Give Up the Body

by Louis Trimble

  “I don’t know, Addy,” he repeated. “First thing I heard was Mrs. Willow screaming.” He pointed to a door connecting Daisy’s room with Delhart’s. It was opened wide. “She must have come through there real quiet.”

  Tiffin popped into the room from the hall then. I hadn’t even realized he had gone out. He held two pieces of cord in his hand. They were white twisted silk. A bathrobe cord, I thought.

  There was a line around Daisy’s neck now that I looked more closely. I thought of the cord in Tiffin’s hand and that welt on her neck and I shivered. I thought of her tying the cord to the balcony and looping it around her neck and letting herself drop. I could almost feel the jerk and the bite of the cord in my throat, and the feeling of swinging there in the air. She hadn’t struggled. She must have fainted when she jumped.

  Tiffin was glaring at me. “Adeline, you get out of here. I’ll issue a statement at the proper time.”

  “I came in to help,” I said stiffly.

  “Better go,” Jocko said mildly. “The doctor’s coming. She’ll be okay.”

  Daisy’s eyelids fluttered. I turned my back on Tiffin. When he put a hand on my arm I shrugged it off. Daisy opened her eyes. They were blank, drained. They seemed almost colorless. She licked her lips slowly. She seemed in a trance.

  Mrs. Willow chose that moment to come in. She literally charged at the bed. “Baby, baby!”

  Daisy’s eyes focused. Suddenly she screamed. It was a horrible sound, shrill and piercing and full of fear. I thought of Titus Willow’s face. And now Daisy’s scream.

  “Baby,” her mother cooed.

  Daisy kept on screaming. She didn’t stop until Tiffin had Mrs. Willow removed. He had me removed too. Mike Mulcahey did the job under orders. We went downstairs into the den.

  “I’m going to phone this story in, Mike.”

  “No one said for you not to,” he told me.

  I said, “Mike, what happened?”

  “I ain’t sure, Addy. I was with Jocko. I got her under the arms while he sawed the cord. It was dug in pretty tight. But we got her in time. The old lady was right there with us. She let up screaming and started to give the kid hell all the time we were cutting her down. Ain’t that a hell of a note?”

  I agreed it was and I thanked Mike for the realistic details. Slightly nauseated, I went to the phone and called The Press. When that was done I wandered into the hall and tried to get some information. Mike wouldn’t let me go upstairs. He was nice about it but firm too.

  Tiffin came down finally and I put myself in front of him. He shook his head and showed me his teeth. “I’ll have to issue a statement to the reporters all together,” he said. “Now go home, Adeline.”

  “Where is everyone?” I demanded. “Where is Frew? Hilton? The Larsons?” I hadn’t been able to find them and I wanted to, not only for their statements but for their reactions.

  “You won’t be able to see them,” Tiffin informed me. And from the way he said it I knew he meant it. There was nothing for me to do at the moment but leave the field to him. I decided to go to Portland.

  It was growing dark when I parked Jud’s car and carried my bag to the hotel. It was a tiny place, with almost no lobby, and I had to ring for the clerk. When he appeared he confirmed the fact that I had telephoned for a reservation and, taking my bag, he showed me to my third-floor room.

  I had insisted on the third floor since Jeff had a room on it. And the hotel was so small he couldn’t be over a few doors from me. As it turned out he lived directly across the hall.

  My room was small and dark, but clean, and I seemed favored by having what they called delicately a semi-private bath. It really didn’t matter. I had the feeling that the room would be of little use to me except as a base of operations. My first act was to use the telephone.

  Jeff was at The Press and they dragged him out of the morgue for me. I presumed he would know all about the story I had phoned in but there was no excitement in his voice when he answered.

  “Come here right away,” I said. “I’m hungry and I want to talk.”

  I heard someone say, “Who is it?”

  Jeff made no attempt to cover the mouthpiece when he said, “It sounds like my wife—the way she orders me around.” Into the phone, he said, “Where are you, O’Hara?”

  “At your hotel. Across the hall.”

  “She’s closing in on me, boys,” Jeff said, and hung up. I sat on the edge of the bed and burned about that until he showed up.

  He came in breezily. “Home-like place, isn’t it? What’s the news, O’Hara?”

  “I have a notebook full of it,” I said. Tapping my head to show where. “And the story on Daisy besides.”

  “What did Daisy do—tell?” He leaned against the dresser and filled his pipe.

  “You don’t know?”

  “Don’t screech, O’Hara,” he admonished. “I know nothing.”

  “But it’s a front-page story,” I insisted. “I phoned it in hours ago.”

  “I’ve been in hiding and I have a notebook full too,” he said. “No one bothers to tell me anything in that joint.”

  “Daisy,” I said, “put a bathrobe cord around her neck and tried to strangle herself from the balcony. Her mother found her, screamed, and then gave her hell all the time they were cutting her down. Another minute and Daisy wouldn’t be having hysterics now—in jail.” I had picked up that last item when I had stopped in the county seat for gas and oil. I had got through to the ranch by phone and Hilton had answered and told me. It was a small victory over Tiffin.

  Jeff took it without moving or even registering surprise. “That makes the second try,” he said ruminatively. Not counting the one when she shot herself at the age of fourteen. It’s all in the files of The Press.”

  “I hope they get that into the story,” I said.

  “So they jailed her this time,” Jeff mused, ignoring me. “And I know why.”

  “Attempted suicide usually calls for a prosecution,” I said.

  He ignored me again. “Well, O’Hara. Let’s eat. I’ll show you how the city mouse feeds his country cousin.”

  I was prepared to defend the Chinaman but Jeff gave me no chance. He drove to a dark and dismal neighborhood and led me up a flight of stairs just made for murder and finally ushered me into a breath-taking private room. It was all Chinese silk and jade, and we had to sit on the floor to eat. There was incense, and fragrant tea in tiny bowls. I felt out of place in my business suit. This was the spot where I needed the green pajamas and a kimono.

  Murder and violence stayed behind, at the door, until we finished eating. And then, when the food had been cleared away, Jeff wriggled around on his pillows and put his head in my lap!

  “Now tell me about your day, O’Hara.”

  I blew cigaret smoke in his face but I didn’t make any suggestions that he move. Hardly! “First,” I said, “I want to know why Daisy tried to kill herself before.”

  “Mama and papa,” Jeff said. He took my cigaret and paid me back for the smoke I had blown at him. “When she was fourteen she had a crush on her father’s secretary. Mama found some poetry Daisy had written to the secretary. Daisy got spanked. Then Mama showed an amazing genius for psychology. She read the poetry to a houseful of guests. You can imagine.”

  “I can,” I said angrily. “That…. .”

  Jeff wagged a finger at me. “Save it, O’Hara. As I was saying, Daisy ran away. When they caught her she got another walloping. So she stuck a .22 to her breast and pulled the trigger. She spent quite a time in the hospital for that.”

  “Then,” he droned on, “she tied a weight to her feet and threw herself into the Willamette River. That was last year.”

  “I know the answer there,” I said. “Mama made her give up her boy friend and get engaged to Frew. He seems to have money.”

  “From piecemeal reports,” Jeff said, “young Frew’s origin is hazy. But he has never lacked for money. And when he left college not too long ago someone
died—a mysterious aunt, I presume—and left him enough to live comfortably while he’s learning the charity racket from Willow.”

  “She seemed reconciled to Frew,” I said, returning to Daisy. “So she didn’t hang herself because she was supposed to drop him for Delhart—not after Delhart was killed.”

  “No,” Jeff said, “she tried to kill herself because Titus Willow killed Delhart—and she found out. From what you said Papa is fonder of Daisy than Mama. And I imagine she returns the affection in direct ratio.”

  “Do you think that was why he looked so scared there by her bed?” I asked. Jeff nodded and I said, “So why did Daisy have hysterics at the sight of her mother then?”

  “Maybe her mother threatened to expose the old man,” Jeff suggested. “Maybe that’s why Daisy tried to do the dutch. He was scared that Daisy might talk when she came out of it.”

  “And you’re sure it was Willow that killed Delhart?”

  “I had that clothing analyzed,” he said. “There are traces of blood.” He rolled over on one elbow, digging it into my leg. “Science is wonderful, O’Hara,” he said, cocking his head at me. “Those clothes were under water for a while and the lab still got blood and powder and hairs out of them. All I have to do is snatch Willow bald-headed and we can prove the things were his.”

  “He is bald-headed.”

  “He’s got a ruff over the ears,” Jeff corrected. “And what’s more the hairs were in a rear pocket as if they came from a comb.”

  “What kind of powder?”

  “In the cloth,” Jeff said. “Lot’s of men use bath powder. Or it could have been after shave stuff. Non-smelly is the kind I have.”

  “The private habits of males don’t fascinate me,” I said. “And you’ll ruin my leg completely with your gross elbow.”

  He moved and sat up. “You’re so soft and feminine, O’Hara. That’s what I like about you. The gentle, frilly touch. Ready?”

  I agreed to go. I actually hated to leave that place but a job was a job and so I followed him, stuffed and docile, back to his car. He drove to The Press and we went up to the City Room. It was a morning paper and so, this late, things were in full swing. It was my first visit to a paper larger than the Teneskium Pioneer and the noise unnerved me.

  “Here’s the famous Teneskium telephone voice,” Jeff announced loudly. “O’Hara herself.”

  The lack of enthusiasm was dampening. And then someone said, “She doesn’t know what she’s letting herself in for, hooking up with Jeff.”

  And a small, grey-haired man drifted up to me and put out his hand. “I’m Printz,” he said. “I suppose Jeff told you the job is open as soon as you get settled.”

  I dropped his hand and turned to Jeff. He cleared his throat hastily. “Printz—City Editor,” he muttered. “Ah, O’Hara, let’s go to work. This way.” He took my elbow and swung me between a maze of desks. He had the footwork of a ballet dancer. At the door he turned around and remarked lewdly on the general character of the room’s occupants. That done, he hurried me to a chair set before a long table. The table was piled with files and clippings.

  “Here’s the Willow and Delhart dope, O’Hara,” he said.

  “Jeff …”

  “Now what did you get today?” “Jeff …”

  “Any news of Glory? Here’s my dope on it. Delhart is—was her guardian. She’s over age now, of course. Her folks were old friends of his. Helped him get his start, in fact.” The words tumbled out of him. “She has a small income of her own, but he paid most of the bills. Her parents drank themselves to death. A car wreck helped.”

  He took a fresh breath. “She’s been married twice, though. Annulled both times. While she was in school. She got kicked out of college for excessive drinking.”

  “Jeff …”

  “Those guys in there are crazy,” Jeff said. He was bending over my chair, poking a lean finger at the clippings. “It’s a rib. You know a … well, a rib.”

  I pushed back my chair and stood up, facing him. He was sweating a little, though it wasn’t hot in there. He looked like a small boy caught with jam on his face.

  “Was it a rib?”

  “Ah-h, well, I might have said something, O’Hara. Just an idle thought or two.”

  “Not to me you didn’t say it.” I tapped my foot and waited, staring him down.

  “Didn’t I?” Jeff clucked his surprise. “Consider it said, O’Hara.”

  And what followed was probably the finest kiss ever registered in that room. And then I sat down and got ready to work.

  “Not a rib at all,” Jeff murmured. “It’s your cooking, of course.” He scooted his chair over.

  “We work now,” I said frigidly. I elbowed him away from me. “Let’s see your notes.”

  We did work too. We shuffled Jeff’s notes and added my data to them and then condensed the whole into a workable outline. At midnight Jeff led me to a typewriter to make a legible copy and he went off to a booth to do some phoning.

  I was through when he returned. “Put on an addendum,” he said. “Daisy is doing well but she won’t talk. Mama is camped with her. Every time Daisy comes around and sees Mama she has hysterics. They finally double-dosed her with sleeping pills (since they can’t pry Mama loose) and all is quiet at the county jail.”

  “Tiffin didn’t tell you all that.”

  “No, your friend Jocko.”

  Jeff was grinning oddly at me. “What else?” I demanded.

  “Willow and Hilton and the Larsons have all been rounded up and put in a hotel at the county seat to be handy for the inquest.” He kept on grinning. “Oh yes, they found Nellie. She’s unhurt and parked in your garage. Courtesy of Jocko. She was on an old logging road by the river. No sign of Glory yet.”

  “What else?” I repeated. I knew by that grin that he was holding back and not even the news of Nellie’s recovery could stop making me worry until I knew.

  “Friend Frew has been running around trying to get a writ for Daisy’s release,” Jeff said. “And he got so excited he tried to make a trade with Tiffin.”

  I closed my eyes and prayed. But it was no use. Jeff’s voice said, “So Tiffin knows who threw the chopper into the pond.”

  XXII

  “IS TIFFIN GOING to arrest me?” I demanded.

  We were in Jeff’s room at the hotel. It was a cozy place and he had fixed it semi-permanently. There was an easy chair and a typing table and a filled bookcase crowded in with hotel furniture. I sat in the easy chair while Jeff sprawled on the bed and worked over our notes.

  “Arrest you?” He grinned maddeningly. “Probably—after the inquest.”

  “You’ll bail me out. Won’t you, darling?”

  “No,” Jeff said. “You’ll be safer in jail, O’Hara. Not only will I keep an exclusive right to your cooking but …” He broke off and stopped grinning. He looked grimly serious now. He punched his finger on the notes. “You’ve talked too damned much to Hilton.”

  A shiver ran over me. It was ridiculous, here in this room far away from everything that had happened. I looked at Jeff. He was nice and solid and safe looking. But just the tone of his voice brought back to me the strangling dark woods, the horrible splotches of blood that had marked Delhart’s trail, and that so-strong feeling of tension that had hung over everything at the ranch.

  “What has Hilton got to do with my safety?” I said. I forced myself to lightness.

  “You guessed too well,” Jeff said. He sat up, his tousled red hair glinting from the overhead lights. He gave me a friendly grin. “And I’m going to see you stick close, O’Hara.” Despite the grin his words were forceful. He meant what he said. And it comforted me. He looked strong, and he looked capable. But I wouldn’t have let him know it for anything.

  I stuck my tongue out at him.

  He said, “Here’s what I’ve put together. And the police will have it as soon as they stop trying to pin everything on Little Swede.” He waved the sheaf of notes at me. “Willow has done exact
ly as you said—appropriated funds.”

  “There’s no definite proof,” I said. I was remembering how violent Hilton looked in his anger.

  “Place your bets,” Jeff said. “I’ll bet that Willow and Hilton together took Delhart for a buggy ride. Look, O’Hara, the files are full of stories on how Delhart gave so much to this charity and so much to that one. His secretary, Potter Hilton, announced such and such a donation.

  “Delhart had half a dozen businesses, lumber, mines, shipping—one man can’t attend to everything. Charity was one of Hilton’s jobs. That’s partly why he was a highly paid private secretary. Do you know he makes more a year than we’ll ever see working for a newspaper? His job was to show Delhart as a benevolent pal of the people, and not as a ruler of empire. That isn’t fashionable any more. Nowadays your financial giant must have that common touch.”

  “If we’re going into a discussion of capitalistic philosophy,” I said, “then I’m going to bed.”

  “I was just explaining why Hilton would have control of much of Delhart’s charity donation business, just as he would pay the household bills.”

  “And that gave him and Willow the chance to milk Delhart?”

  “You don’t milk a man that shrewd,” Jeff said. “No, here’s the way that would go. Delhart donates a certain amount of money to charity. As administrator of the funds, Willow takes out the necessary expenses. But he submits a detailed report to Hilton. Willow is audited in a sense. He can’t take more than his just share except with Hilton’s help. Then they can pad the accounts, and Hilton okays when he audits. They split the extra.

  “Over a period,” he went on happily, “that adds up.”

  I sat up straighter. “But Delhart got wind of it. How?”

  “Business item in Delhart’s files,” Jeff said. “Rogers and Brown, Certified Public Accountants, have been detailed to audit Mr. Carson Delhart’s personal accounts. He’d been bleating about his income tax and wanted some more loopholes. The audit, by the by, has yet to take place.”

  “Jeff,” I groaned, “if there hasn’t been an audit, why suppose that Delhart accused Willow and Hilton of fraud?”