“It’s not taxi dances tonight, Anne,” he said. “I’m going to use you as I said. If you’re willing.”
“Of course I’m willing. What’s it all about, Johnny?”
“Ever hear of Caroline Jennings?”
“Who hasn’t?”
“Know her?”
“I’ve seen her around. It would be hard to miss her.”
“Acquainted with her family?”
“No. You know that sort of crowd. They never seem to have any families, or any homes.”
“You’re in her home now.”
“What am I doing here?”
“I’ll tell you in a minute. Just now I want you to wash your face. Leave it as shiny as you can. No make-up. What about your hair?”
“I like it this way.”
“Sure. So do I,” said Johnny imperturbably. “Only it won’t do. Stick it up under your hat. And hurry up. We haven’t got all night.”
This was a new Johnny, his mouth set and his eyes cold. To my own surprise I let him shove me into the powder room next door and close me in there; and when I came out—sans powder, lipstick, rouge and even hair—he didn’t even smile. He merely inspected me.
“You’ll do,” he said. “From now on you’re a stenographer, taking some notes for me. And keep your eyes peeled. There’s something about this case I don’t like.”
“What case?” I inquired.
He seemed startled.
“I thought I told you,” he said. “The Jennings girl committed suicide here tonight. It looks like suicide. The family says it’s suicide. The doctor says it’s suicide. Only I don’t believe it’s suicide.”
I was stunned. Even if I hadn’t known her I knew a lot about her. She wasn’t a bad sort, but she was a publicity hound, if ever there was one. Wherever the crowd was thickest and the noise greatest there was Caroline Jennings. She was no beauty. Take away her extravagant clothes and her make-up and she would look like any pint-size girl anywhere. But the gossip columns always played her up, and she loved it. I would have said she was the last person in the world to kill herself.
Johnny answered my look.
“Shot herself,” he said. “Gun beside her, fingerprints on it, door locked and everything. Only it smells to me. Why would she do it? She had everything. And here’s the point. I’ve seen a lot of suicides, but I’m damned if I ever saw a woman kill herself na—without her clothes on. Sometimes it’s only a nightdress, but it’s something. Mostly they’re even fixed up a bit. You know—so they’ll look nice when they’re found.”
The idea of nudity seemed to embarrass him. He looked uncomfortable. “Not even stuff on her face,” he said. “Cold cream, believe it or not.”
“Maybe she only wanted to be different,” I said. “She spent her life doing that.”
“Well, look,” he said, still more unhappy. “It isn’t as though she had a—as though she was much to see, at that. Thin, she was. No curves. No—well, looked like a picked chicken, as a matter of fact.”
I sat down. I didn’t feel very good.
“But I’m not a stenographer,” I said feebly. “What on earth am I to do?”
He looked disappointed.
“Damned if I know what they teach girls these days,” he said. “I suppose, if you were put to it, you could make a few squizzles, couldn’t you? So they’d look like the real stuff? Then, if you hear or see anything that’s not according to Hoyle you can let me know.”
“I won’t be any use, Johnny,” I protested.
He waved a hand.
“Leave that to me,” he said. “I’ve got their statements already. Just keep your eyes peeled.”
When we went out into the hall there was a young man in an army uniform sitting there on a hard marble bench. He must have been there when we went in, for he looked at me and blinked his eyes. I didn’t blame him. I wasn’t the same girl.
“Excuse me, Lieutenant,” he said, getting up, “but I’ve got only a short leave. If you don’t need me—”
“Sorry,” Johnny said gruffly. “I’ll let you off as soon as I can.”
He sat down again, looking miserable. And we went up the stairs to the second floor. The layout was rather like ours at home, a big drawing room in front, a library behind it and the dining room, pantry and dumbwaiter at the rear. Johnny put me at the desk in the library and gave me a notebook and pencil.
“Now remember,” he said. “This is just a job to you. We’re short-handed, and my regular man is off duty. You don’t care what’s happened here. All you want is to get home and get to bed.”
“How true!” I murmured. “How very, very true.”
He was not listening. Two men in white coats were carrying down a basket stretcher, with a short tubby man keeping an eye on them. It made me shiver, but Johnny only glanced out.
“Can you come in, doctor?” he said. “I’d like a few words with you.”
The doctor came in, looking annoyed.
“I’ve already told you all I know, Lieutenant,” he said. “What’s this about?”
He looked at me, and Johnny explained me airily.
“Miss Reilly is helping out,” he said. “My man sprained a knee. I just want to verify what I got before. If I remember, you were called at eight o’clock?”
“A little after. Ten minutes or so. I got here before eight-thirty.”
“The door was already broken open?”
“Yes. Mr. Jennings and Carlos the butler had tried it. Then they got the young officer from downstairs. He managed it.”
“When you got here she was still on the floor? Nobody had touched her?”
“So they said. I examined her and put a sheet over her. That’s all. She’d been dead about an hour.”
“The gun was still beside the body?”
“Yes. I think Wilkinson—that’s the army fellow—told them not to touch it. He didn’t think she’d killed herself.”
“Oh, he didn’t think that, eh? Did he say why?”
“Some poppycock about her not being the sort to do it. That’s all. How are you going to tell who is going to do a thing like that? Anyhow her door was locked,” he finished, less dramatically.
He picked up his bag, but Johnny had not finished.
“Tell me something, doctor. You know her pretty well. You’ve attended her, I suppose. Was she in the habit of going about”—he glanced at me—“without her clothes?”
“Good God!” The doctor glared. “How do I know? How do I know what young women do today? I understand they go out wearing a dress and nothing under it. It’s indecent. As for Caroline, the times I’ve seen her she’s worn adequate clothing, so far as I could tell.”
“In bed?”
“She wore a nightdress, or pajamas. I never noticed. She was covered all right.”
“Yet she strips to kill herself. Isn’t that rather unusual?”
“She was crazy; out of her mind. Too many late hours, too many drinking parties—How they stand it I don’t know.”
“Only now and then one doesn’t?”
“That’s right. One doesn’t.”
I made a few squizzles, but it all seemed, as Johnny would say, according to Hoyle. The doctor said he had given Mrs. Jennings a sedative and hoped she wouldn’t be disturbed, and Johnny let him go and took some notes from his pocket.
“Here’s who were in the house tonight when the body was found,” he said. “Her mother and father, a kid sister, Camilla, and a school friend of hers named Gussie Garrison. The Wilkinson fellow, who claims he wasn’t above the lower floor until they sent for him to break open the door. And the servants: four of them, cook, two maids and the old boy who is the butler. None of them knows anything.”
“Maybe she did do it herself. After all the way it looks—”
“The way it looks smells,” he said shortly. “She’s giving a dinner party at a restaurant, followed by the theater. At a few minutes after seven Wilkinson calls to get her. The butler goes up to the fourth floor to notify
her. He raps on the door and she says all right. She’ll not be long. Twenty minutes later she shoots herself. Does that make sense?”
“How do you know it was twenty minutes later?”
“The two girls were on that floor. They’d been playing basketball at school, and they were taking showers about the time it happened. The sister was in the shower, and the other one, Gussie, was somewhere around. She’s panicked, but she says she heard the shot. Didn’t know it was a shot, of course. Thought it was the usual backfire. She thinks it was before seven-thirty.”
I thought it over. Between seven and seven-thirty at home father and I were either dressing for dinner or to go out. The servants had finished their six o’clock supper downstairs and those who had nothing to do were still at the table. I didn’t know the young officer at all, but if he knew where Caroline’s room was he could have got upstairs easily enough. Only what about the locked door?
I felt confused and useless, and Johnny came over and patted me on the shoulder.
“It’s a tough nut all right,” he said. “Don’t worry. You may get something yet.”
But I didn’t get anything at all from Mr. Jennings, who came next. He looked as though he could scarcely stand. He had taken off his dinner coat and put on a dressing gown, but otherwise he was still dressed. He was not only upset, however. He was highly indignant.
“How long is this going on?” he demanded. “Has a family no privacy at a time like this?”
“I’m sorry,” Johnny said, and looked it. “I just wondered—Mr. Jennings, would you have said your daughter was the sort to take her own life? I mean, forget the facts as you know them and think of that.”
Mr. Jennings sat down, as though he couldn’t stand any longer.
“What else am I to think?” he said heavily. “She seemed happy. I didn’t approve of the life she lived, but she was of age and she had her own money. She was living on her nerves, of course.”
“There was no unhappy love affair? Nothing of that sort?”
“I don’t think so.”
“And today? Anything happen today?”
“Nothing that I know of. I hadn’t seen her. She always slept late. When I came home tonight she had gone to her room.” He stood up. “Why can’t you let it rest, Lieutenant?” he said. “Nothing will help her now, or bring her back. I suppose we should have tried to control her, but at least she had the sort of life she wanted—while she had it.”
Johnny let him go. He closed the door behind him and came over to me.
“Perfect picture of bereaved father, eh?” he said.
“Perfect.”
He grunted.
“They’re all like that,” he said. “Family and servants. Even Wilkinson. All according to Hoyle. Think Wilkinson knew you? He gave you a queer look down in the hall.”
“Who wouldn’t?” I said with some bitterness. “Certainly I didn’t look like the girl you brought in.”
He grinned.
“Well, you do look pretty plain,” he said. “Imagine having to look at you like that every morning at breakfast!”
“I don’t see why that need worry you.”
If he heard me he ignored it. He went out and down the stairs, and I sat alone, drawing a sketch or two in the notebook, as I do when I am puzzled. I was putting a jaw on Johnny’s profile when I heard a faint sound outside. I got up quietly and went to the door. A girl was running up the stairs to the next floor. I had only a glimpse of her, but she had Caroline’s blonde hair, and I knew it was Camilla. I hadn’t a doubt she had been listening from the drawing room, and I was still wondering about it when Johnny and Lieutenant Wilkinson came in.
He was a good-looking man in his late twenties, but he was definitely irritated.
“I don’t get this,” he said. “Why more questions? I’ve told you all I know.”
Johnny eyed him stonily.
“Why didn’t you think she did it herself?”
He looked uneasy.
“I don’t know. It looked queer, that’s all. I’d had word she was coming down. Then—well, she didn’t.”
Johnny lit a cigarette and offered him one. I watched them enviously.
“What about her, Wilkinson,” Johnny said. “Normal girl? Not an exhibitionist type, or that sort of thing? Don’t bother about Miss Reilly. She’s used to police stuff.”
Lieutenant Wilkinson glanced at me and looked away hastily, as though he couldn’t bear the sight. I made a few squizzles.
“She was normal enough,” he said. “Just a wild kid with too much money. She knew she wasn’t pretty, so she went all out on clothes and parties.”
“No love affairs?”
“Not what you mean. Men liked her. She was good fun. But she wasn’t in love with anybody, so far as I know. There was one fellow who was crazy about her, but she wasn’t interested. Nice fellow, too. Name was Moore. Jason Moore. He killed himself soon after. Turned his plane out to sea and didn’t come back.”
Johnny was interested.
“Think that would make her commit suicide? Remorse, I mean. Take it pretty hard?”
But Wilkinson shook his head.
“I wouldn’t think so. She didn’t give a whoop in hell for him.”
He told his story—or re-told it—calmly enough. He had arrived at a few minutes after seven. The butler went up and came back with word Caroline would soon be down. But she did not come, and finally, at something after half past seven, he rang the doorbell again and when the butler appeared he sent him up again.
He did not come back at all. After a short time he—Wilkinson—heard banging on one of the upper floors, but he had no idea what it was about. He went out into the hall to listen, and he was still there when the butler came back, looking frightened.
“Mr. Jennings would like you to come upstairs,” he said. “Miss Caroline’s door is locked and she doesn’t answer. She may have fainted.”
He had found Mr. Jennings in the upper hall. Mrs. Jennings and the younger sister, Camilla, were there too. Mrs. Jennings was crying. Together—the old man was no use—they broke in the door, and she was lying on the floor. The father had put an arm out to hold his wife back, and Wilkinson was the one who went in. She was dead, of course. He wasn’t quite sure what happened next. He saw the small pearl-handled revolver on the floor. He recognized it, but he didn’t touch it. He didn’t touch anything. Mr. Jennings took his wife downstairs, Camilla had run screaming to her room. The butler was useless. He had collapsed in a chair, and Wilkinson finally got him down to the first floor and told the other servants to get him some whisky.
It was only after all that that he realized they ought to call a doctor.
“Not that it was any use,” he said. “But I had an idea it was customary.” He gave a wry grin. “I didn’t think of the police. Not at first, anyhow.”
As for why he had kept guard on the stairs, he got to thinking, as Johnny would have said, that the situation smelled.
“Anyhow, I didn’t want the servants prying around,” he said. “Not the way she was. I wanted to cover her, but I thought I’d better leave things as they were.”
He got up and put out his cigarette.
“If that’s all—”
But Johnny had not finished.
“You said you recognized the gun. How was that?”
“She carried it with her at night in her evening bag. Used to show it around. Part of the general idea of being different, I suppose. I remember her pointing it in a nightclub once. There was a riot.”
Johnny passed that over. He asked if the key was in the door, and Wilkinson said it was.
“We all heard it fall when we first tried to break the lock,” he said positively.
He stood while Johnny fired further questions at him. He had not known Caroline well, but he had seen her around a lot. Outside of leaving the reception room to ring the doorbell a second time, and when he heard the noise overhead, he had stayed there with the door closed the rest of the time. No, he di
dn’t know the house at all. He had never been there before. He had thought of telephoning the restaurant that they would be late, but he didn’t know where to find a telephone.
Johnny shifted ground.
“This Jason Moore a friend of yours?”
“I know him pretty well. Yes.”
“Upset you when he killed himself?”
“It didn’t seem necessary. He was an only son. It pretty nearly drove his mother crazy.”
I rather liked him. He looked like a good soldier and a nice boy. But Johnny wasn’t being fooled by any uniform, especially since he had broken his heart to get into the service himself.
“Now look, Wilkinson,” he said, “here’s the picture. The front door was locked. The servants were in the back of the house. They alibi each other. The family was dressing. Only one person in this house is unaccounted for. That’s yourself.”
Wilkinson stiffened.
“So I killed her!” he said. “Why? Because of Jason Moore? Don’t be a damned fool, Lieutenant. I hadn’t a reason in the world. As for my being the only person loose in the house tonight, maybe that’s true, maybe it isn’t. Somebody used the elevator while I was waiting for her. I heard it.”
He stuck to that. He had heard a noise after he had waited a quarter of an hour or so. At first it puzzled him. Then he realized that it was the humming of an elevator. He had thought it was Caroline coming down, but after a minute or so he knew the car was going up instead. He hadn’t given it any thought, except to hope it meant she was dressed at last.
“Only it didn’t come down again,” he said. “It was on the fourth floor when we broke in the door. It was there until the doctor arrived. It went down for him.”
Johnny sent him downstairs to wait again and turned to me. He looked disheartened.
“Maybe I’m crazy,” he said. “Maybe she did kill herself. Maybe she didn’t think it mattered whether or not she had any clothes on. Or maybe she thought her last bit of publicity might as well be a good one. What about that elevator? The servants use it?”
Alibi for Isabel: And Other Stories Page 5
