Murder & the Married Virgin

by Brett Halliday

  “The safe is in your room, I understand.” Shayne was perfunctorily pulling out the drawers and examining them. He slammed the last one shut.

  “Yes. The burglar could not possibly have touched it,” Lomax was saying. “I was in bed at the time, reading. I’m certain the sneak-thief was a professional, Mr. Shayne. I heard only the faintest sound when I got up to investigate. At first I thought it was Mrs. Lomax, but I knew that couldn’t be unless something had interfered with her trip. So, I put on a robe and came in here, but the burglar must have heard me getting up. He had disappeared through the living-room and into the hall before I got even a glimpse of him. I chased him down the stairs as fast as I could, but he was too quick for me. He ran out the front door and disappeared altogether. I called the police at once.”

  Shayne nodded absently, but his eyes were very bright. “And your wife didn’t think about having left the necklace in the drawer until this morning?”

  “No. Habit is a strong thing, Mr. Shayne. But I know from my own experience that lapses are likely to occur. One is always astounded when one deviates from a set routine, but it is only human. Evalyn—Mrs. Lomax—was frantic at first. She couldn’t believe it, and I might add that she has not been her usual self since the discovery. She appears to be calm and disinterested, but I know her too well. She is brooding over her loss.”

  “Does Mrs. Lomax believe that Katrin discovered the jewel box in the drawer and stole it?”

  Mr. Lomax didn’t answer at once. A frown drew his white bushy brows together. He said finally, “She doesn’t know. She was in a hurry that night. She’s inclined to be charitable and believe that Katrin didn’t notice that she put the jewel case in the drawer. I, too, am inclined to be charitable.” He sighed dismally and his gray-fringed head moved slowly from side to side. “It’s a bad business, Mr. Shayne,” he went on. “I’d prefer to drop the entire matter, absolve your company of all liability in the matter, if I thought—” His words trailed off and he looked deeply troubled.

  “If you thought you could stop the investigation that way?” Shayne said harshly. “In other words, it’s worth a hundred and twenty-five grand to you for me to drop the matter.”

  “So many things come up,” he answered, his hands trembling in a helpless gesture. “So many things are much better left unsaid.”

  “You’re not the first man,” Shayne told him harshly, “to find that an investigation like this generally drags out a lot of dirty linen. But this is a private investigation. I may do a lot of digging, but I’m only interested in results.”

  Mr. Lomax nodded unhappily. “There’ll be an inquest into Katrin’s death, I presume.”

  “Sure. But it’ll be rather perfunctory as long as we don’t turn up anything to upset the suicide theory.”

  “I don’t know what you think. It’s hard to understand young people nowadays.”

  Shayne repeated, “I’m only interested in results. I’ll take a look at that safe now, if you don’t mind.”

  “By all means,” he replied. He opened the door on the left and Shayne followed him into a spacious bedroom.

  A wainscoting of unvarnished knotty pine some five feet high ran all around the room with white-painted walls above it. One huge painting hung directly across from the door, depicting a buck and a doe and a fawn against a background of snow and spruce. The furnishings were massive antiques, and a delightful piney smell filled the room.

  Lomax turned to a miniature painting on the wall to the right as they went in. Removing it, he showed Shayne the small barrel safe and began turning the dial to open it.

  An electric light came on when the door opened. Shayne looked into the cylinder and saw several small jewel boxes and a long metal box such as valuable papers are kept in.

  He waited while Lomax opened each of the boxes for his inspection, then said, “I guess that’s all,” and started toward the door.

  Mr. Lomax detained him by saying, “If I should decide to waive all claim against your company, is there any way you could arrange to have the money paid to my wife so she’d think it came from the company?”

  Shayne frowned down at his bony, bloodless face. “You mean if you paid us the money—for us to pay over to her?”

  “That’s what I mean—yes. I’m sure she would not agree to dropping the matter without payment.”

  “That would take some thinking over,” Shayne answered. “And”—his voice hardened—“there’s still the Katrin Moe angle. You can’t buy that investigation off.”

  Mr. Lomax’s body stiffened with dignity. “I hardly meant—to buy you off.” He moved toward a door with a thin veneer of knotty pine on the inside, saying, “We’ll go out this way.”

  Shayne went ahead of him and jerked the door open. He walked into a moment of utter silence in the living-room; a strained silence that comes when a group has been discussing persons who appear unexpectedly.

  Eddie Lomax was leaning over his mother as though he had been arguing with her. Clarice was leaning against the mantel with an expression of cold disdain on her young face.

  Shayne turned to Mr. Lomax and said, “I’ll have a talk with your chauffeur before I go.”

  “Yes. I’ll ring for him.”

  “I’d prefer to talk to him in his own quarters,” said Shayne.

  “I think he’s down in his workshop,” Eddie told them.

  “Then you show Mr. Shayne the way down, Eddie,” his father said.

  Shayne nodded to the ladies and thanked them for their co-operation. He said to Lomax, “I’ll get in touch with you later,” and followed Eddie out.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SHAYNE picked up his coat and hat from the hallway and went with Eddie toward the rear of the house. Away from his parents, the boy’s sneering defiance departed. Twice he looked at Shayne with his mouth open as though he was about to say something, but went on silently.

  They passed a large dining-room and Eddie turned through a butler’s pantry off the kitchen into a passageway leading to a side entrance. He stopped beside a solid wooden door on the right and indicated it with a shrug.

  “That’s a stairway going down to the basement where Neal has his shop. But we can’t use it. We have to go out the side door and around.”

  Something in his tone made Shayne look at him sharply.

  “Why can’t we use the stairs?” he asked.

  “Locked.” Eddie pointed to the heavy Yale lock. “Dad or Mom has the only key.” He grinned and assumed an air of sophistication as he continued, “Dad didn’t think it was safe for Neal to be able to get into the house at night, I guess. That old devil sex rearing its ugly head again.” His voice crackled with an odd note of bravado, sneered at his father’s old-fashioned ideas of propriety, yet strove to imply that they might have been justified.

  They went through a side door onto the wide veranda that completely circled the house and down concrete steps to a concrete walk, turned to the rear until they reached a point where it was intersected by another walk leading from the garage to the house.

  Indicating the right-hand walk, Eddie said, “That goes out to Neal’s apartment over the garage, and the other to the kitchen entrance.”

  Shayne got a glimpse of a narrower concrete walk leading to the garden and circling flower beds where hardly perennials were darkly green and fresh in the mist of rain still falling before Eddie started down the basement steps. A door was set flush with the concrete floor. He pushed it open and went in.

  The hallway was lighted by a large bulb in the room beyond. As they passed a door on the right, Eddie said, “That’s the furnace room,” and a few steps farther pointed out the inside basement stairway. The steps were covered with dust, and cobwebs hung from the slanting ceiling.

  In the large lighted room a man in a short-sleeved polo shirt was working at a long bench. He wore soiled duck trousers and canvas sneakers. His back was turned toward the entrance and he gave no sign that he heard his visitors come in.

  Shayne walk
ed slowly to the work bench, his gaze steady upon the broad shoulders and clean-muscled arms of the man working there. The smooth line of his body flowed down to narrow hips and long legs. His head was finely shaped and covered with thick hair that gleamed like copper in the bright light.

  Eddie said, “Here’s a man to see you, Neal.”

  Neal turned his head and nodded. “Just a minute while I mark this off.”

  Ordinarily Shayne would have scorned the regular features and gleaming hair which would have been merely pretty on many men. But there was also an instant impression of ruthless strength and an air of quiet assurance that compelled Shayne’s interest.

  He said, “Go right ahead,” and moved nearer the bench.

  Eddie asked, “Is that the insulating stuff?” with genuine interest. “Gosh, you’ve got a big job cut out for you—wrapping all those pipes.”

  “It’s not so bad. Something to keep me busy, and it’ll cut fuel bills down.”

  Shayne noted the deep vibrance of his voice and decided that it could also become very tender, and persuasive.

  After carefully ruling the asbestos, the chauffeur laid his pencil and rule down, picked up a short-stemmed pipe and a can of tobacco, turned to Shayne and asked, “What do you want to see me about?”

  “This is Mr. Shayne,” Eddie said quickly, “and he’s a detective.” His tone warned the chauffeur. “Come to see about the necklace,” he added.

  “I’m Neal Jordan, Mr. Shayne.” He snapped the tobacco can shut, set it on the bench and took a step forward to shake hands. His movements were slow and deliberate with no hint of insolence.

  Shayne looked into a pair of dark blue intelligent eyes as he shook hands. Neal’s brows and lashes were black, and there was more strength than masculine beauty in the clean-cut features.

  Shayne said, “You’d better run along, Eddie. I’ll talk to Jordan alone.”

  Eddie hesitated, his face sullen. He muttered, “Okay. I suppose you want to check on my alibi.” Before he swaggered out he added, “Watch him, Neal. He’ll try to hang something on you.”

  Neither man spoke until the outer door was closed. Neal Jordan lighted his pipe and said, “Unpleasant youngster, isn’t he?”

  “I meet all kinds in my business.”

  “There are a couple of boxes we can sit on,” Neal suggested, “or if you’d rather go to my rooms over the garage—”

  “This is all right.” They moved back to a couple of packing cases and sat down facing each other.

  Neal contemplated the glowing bowl of his pipe, looked up with a whimsical smile and said, “I suppose we’re all suspects, in a way.”

  “In a way,” Shayne agreed. “How intimate were you with Katrin Moe?”

  Neal moved his head slightly. “I don’t think any man was intimate with her. I couldn’t get to first base.” He smiled a wry smile of defeat.

  “But you tried?”

  “She was pretty,” he admitted. “But I never push in where I’m not wanted.”

  “What is your opinion of her?”

  “She was one of the most thoroughly nice girls I’ve ever known.”

  “Did she ever mention suicide to you?”

  “I don’t believe she ever discussed much of anything with anybody. She was quite reticent. The Nordic type.”

  Shayne said, “You’re damned well educated for a chauffeur.”

  Neal smiled. “Chauffeurs don’t necessarily have to be illiterate. I had two years of college.”

  “Did you drive for Mrs. Lomax night before last?”

  “Yes. To the meeting at the club and then to Baton Rouge afterward.”

  “What time did you return home?”

  “Yesterday afternoon.”

  “I mean that night. I understand Mrs. Lomax came home to change.”

  “Yes. And to pack a bag. The Baton Rouge trip came up unexpectedly, you see.” Neal considered for a moment. “It was shortly before midnight when we left. I suppose it took her half an hour to get ready. We were here between eleven and twelve that night.”

  “And you didn’t know about the robbery until you came back yesterday?”

  “No. Mr. Lomax didn’t bother to notify her because he thought nothing of great value had been taken, I suppose.”

  “Did you know she left her necklace out of the safe?”

  Neal looked at him in cool surprise. “How would I know? I’m just the chauffeur here.”

  “But you did know she wore her necklace earlier that night?”

  “Of course. That is, I didn’t think much about it. She often wore it when she would have shown better taste not to.”

  “Did you talk to Katrin yesterday afternoon?”

  “Yes. I drove her downtown.”

  “And you didn’t see her after that?”

  “Not until dinner time. This load of material had arrived and I was busy with it in the afternoon.” He indicated several rolls of insulating material on the bench. “Soon after dinner I drove Miss Clarice to the dance.”

  “How long did she stay at the dance?”

  “Why don’t you ask her?”

  “I have.”

  “Then I don’t see—”

  Shayne made an impatient gesture.

  “You can refuse to answer if you want. But the police will ask you later.”

  Neal said, “I don’t want any trouble. Miss Clarice didn’t stay at the dance late. She wanted to find some excitement and she had me drive her to the Laurel Club.”

  “What time?”

  “About one-thirty.”

  “Was that a customary procedure?”

  “I’m willing to answer any pertinent questions,” Neal answered with cool deliberation, “but I don’t see that gossiping about my employer’s family will help you recover the necklace.”

  “Did Clarice gamble? Lose much?”

  “I don’t know. You forget I’m just the chauffeur. I don’t go in with her.”

  “Then she had been to the Laurel Club before?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you see anyone else there at the Club?”

  “I suppose you mean Eddie. That must be what he meant when he said you were checking up on his alibi. Yes. I saw him leave about two-thirty. Miss Clarice came out immediately afterward and I drove her home.”

  “And?” Shayne prompted.

  “I went to bed,” Jordan said evenly. He tapped out his pipe on the side of the box.

  “And this morning?”

  “I was eating breakfast when I heard Mr. Lomax calling me. I knew Mrs. Brown had gone up to awaken Katrin. He was at the door of her room when I got there—and he asked if I could break it in. I smashed the upper panel and he reached in and turned the key.”

  “Did you see the key on the inside before he reached in?”

  “I don’t know that I actually saw the key in the lock. I know the door was locked. I know Mr. Lomax reached through the broken panel and unlocked it. Is that enough?”

  “But he could have had the key in his hand—reached through and pretend to unlock it, and—”

  Neal Jordan stood up abruptly. There was a dangerous glint in his clear blue eyes. “I don’t know what your game is, but I don’t like the hints you’re dropping. Sure, I suppose he could have done all that. But he didn’t. I was there and saw him.”

  “You went into the room together,” Shayne went on.

  “I ran in first and turned off the gas,” Neal corrected, “while Mr. Lomax waited just outside the doorway. I came back and waited until the room was cleared enough so we could breathe. Then we both went to the bed. We knew it was useless. She was dead.”

  “And you didn’t see any suicide note?”

  “No.”

  “Could one possibly have been taken from the room before the police arrived?”

  Again he got a curt “No,” for an answer. Then Neal burst out, “What in hell are you trying to prove, Shayne? That Katrin Moe didn’t commit suicide?”

  “Do you think she did?
”

  “Of course. What else could it be?” The chauffeur took a short turn up and down the room. He stopped close to Shayne, faced the red-headed detective squarely. “Sure. I know what you’re thinking. She was a sweet girl with everything in the world to live for. But there was some secret gnawing at Katrin Moe. Find out that secret and you’ll know why she killed herself.”

  Shayne said, “You’re the first person around here who has hinted at anything like that.”

  Neal snorted derisively. “What do you expect? These people don’t—” He checked himself, took time to choose his words. “They didn’t understand Katrin. To them, she was efficient, tireless—the perfect servant. But servants are also people. I don’t say that I understood Katrin. I do say she lived in a world of her own, and it wasn’t necessarily a pleasant one.” He paused again, then added quietly, “Find out what Katrin did with her Wednesdays off and I think you’ll find out why she committed suicide.”

  Shayne said, “Yesterday was Wednesday.”

  Neal nodded. “But she didn’t employ it as usual. Every other Wednesday she left the house soon after lunch and returned shortly after dinner.”

  Shayne considered this in silence, tugging at the lobe of his left ear. “Did she ever tell anyone where she went?”

  “Not that I know of. It caused some speculation at first, but it became a habit and ceased to be a novelty. She was always upset when she returned on Wednesday nights.”

  “Upset?”

  “A little more withdrawn, and under a tension.” He thought for a moment, then said dryly, “I think she had a lover.”

  “What was unusual about yesterday?” Shayne asked.

  Neal clasped his strong fingers around one knee, “I’ve been thinking about it. I guess it isn’t my secret any more.”

  Shayne waited for him to continue.

  “You see, she asked me not to say anything about it. I wouldn’t, except that—well, it might help clear up the mystery of her suicide. Shortly after Mrs. Lomax and I returned from Baton Rouge I had to drive to town on an errand. Katrin asked if I would take her down. She rode with me in the front seat, as silent and reserved as usual. She asked me if I’d stop by her bank a minute. It was right on the way, so I did.”