by Craig Rice
“Why what?”
“Why did you touch the sealing wax?” His eyes were hard now and his voice was low and serious. Before I had a chance to answer him he added quickly, “I’ll tell you! Because you knew what was behind that door. You removed the original wax and replaced it with a seal of your own, a seal that you melted yourself from a package that was given to you by a Chinese waiter! You sneaked into that room after everyone had left. There was ample time for you to do what you did. You hated the La Verne girl and …”
“Stop it!” I yelled. All the time he had been talking it was like I was on a roller coaster. I had been going up and up, then the sinking feeling of falling, the car shooting out from under me. I stood up and after a second I felt better. Still standing, I began to tell him calmly what had happened from the time I went to the Dutchman’s with Biff until the time I began dressing for the finale.
“I had a feeling someone was watching me,” I said. “Then when I saw the splash of red paint—I mean wax—I, well, I touched it.” I shrugged my shoulders and tried to find the words. The Sergeant waited, so I said, “That’s when I found out it was warm.”
“You admit that it was warm?”
“Certainly I admit it. What do you think I’m giving you—double talk? But I had nothing to do with changing it. And as for that other piece of wax, I haven’t seen it since I saw it on the package the waiter gave me. And I didn’t like La Verne, either! There are a lot of people I don’t like. You for one. But that’s no proof that I go around strangling them with a G string.”
The last words I gave out with in a loud voice and turned to leave the room. A policeman stopped me.
The Sergeant had started to speak, the soft voice this time.
“Sit down, Miss Lee. I wasn’t accusing you of murdering La Verne. I just mentioned that you hated her. And, of course, your prints were on the wax.” He was being very charming, but I still remained standing. “We have our duty,” he said. “We need your co-operation and I’m pretty sure you’re going to give it to us.”
I sat down, but not comfortably. I was on to him by then. That co-operation talk would have worked a few minutes ago, but not now.
“What makes you think she was strangled by a G string?” He was doodling on a piece of paper, making little circles that overlapped each other. As he finished talking he put a dot in the center of one circle, then another.
“I saw it,” I said slowly. “When the men picked her up and carried her into the dressing room, I saw the rhinestones glitter. The patch was hanging from her neck right below her ear.”
There wasn’t a sound from the others in the room. I looked around at them. Russell stood at the door with his eyes on the floor. Dolly and Jannine were sharing one chair. Jannine was crying softly. Biff smiled at me and I smiled back. The Princess was smiling, too, but it was a sly twisted smile. She looked pleased about something, which meant bad news for someone.
I looked back at the Sergeant. His eyes were on me. From under the eyebrows he peered at me like a poodle dog. He had stopped drawing the circles and was tapping his pencil on the table.
“Stop looking at me that way,” I said. “And stop that damned tapping. What’s the matter with all of you?”
The tapping stopped.
“La Verne was strangled,” the Sergeant said slowly. He began tapping again. “With a piece of dental floss.” The tapping was slower. “There was no G string and no rhinestone patch.”
It took me a moment to understand what he had said. Then it hit me. No rhinestones, not a G string, my fingerprints on the wax, and it was true that I hated La Verne! Biff’s voice was the next thing I heard.
“I don’t know what you’re getting at, Sergeant,” he said, “but it sounds like you’re calling Miss Lee a liar.” He stood next to the table and spoke emphatically. “You see, Punkin, I mean Miss Lee, and I were together all evening. Not for a second was she out of my sight.”
“That’s a God-damned lie!” someone shouted, and through the smoke I saw Russell come forward. “She was in the dressing room alone before the finale.” His face was contorted.
“How do you know?” Biff snapped at him.
Russell paused and looked at the Sergeant, who asked in his softest voice, “Yes. How do you know Miss Lee was in the room alone?”
“Because I saw, I mean, that is …” He looked wildly around the room but there were no friendly faces to reassure him. Almost desperately he added, “Everyone was onstage for the finale and I saw her come in and go upstairs.”
Biff waited for the Sergeant to speak. When he remained silent, Biff said slowly, and with a little smile, “Talking about God-damned liars, give yourself billing. You say everyone was onstage ready for the finale, that is, everyone but Punkin and—La Verne!” Russell winced when Biff continued, “You don’t mention where you were. You also forgot to mention that you told us guys just an hour before they found her dead that you’d kill her rather than see her mixed up with a guy like Louie.”
“And I wanted to kill her, the dirty double-crossing …” Russell’s voice broke and he buried his face in his hands. “But I loved her. I didn’t even know she was mixed up with him until I heard them fight. I wanted to marry her. I loved her too much to kill her.”
Dolly opened her mouth to speak, but closed it quickly. Her lower lip trembled.
The Sergeant had been watching her, too. “Is there something you want to say, Miss Baxter?” he asked.
Dolly shook her head. “No. Nothing at all.”
“Didn’t you want to tell me that it was impossible for Russell Rogers to marry Lolita La Verne?” the Sergeant asked again.
Dolly kept on shaking her head. “No, no, no!” she cried hysterically.
“Impossible because he is already married?” Disregarding Dolly’s frantic appeal, he added, “Married to you?”
If Jannine hadn’t grabbed her, Dolly would have fallen. Sobs made her voice almost unintelligible as she cried on Jannine’s shoulder. “We didn’t want it known at first because Moss doesn’t like to hire married couples. And I was playing here first. He was laying off. Then when they needed a new straight man I told them I had worked with him before and that he …”
She was crying too hard to go on, but with Jannine soothing her, in a moment she added, “When I saw her making a play for him I wanted to tell. Then he wouldn’t let me. He told me he loved her, that he never loved me.”
“And what did you tell me?” Russell’s voice was deadly, his face ashen.
Dolly didn’t answer, but began sobbing again.
Russell turned to the Sergeant. “Cry, cry, cry,” he said derisively. “She wasn’t crying the time she said she’d kill La Verne and me. No, there wasn’t an audience then. And if you think I’m lying, look at this!” He tore his shirt open and unwound a woolen ascot tie that covered his neck. “Look at those marks!”
With his head thrown back the marks were visible; black-and-blue finger marks on his throat. Three deep red scars that might have been made by fingernails were under his ear.
“She did that. A week ago. The night I told her I was leaving her!”
“It isn’t true, it’s all lies,” Dolly screamed hysterically.
I almost believed her, but those marks on Russell’s neck were definitely made by fingernails, and long ones at that. I looked at Dolly’s brightly lacquered nails. They were long and they were strong. The one broken nail made her hand look unbalanced. I remembered when she had broken it, while she was nailing the laurel leaves to the door.
But had she broken it then? The thought hit me suddenly. Had she pretended that she broke it then to establish an alibi?
I pushed the thought out of my head. Why would she bother establishing an alibi for scratching up her own husband? No one in the world could blame a woman for losing her temper, especially if she was married to a man like Russell Rogers.
Chapter Eight
The sergeant listened carefully to the disclosures. Every now and then he wrote something o
n one of the papers in front of him.
“I want to speak to Louie Grindero,” he said suddenly.
Aside from the scuffling noises of people turning around in their chairs the room was silent.
Jiggers left the door and went over to the Sergeant. He leaned over and whispered something. The Sergeant began writing quickly.
“Give that to Lieutenant Hanson,” he said, as he handed Jiggers the folded piece of paper. Jiggers left the room pompously.
“Bet that’s a dragnet for Louie,” Biff said. The Sergeant glared at him and Biff settled down to an injured silence.
“Miss Graham?” Gee Gee sat very straight when the Sergeant called her. She was all attention as he spoke.
“When I questioned you earlier you said you were not in the dressing room alone at any time during the performance.”
Gee Gee nodded her head quickly. “Yep. I mean nope. I wasn’t alone once.”
The Sergeant consulted his papers again and Gee Gee smiled around the room like she was playing a comedy version of Madame X.
“When is the last time you remember seeing the deceased?”
“The what?”
“The deceased, Lolita La Verne.”
Gee Gee thought a second before answering. “Golly, I can’t remember. What did I tell you when you asked me before.”
The Sergeant replied patiently, “You weren’t sure, but you said you thought it was some time during the performance. You couldn’t remember.”
“Well, if I couldn’t remember then, how in hell do you expect me to remember now? And anyhow, you know how it is, you get so used to seeing a person you get so you don’t see ’em at all.”
The Sergeant gave her the under-the-eyebrow poodle look. “No, Miss Graham, I don’t know how it is. When I see a person, I see him. Now think carefully.”
Gee Gee wrinkled her forehead and pulled tenderly on her ear for a while. Then she looked up with a quick smile. “After thinking carefully I find that I don’t remember a God-damned thing.”
The Sergeant asked her to go to her own chair. “No, don’t leave the room, please.” Gee Gee reluctantly sat down instead of rushing out the door as she had been meaning to.
“Will you please sit here for a moment, Miss Slade?” He beckoned with a finger and spoke to Sandra. After she had seated herself he asked her the same questions.
She remembered plenty. “Well, I asked her to lend me a buck until the guy came back with the pay slip. They always pay off during the first night show or a little after, so it wasn’t like I asked her to lend it for a long time, and I was simply dying for some coffee and I didn’t have the money because I always send money home and by the time the end of the week comes around I’m flat. Of course I shoulda saved my breath, getting a buck outta her grouch bag was a major feat, but like I always say, nothing ventured not …”
“I see,” the Sergeant said slowly. “You can’t remember just when you saw La Verne last. Is that it?”
“Yeah. That’s it,” Sandra replied innocently. The Sergeant was still patient. I don’t know how he managed it but his voice remained the soft one that got me to say too much.
When he spoke to Dolly he was very kind. She had dried her eyes and answered most of the questions as negatively as the others had until he said, “You realize, of course, Miss Baxter—I beg your pardon—Mrs. Rogers, that you had a motive for killing Lolita La Verne?”
Dolly looked at him stupidly. She wasn’t sure now if she could trust him. I sympathized with her. The Sergeant could make you feel pretty uncomfortable, and if you really were a murderer—well, there are other people I’d rather confide in.
“I didn’t do it,” she said.
“You did attack her with a nail file, though, didn’t you?” When she nodded yes he added quickly, “And you did try to strangle your husband, didn’t you?” She nodded yes again before she realized he had tricked her.
Jannine jumped up quickly. “You dirty stinker,” she said. With a push she moved Dolly away and stood in her place.
“Since you started this mess that you call an investigation you’ve made one charge after another.” She glared at the uniformed officer. “You’ve been scaring everybody half to death with your beady eye. First you pick on Gypper.” She tossed a head in my direction. I would rather have handled my argument with him myself but Jannine was getting wound up. She threw a leg over the corner of the table and put her face close to the Sergeant’s.
“Do you think that any of us would admit that we were the last one to see her alive? If Gyp had really changed the sealing wax, do you think she would leave a fingerprint right smack dab in the center of it? And anyway, they don’t even bring up that kind of corny print business in dime magazines any more. Another thing—”
The Sergeant had opened his mouth to speak but she used a hand to quiet him, a hand and her voice that was getting louder every minute.
“Yes, another thing. We may have our fights and all that, but they’re between us! There isn’t anyone in this room that would tell on another if they thought it was going to hurt that person. We stick together, bejeesus!”
“Just a moment, please. Let me tell you …”
“You said enough to last you for a lifetime. I ain’t finished yet. You and your know-it-all attitude. It’s the social system of the upper classes that gives you guys the right to browbeat the workers! Well, you won’t get away with it around here.” She waited a moment to catch her breath. “What if I tell you that La Verne was strangled with a G string? Well, she was! She always used dental floss instead of elastic. I know.”
“You seem to know a lot.” The Sergeant finally managed to get a word in.
“Damn right. And that’s not half of it.” Jannine smiled with satisfaction as she slid off the table. Her house coat opened in the movement and revealed a white leg, a thigh, and a glitter of bead fringe at her hip.
“Have any of your wise-o cops noticed that her bankbook’s missing?” she asked.
The Sergeant looked down at her leg and quickly turned his head away.
“That peek will cost you a quarter,” Jannine said as she sauntered back to her chair.
The Sergeant cleared his throat noisily and slid a finger under his collar. When he spoke there was a note of command in his voice.
“Sit down, Miss Jannine,” he said.
Jannine sat. She wasn’t quite as satisfied with herself when she faced him.
“I’ve been very patient with you people,” the Sergeant said, “because I know that show people are generally excitable and this … murder has upset all of you. But this isn’t a backstage feud or quarrel, this is a case of vile premeditated murder. Whether you liked the woman or not doesn’t matter. What does matter is that we apprehend the murderer. To bring him to justice I must have your help.”
He looked around the room. “Has anyone remembered anything that might be important?” he asked.
No one moved or spoke. Then the Princess stood up and faced the table.
“I haff joost remembered someting,” she said. “Through that pipe,” with a long, dark-skinned finger she pointed to the ventilator. The Sergeant’s eyes followed the imperious hand. “I haff heard voices, La Verne’s and … somevon else’s. The voices were angry. It wass joost before the last scene, that I know because I hear the music and I hurry to dress for the finale. I hear this La Verne say, ‘You wouldn’t dare,’ and this other voice says, ‘You tink not?’ Then I hear a not strange sound. In Russia during the Revolution, the counterrevolution, when I am a very little girl, I hear such sounds, but only when someone is garroted.”
“And this other voice—you recognized it?”
The Princess paused for a minute. She let her eyes fall on Dolly, who met them defiantly.
“I said,” the Sergeant repeated, “did you recognize this other voice?”
“I’m not sure.” She still stared at Dolly. “Maybe later I remember, eh?”
Dolly looked at her quickly, “Yeah, maybe you will,�
�� she snapped.
The Sergeant watched the little scene with no apparent interest. He seemed to be waiting for one of the other women to speak.
Alice broke the silence, “Aren’t you going to athk me anything? You athked everybody but me and I think that’th mean.”
The Sergeant glanced at her. The icy blue eyes softened. Alice did that to every man. As I watched her I thought that with a face like hers she could get away with murder, then I stopped thinking. This was no time for clichés, especially those with words like murder and death in them.
The Sergeant was saying, “I had no intention of slighting you, Miss Angel.” He was actually smiling. It may have been a fatherly smile but it had a hint of something more in it.
“When did you last see Lolita La Verne?” he asked.
“I gueth I wath the lath one to thee her alive,” Alice replied innocently. The Sergeant looked up quickly. Alice giggled. “I mean bethideth the murderer, of courth. You thee, it wath like thith; when we all left for the finale she wath right behind me on the thtepth. And she thaid thomething funny—at leatht I thought it wath funny. It wath about that picture of her mother. She thaid that thome louth …” Alice put her fingers on her lips as though the word louse was the height of profanity; with a little blush she added, “That wath what she thaid anyway … thome bad perthon thtole her picture. I didn’t anther her right away and she shouted in my ear, ‘Where ith it?’ I wathn’t going to anther her until she thaid pleath, but she wath tho mad that I got frightened.”
Alice shivered delicately and the Sergeant nodded his sympathy.
“I didn’t want her to blame poor little me, tho I told her that no one thtole the picture becauth it wath right on her shelf, only it wath under the paperth. That wathn’t the whole truth but I’m not a tattletale and I wouldn’t tell her that Dolly hid the picture on purpothe to make her mad.”
“Oh, nuts.” Dolly jumped from her chair and took a step toward the door before the policeman stopped her. Alice cringed like a mistreated orphan.
“Thee?” She gazed appealingly at the Sergeant. “She’s afraid I’ll tell … the … other thing too.” With that tear in her voice she had the entire police force knocking themselves out to protect her. The cops glowered at Dolly and showered love looks on Alice.