he threatened to kill her. She also accuses him of the murders and causing her tumble last night.”

  “Yes, I thought she might,” said Merlini. “But you don’t believe her. Why? What color rabbit is it you’ve got up your sleeve, Gavigan?”

  “You’ll find out,” he promised. “But I want your story. I got a lot of it from Wiley here. I want more. How did you find out about this case in the first place? And don’t tell me it was crystal-gazing!”

  “Inspector,” Merlini said insistently, “that’s not important just now. We’ve got to roll up our sleeves and work fast. If you questioned Mac, you’ve got most of the story. Did Pauline tell you why the Major was helping Paula and the Duke get out of the country? We’ve heard a couple of times that he actively disliked the Duke and was none too pleased with Paula for eloping with him. What motive did he have for routing his show through a lot of unprofitable tank towns in order to get them to Canada the quickest way? I smell a rat. How much did the Duke pay him for the ride?”

  “Pauline says he did it for love—on sister Paula’s account,” Gavigan answered. “But she’s lying. I think she’s scared I’ll make her kick the money back. I think I know the answer, though. It’s no secret that Maxie Weissman cleaned up a fortune in the policy racket before somebody put the finger on him. What isn’t so well known is that, when we went through his bank accounts and the like, we didn’t find nearly enough. A measly ten or fifteen thousand. I had a damn good hunch that he had his nest-egg in cash and that he had hidden it somewhere in or near the Bridgeport hide-out where he was killed. We tore the place apart, and we didn’t find it. I had two operatives, a man and a policewoman, playing the part of man and wife, rent the house from the owner and stick there, hoping that some friend of Maxie’s who knew its location would be up there after it. He must have had a tin box so full of cash that I was sure, if anyone knew where it was, they wouldn’t be able to resist it for long. Sooner or later they’d come snooping.”