The Corpse Steps Out

by Craig Rice

  That was when Nelle and Helene returned.

  Baby discovered it was time to leave for rehearsal, said good-by all around, made arrangements to meet Nelle later, and went away.

  “There,” said Malone, who had overheard the conversation from the kitchenette, “is a young man who would not only give you the shirt off his back, Nelle, but throw in his necktie and vest as well.”

  Jake remembered something he had wanted to ask Nelle for a long time. It was wonderful how gin made him remember things.

  He looked at her very seriously. “Nelle. Why? I mean, what do you see in Baby? What did you see in Paul March?”

  Her eyes suddenly seemed to become very large, and to see something that the rest of them could not see. “Love. Don’t laugh at me. I keep looking for it and thinking it’s going to happen, and then it doesn’t. Peoples—like Paul—they happen, and I think, this time this is it, this time this is love, and then I find out it isn’t. I know it can happen, because it happens to other people, but never to me. I want someone to be my whole life so that nothing else is important to me, and no one ever is. Other people fall in love and it goes on forever and ever, but me, I know it’s just pretending. Or perhaps it’s me who knows what’s real and the other people are just pretending. I don’t know. Perhaps you can’t understand, but it’s like a kind of ideal that I keep on looking for, even when I know it doesn’t exist and I’ll never find it. And when I sing a love song, I’m not singing it to someone real, someone I love today or this week or this year, but to the ideal even when I know he isn’t anywhere.”

  “Oh boy,” Jake said, “oh boy, how that could have been worked into a script!”

  The dreamy look was gone in a flash. “Oh Jake,” she wailed. “I wish you’d written it down while I was saying it!”

  He leaned back in his chair and stared at her admiringly. “There’s the reason it never happens to you. To other people, ordinary people, your singing and your acting is make-believe and the rest of life is real. But to you, the world is make-believe.” He sighed. “Months now I’ve tried to understand you and now I do. It’s because you’re an artist. It took Malone’s gin to make me see it, but now I do.”

  Malone said very severely. “Let’s all us artists have one more drink.”

  Nelle refused, explaining that she had to go, since Tootz expected her home. She kissed them all good-by and left, after wishing Jake and Helene a happy marriage for the third time in two days.

  “That reminds me,” Helene said severely. “You two seem to have forgotten it, but—”

  Jake rose to his feet. “I have not forgotten it. This time we go to Crown Point. Nothing stands in the way.”

  It was then that the telephone call came from Essie St. John.

  Chapter 21

  “Oh, thank God, Jake,” Essie St. John said over the wire. “I’ve been trying everywhere to reach you, and finally I thought of calling Nelle’s, and the butler suggested that I call this number, and here you are. I’m so glad I found you.”

  “I’m glad you’re glad,” Jake said. “Is that what you wanted to know?”

  “I can’t tell you over the phone. Jake, I’ve got to see you.”

  He groaned. “Listen, Essie. For two days now I’ve been trying to—”

  “Jake, this is terribly important. I’ve simply got to see you. It’s something that I’ve found out and you’ve got to know about it. It’s important, I tell you. Oh Jake, it won’t take five minutes.”

  “Well, where can I meet you?”

  “Somewhere. I’m in the lobby of your hotel but I don’t want to wait here for you. I’m so afraid someone will see me.”

  “My God,” he said, “what is up?”

  “Jake, I can’t talk here.”

  “Well—” he thought for a moment. “Essie, my room number is 1217. Romp up there and wait in the hall. I’ll be along in a couple of minutes and we can talk up in my room. No matter what the trouble is, pull yourself together.”

  He hung up, swearing softly. Lord only knew what was the matter with Essie St. John. Whatever it was, he probably wasn’t going to like it. He climbed the stairs to Helene’s apartment and explained what had happened.

  “Something terribly important,” Malone repeated. “Probably she wants to tell you that she murdered Paul March and stored his body in a trunk and then murdered Mr. Givvus just to keep her hand in.”

  “Probably she wants to tell me she can’t go on living with St. John any longer,” Jake said gloomily. “Well, I’ll find out.”

  “A fine thing,” Helene said indignantly. “You put off marrying me to go meet another dame. What are you going to do, Malone?”

  The little lawyer sighed and stretched. “Go see Von Flanagan once more just to keep us on the safe side of things. Maybe I’ll have dinner with him, and meet you later.”

  “He must think he’s getting popular all of a sudden,” Jake said. “I hope he doesn’t begin to wonder about it.”

  Malone said, “I hope he doesn’t sell me a mink ranch.” He picked up his hat. “Helene, give us a ride.”

  She drove Jake to his hotel, made arrangements to meet him later, and left to drive Malone to Von Flanagan’s office. Jake looked at his watch, resolved that it was going to take a very short time to dispose of Essie St. John’s troubles, whatever they were. As he passed through the lobby, he remembered the tremor of her voice over the telephone and paused in the drugstore for a couple of pints of rye; one, he reflected, for Essie, and one for emergencies.

  He found her pacing the corridor in front of his room, her friendly, plain face pale and strained. Without a word he opened his door, shoved her inside and into a chair, uncapped one of the bottles, poured a drink, and put it into her hand.

  “Thanks, Jake.” She loosened her fur and let it fall to the floor, kicked off one shoe. “Oh Jake, he’s terrible.”

  “Take the drink first.”

  She gulped it down, reached for the cigarette he handed her.

  “Jake, I found out all about it. About his having those letters. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

  “I might if you keep on talking.”

  He wondered if she knew Paul March was dead.

  “Somehow he got Paul to give them to him. I don’t know how, but anyway he’s got them. Jake, he’s—”

  “He’s terrible,” Jake said, filling her glass again. “How did you find out about the letters?”

  “He was taking a bath,” Essie said, “I mean, I knew he was up to something, and when he was taking a bath I looked through the pockets of all his clothes. And I found the letters. They’re in his inside coat pocket. I just looked at them and I knew right away what he was doing with them.”

  “Oh God,” Jake moaned, “if only you’d had the inspiration to steal them and burn them up!”

  “I didn’t dare, Jake. You don’t know what he might have done when he found out about it. I didn’t dare. But I’m going to get them. I haven’t finished telling you about it yet.” She finished the drink and set the glass down on the floor. “Yes, I’m going to get those letters for you, Jake. I won’t let him get away with this. It isn’t fair, that’s what. It isn’t fair.”

  “Very nice, even noble,” Jake said, “but how are you going to do it?”

  “He thinks I’m going to be away tonight, Jake. He thinks I’m staying out in Kenilworth with Jane—you know, my sister. Jane is swell about things, you know. If I’m supposed to be staying there and he should phone, the maid says that Jane and I have gone to the movies, and she’ll tell me when I get back. Then Jane calls me up where I am, and I call up John. It’s really somebody special, too, Jake. I mean it isn’t just one of those things. This is love, Jake.”

  “Look here,” he said, looking at his watch, “this is very interesting but I haven’t time to listen to all your personal life.”

  “Of course, but Jake, you don’t think I’m perfectly awful to do something like this, when John is—well, like he is? It sort of makes me
happier, if you know what I mean. And it isn’t the same as if he—John—was—I mean, if he was interested in me that way.”

  “I can’t imagine anybody not being interested in you that way,” Jake said gallantly.

  She blushed unbecomingly. “It isn’t me, it’s just women.” She said, “I mean he hasn’t just lost interest in me, it’s that—well, not anybody,” she finished lamely.

  “Proving that bunions are not an aphrodisiac,” Jake said. He picked up her glass and set it on the dresser. “But what about the letters?”

  “I was just getting to that,” she said. “He thinks I’m staying with Jane tonight.”

  “And you aren’t,” he said.

  She blushed again. Jake noticed that her nose was a little shiny.

  “Well, never mind,” Jake said, “go on.”

  “I thought of how I could get the letters for you. The maid is out tonight, and he’ll be all alone in the house. Before I left, we had a drink together, and I doped him.”

  “My God, Essie!”

  “It’s some stuff I got once from a friend of mine, a druggist. It won’t hurt him, but it’ll knock him out cold. When I’m sure it’s had time to put him to sleep, I’ll go back to the house and get the letters out of his pocket. He won’t know who did it, and he’ll think I was at Jane’s all the time. She’ll swear I was.”

  “Essie, you’re a superwoman. How did you ever think of it?”

  “I’ve developed a pretty good head for thinking of things,” she said unhappily.

  “I know.” He dropped a hand on her shoulder.

  “Jake, after I get the letters, what shall I do with them? I don’t dare carry them around with me.”

  “Wrap them up and leave them at the desk downstairs. I’d meet you but I’ve—got a date. Essie, are you sure this won’t get you into trouble?”

  “I’m sure of it, Jake. I’d take a chance even if it would. But—” she looked at her watch. “In a few hours he’ll be dead to the world. I’ll go out there and get it all fixed up, and then I’ll leave the letters here for you.”

  “Essie,” he told her, “this means so damned much to Nelle. You just don’t know how much. You’re a swell guy.”

  “I like Nelle,” she said simply, “I like Nelle, and I like you, and don’t thank me, Jake. I owe you something for popping John one on the beak.”

  Jake grinned. “Nobody needs to thank me for that.”

  It would be a dirty trick under the circumstances, but he wondered if he could learn anything from Essie. He poured another drink for her, pouring one for himself at the same time, sat down beside her cozily.

  “Essie dear, how was it about Paul March?”

  She blinked a little. “What do you mean? You mean—Paul and me?”

  “Well—yes. Paul and you. H’m?”

  “I—don’t know. I knew that Nelle—but you knew that too, didn’t you. I thought he was a louse to treat Nelle the way he did, but he was pretty much on the make with Paul March’s interests at heart. I did have a few dates with him. He had a certain appeal.” She chose her words meticulously, her eyes on the carpet.

  “He must have had,” Jake said, and very casually, “seen him lately?”

  She shook her head. “Not for weeks. He went to lunch with me quite a long time ago and borrowed some money from me. I guess he was pretty hard up. And I haven’t seen him since.”

  Jake nodded slowly and thoughtfully. “It’s just as well. I can’t give Paul very much. He’s almost in the class with your old man.”

  “I wouldn’t quite say that, Jake. No. No, not at all. Paul knew he could always make friends, he always felt things were going to be easy for him. He was just plain spoiled, that’s all. He’d be on the make for some radio job and get it and do swell stuff for a while, and then he’d think, ‘What the hell, what’s the use,’ and then, boom. Not John. No, he knows people don’t like him and it hurts worse than his bunions do.”

  “I never would have guessed that,” Jake said. “I thought he didn’t give a damn about anybody.”

  She frowned. “He’s unhappy, Jake. A lot of little stuff. Like his feet. And then he has trouble with his stomach. Not anything serious, just a nuisance. And he gets heat rash. And he knows people don’t like him, and just thinks and thinks about it, and then he gets mean.”

  “I see,” Jake said inadequately. He was pretty sure now that Essie St. John didn’t know Paul March was dead.

  “I think he wants to be a great success so that all the people who don’t like him will wish they did,” Essie said.

  He slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Essie, why did you marry him?”

  “I don’t know. I guess because nobody else had ever asked me as if he meant it. I’m not very good-looking, you know. But I do have money. That’s why he wanted to marry me, but he was smart enough not to let me know until it was too late.” She stood up wearily and a trifle unsteadily, adjusting her fur. “Well, I’m off. Wish me luck.”

  “You’re a brave babe. I’ll be looking for Nelle’s love notes in the morning.”

  She tried to smile. He kissed her good-by very tenderly at the door, not especially wanting to, but feeling that she might like it. Then he watched her marching down the hall, thinking how superb her figure looked from the back, and what a shame it was that St. John didn’t appreciate it.

  There was time for a quick shower before he went to meet Helene. He bathed hurriedly, put on a fresh suit, and brushed his hair, whistling happily. He stowed the unopened bottle of rye in his pocket, observed that an inch was left in the other one, and poured it down his throat.

  Essie was going to get those letters back, good old Essie. Malone was nuts. Nobody gave a hoot who murdered Paul March or Mr. Givvus. Goldman would resign the contract with a flourish the night of the broadcast. Everything was smooth, serene, and settled. Everything was perfect. And he and Helene were going to be married in a few hours.

  It was just a great big beautiful world.

  Chapter 22

  Jake found Helene listening to a new installment of Molly Coppins’ life story. The evening was very warm, and she had changed into a dress that reminded him a little of a cloud, very faintly gray, almost misty. She greeted him enthusiastically.

  “Five more minutes and I’d have married Malone. What have you been drinking?”

  “Rye.”

  “I’ve been drinking gin. We’d better think of a compromise. While we’re waiting for Malone, let’s go to Isbell’s for dinner.”

  On the way, he told her what Essie had done and was going to do.

  “Marvelous,” she said. “Now as long as nobody finds out how Mr. Givvus got moved to Lincoln Park, and Paul March’s body doesn’t turn up, everything is rosy.”

  “Somehow I don’t anticipate Paul March’s body turning up,” he told her. “I’ve an idea St. John has hidden it pretty carefully.”

  “St. John?”

  “Who else? I don’t think St. John is a guy who would buy incriminating letters from some bird, and then take a chance on the bird coming back on him for more dough sometime.”

  She sighed. “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could just pin it on him.”

  “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could just forget the whole thing,” Jake said. He grinned wryly. “Funny thing. Nobody likes St. John except possibly St. John. Nothing would suit us better than to pin Paul March’s murder on him. We feel sure he’s guilty of it. And damn it, we can’t do a thing.”

  “We can get married,” she said, “though that begins to seem just about as impossible. Jake, if St. John murdered Paul March, who murdered Mr. Givvus? Surely not St. John.”

  “They’re different parts of two entirely different things.”

  “You’re drunk. Jake, who murdered Mr. Givvus?”

  “I’m not sure, but I think it’s part of a gang war.”

  “You’re insane. Who murdered Mr. Givvus?”

  “If you must know,” he said, “I did. And now shut up about it unt
il after dinner.”

  During dinner they argued the comparative merits of Erie Street and Jake’s hotel as a place to live. At last they left the restaurant and drove slowly toward the lake. A gentle quiet had settled with the darkness over Chicago’s near-North Side. A few strollers went up and down Michigan Avenue; on Superior Street people sat on their door steps, smoking and idly chatting. Half a dozen children who should have been in bed hours before played hopscotch under the street lamps. Out on the still lake, the lights of a few boats bobbed up and down. The world was very peaceful and very content.

  Jake sighed happily and slid a little closer to Helene. “Is it the world that’s terrific or just the rye I’ve been drinking?”

  She said softly, “I’ve never known which was the real and which was the dream. Jake, are things real when you’re drunk or when you’re sober? Are they real when you’re asleep or when you’re awake?”

  “Quietness is real,” he told her. “Only that. The world was never as quiet as it is tonight.”

  They drove in silence to Oak Street beach, went around the block, and started back along the Drive.

  “In another hour it’ll be time to meet Malone,” Jake said. “He said he could get us married in Crown Point any time up to midnight.”

  “I’ll believe it when we get there,” she said direly.

  “Helene, are you sure you want to do it? It must take a lot of nerve to marry me.”

  “It doesn’t take nerve,” she said, “but it does seem to take time. I wonder how Malone is making out.”

  “He’s probably finding out things that Von Flanagan doesn’t even realize he knows.”

  They watched the lights on Navy Pier weaving a gold-laced veil over the water, finally turned off the drive onto a dark street lined with smallish factory buildings and warehouses.

  “There’s Tootz’ warehouse,” Jake said, pointing to a dark, three-story building.

  “Where he keeps the hay for his horses?” she asked, peering at it curiously.