by Dell Shannon
"So clumsy, poor child,” murmured Mona Ferne, and crossed her legs the opposite way, with nice attention to arranging the skirt at just the proper place to show off the ankle and not the ugly swell of the calf with its blue-mottled veins.
Mendoza nodded at Hackett to go after the girl. And he knew: now he knew: and it was a psychic knowledge, the D.A.'s office would laugh at it-so, look for solid tangible evidence to back it up, sure. But the thing inside him, that was worried by ragged edges, by the picture hanging crooked, by the answer to the problem that he didn't know (and that offending his essential egotism, too), settled back with a satisfied sigh and said, So, that's the answer. He felt better; he felt good.
Much of the reason Mendoza had this little reputation as one of the bright boys (maybe a head doctor would say) was that he had to prove it, over and over again: anything he didn't know, it was a kind of insult if to the essential Mendoza; he had to find out. So finding out the answer, the truth-it affected him like a good stiff drink, and he felt fine.
Now he knew. But he didn't know why, or exactly how.
He gave Hackett a glance and nod, to go after the girl: and he gave Mona Ferne a look that was almost a leer and hitched his chair a little closer to hers…
FIFTEEN
Hackett caught up with the girl at the top of the stairs. She was leaning on the bannister there, crouched and shaking, silent. The maid stood in an open bedroom door nearby, staring curiously.
"What's the matter with her now?"
The girl straightened abruptly. "Oh, go away!" she said wildly to both of them. And then, "No-wait-Winter, please, you can say, you, can tell them! That coat I brought down, just now-you've never seen me in it, have you?"
The maid sniffed. "I dunno, couldn't say. I don't take no notice what you wear much. It ain't Miss Ferne's, that I do know."
Angel shut her eyes, leaned on the bannister again. "You wouldn't say-if you could. I know. People never-1ike me, want to help-and no wonder. No wonder…"
Hackett said angrily to the maid, "Go away, for God's sake! Go downstairs or somewhere. I'm-questioning Miss Carstairs officially and that means privately."
A spark of interest showed in the maid's eyes. "Questioning? About the murder? Did she do it? For the Lord's sake-all right, all right, I'm going…" But she lingered on the way, looking back avidly.
"I didn't," said Angel. "Really I didn't."
Hackett surprised himself by saying, "I know you didn't. And damn it, it isn't any wonder you haven't any friends and stay around alone, when you look like this, when you don't go to meet people halfway! Why the hell don't you cut your hair and comb it once in a while?-put on some make-up-get some decent clothes-my God, you've got the money! Make a little effort at it, for God's sake. It doesn't mean you're acting like her, going to turn into one like that, you know. There's a-a middle course to these things, after all! You can't expect anything out of life if you don't put something in-hanging around here feeling sorry for yourself like a spoiled kid-"
She looked up at him through a straggling lock of hair that had come unpinned, fallen across her cheek; she brushed it back, and her mountain-pool eyes were blurred by tears. "Oh, God, I know," she said. "I know. How did you know? I-I got off on the wrong track, it was her, but I-but it's too late, I don't know how, I don't know anything, how to do-how to-be nice, make people-I want to, I want to, but I don't know where to start, or how. She-"
"You listen, you just listen," said Hackett. He was mad; he didn't know exactly what he was going to say or how they'd got onto this, but at the same time he thought this was about the oddest examining of a witness he'd ever done. He made her sit down on the top step and sat down beside her-like a pair of kids, he thought. "Listen, you've got to get out of this house, this damned haunted house. That tree-my God, it's like living in a cave. Don't be silly, it's never too late to do something. Only you've got to put a little effort into it."
She blew her nose and looked at him solemnly over the wadded handkerchief. "I j-just hate my name," she said. "It's such a silly name. She-thought it was cute. A baby named Angel. Only I g-grew up, and it's silly. A great big lummox like me-she said that. D'you think I could change it?"
"You can do anything you want to, damn it. It doesn't matter what your name is, it's what you are yourself! Listen, you know what you ought to do? You ought to go to one of these charm schools. Sure it sounds silly but they'd teach you all those things, see? You could be a pretty girl, Angel, just take a little trouble."
"C-could I?"
"Well, sure. I know someone runs one of those places too, she'd help you a 1ot-Miss Alison Weir, she's in the phone book. You remember that, now, and do something about it."
She mopped at her eyes again. "Is she your g-girl friend or something?”
"No," said Hackett. "Not mine, she doesn't-belong to me." Suddenly (this was the strangest little interval he ever remembered experiencing) he was filled with inexpressible sadness for all the lonely, cheated, needing people. Because, once or twice, he'd seen Alison Weir looking at Mendoza when she didn't know anyone was watching her. At cynical, marriage-shy, self-sufficient Mendoza, who ranked women along with poker as off-hours recreation and that was all
… "Listen, stop crying, can't you?"
"I'm n-not really. I'm-it was just-yes," she said with a little gasp, "I've got to get out of this house. Her house. I knew she hated me-I've always known that-ever since I stopped being a baby and began to grow. To let people know she was getting older too. And to be a-a person, not just like a-pet she had, other people taking care of it. But I didn't think-it was so much that she wouldn't mind if I was arrested-for-"
"Nobody's going to arrest you," said Hackett. He thought, damn it, it's got to be the Kingmans-logical thing; that story was a slick bunch of lies, that's all. They were on the spot at the right time, they had a motive; what the hell else did you need? Look around and the solid evidence would show up. But, he thought, but… That coat. Oh, hell, coincidence. And she was easily rattled, of course she'd deny it in panic. He took a breath to begin talking calm and sensible to her, persuade her to tell him all about the coat; and Mendoza came out to the entry hall down there, shot a glance up the stairs, and beckoned him down.
"Now don't you be scared,” and he got up reluctantly. So Mendoza wanted to question her himself. "You just-"
But Mendoza was taking up his hat, thanking the Ferne suavely for her help. He looked at the girl with narrowed eyes, a little grim, and Hackett cursed himself for ever saying anything about… And what the hell had got into him, anyway, feeling like that?
When the door was shut and they started down the sunken steppingstones to the street, he said irritably, "And what the hell got into you? You looked like the villain in an 1890 melodrama, twirling your moustache and ogling that-that-"
Mendoza grinned, getting out his keys. " Vaya, I always like to oblige a lady. She expected it of me." He looked at Hackett curiously. "Very odd," he murmured to himself. "You, of all people, too. I won't say you have quite as good a brain as me, but I've always found you reasonably quick on the uptake, and you've worried through more complicated cases than this on your own." He shook his head and slid under the wheel.
"What are you talking about? Look, Luis, that coat-it looks funny, but she'd naturally deny it when she knew why we were interested. She got rattled-"
"Oh, the coat," said Mendoza. He had brought it with him, presumably with the Ferne's gracious permission. "It's not the one that figured in that little adventure, so don't worry about it… Every once in a while I'm surprised to find all over again that some cliche is true. But it does astonish me to find this one operating on you. At least I hope it's just that-the one about love causing temporary derangement-and not that you're losing your grip on the job."
"I'm not-will you lay off that? What d'you mean, you've got an idea-"
" Nada de eso, nothing doing," said Mendoza. "I shouldn't have to explain anything to you, so I'm not going to. But when I
think how close I came to- An idea? I have a very good idea, now, of what happened, but there are still a lot of little things to fill in. Work it out for yourself if you can-meanwhile, be quiet, I've got serious thinking to do."
***
They were greeted in the anteroom of Mendoza's office by an unusually excited Sergeant Lake. "Lieutenant, I've found that Marner woman for you-"
"Oh, good," said Mendoza. He didn't sound very interested. "One of the agencies?"
"No, it was the damndest thing, it looked hopeless, you know-not a smell anywhere-and then I go out for coffee and buy a paper and there she is on the front page! Look."
They looked, and Mendoza laughed. "Well, I will be damned! And I wonder now if maybe that ties into this… " It was a good-sized cut, of a pretty brunette and a middle-aged man; and the story took up two short columns. Pickering to Wed Second Wife was the head. "Revealed yesterday was the forthcoming marriage of Thomas (‘Toby') Pickering, the famous producer and vice-president of Capital Films, Inc. A widower for eleven years, Pickering, 47, confirmed that he is shortly to wed Miss Marian Marner, 38, model. Miss Marner-"
"Producer," said Hackett. "I don't see quite how, but it might-Anyway she knew Twelvetrees-Trask, we'd better see her-"
" Pronto," agreed Mendoza. "You get hold of this Pickering on the phone, Art, and find out where she is. I've got some routine jobs for, let's see, about three men, Jimmy-who's available? I'll brief them.. ."
After a good deal of trouble with a succession of receptionists and secretaries, Hackett got hold of Pickering in his sanctum sanctorum. (Easier to get on the direct wire to the President than to any Hollywood film official.) Pickering, curiously enough, seemed to know more about it than Hackett did. His voice on the phone was incisive, crisp.
He said, "Hell. We were hoping it wouldn't be necessary. And I hope to God we can keep the whole damned mess away from the press. But if you've got hold of it, of course, that's that. Yes, well, look, Sergeant-sorry, what did you say the name was?-Sergeant Hackett, suppose I call Miss Marner and we arrange to meet in your office. O.K.? Say eleven-thirty… Right. I don't know if you have any control over that part of it, the press, but I hope- Oh, you do. Yes, but there'll be the legal end, if there's a trial and so on. Well, we can say the hell with it, if people want to gossip let them-it's one of the hazards in my business-but that isn't to say we wouldn't prefer the whole damned thing was kept under cover. If you see what I mean. At the same time, I'm aware that you'd like to know what we have to contribute, and while I'm not at all happy you've connected us with it,"-a short laugh-"maybe I shouldn't be surprised, I understand from that recent magazine article we've got a police force to be proud of
… O.K., I'll contact Miss Marner and we'll be in your office at eleven-thirty."
Hackett relayed this information to Mendoza when he came in with Higgins, Dwyer, and Landers. "Good, good. I have a fair idea what they're going to tell us, but it'll be nice to know the details."
"I'd like to know what's in your mind. You act like it's about all over, barring an arrest. I tell you, that girl… I still think you swallowed that tale of the Kingmans' too easy. We know they had a motive, we know they were there at the right time, or thereabouts-what more-"
" Atras, atras, out of the way!" said Mendoza briskly. "Before we get to the arrest, there are all these niggling little details I have to find out, to satisfy the D.A., and no time like the present to start. You're getting paid to be a detective too, I'm not going to explain it in one-syllable words-you go off somewhere and think, maybe it'll come to you."
Hackett said a rude word and went away. Mendoza sat down at his desk and called the Temple. He asked Madame Cara a couple of questions, and the answers were just what he expected to hear. Then he went through the phone book, made a list of the clothing wholesalers and divided it up with the three men, and they started on that tiresome routine.
By the time Sergeant Lake looked in and said Miss Marner and Mr. Pickering had arrived, among the four of them they had accumulated a dismaying list of retail stores. Mendoza shooed the others out to go on checking, and Hackett came in, still looking disgruntled, behind the two new witnesses.
Mendoza looked at Marian with interest. Twelve years hadn't changed her a great deal; she didn't look much younger than she was, but she was still pretty, her figure was still very good, she was smartly dressed. She checked a little when she saw him standing there at his desk, and then said, "Oh-well, hello, Luis. I didn't know we were coming to see you. And I don't suppose it's Sergeant Mendoza now, is it?"
"Lieutenant."
"Yes, you were always one to get on. I used to know this one, Toby."
She sat down in the chair Hackett held.
"Really, well, that makes things a little easier maybe," said Pickering, looking slightly amused. He was handsomer than the newspaper cut had suggested: a biggish man with thick graying hair, erect carriage, and his voice and eyes said he was aggressively capable. He took the chair Hackett indicated and planted it firmly closer to hers, sat down, and looked at Mendoza consideringly.
"We can trust him," she said, "that I'll say." She smiled a little tautly. "He's sharp enough to cut himself, but he'll be honest."
"I don't know that reassures me," said Pickering. "We've been compounding felonies and maybe acting as accessories before the fact all over the place. This is going to make the hell of a stink if it has to come out."
"Well, suppose you tell us about it, and we'll see if it has to come out," said Mendoza. "Things don't, always. You'd be surprised how many little things-and sometimes big-come into a case that don't get aired in court. I've got some idea of what you're going to tell me, I think, and it's possible that it needn't come into the legal end. I'd say even probable, barring one or two little bits that may serve to confirm times and so on. I can't say for sure, and of course I can't guarantee that a smart lawyer wouldn't get hold of it and bring it up to confuse the issue-but if it's what I deduce, to do with the late Mr. Twelvetrees' blackmailing operations, well, that's got nothing to do with the murder-I don't think, anyway."
They all looked at him. "I see," said Pickering interestedly. "You know who it was, and you think it was-another reason? I see… But all the same, I suppose you want the loose ends tied up." He got I out cigarettes, gave her one, lit both with an angry little snap of the lighter. "I can't say I feel vindictive toward whoever killed the bastard."
"Vindictive, possibly, no," said Mendoza, "but it's a funny one, an offbeat one, Mr. Pickering-if it's what I'm beginning to think. Let's save a little time. I think Miss Marner was being blackmailed by our late friend?"
"Attempted," said Pickering. "Just attempted, Lieutenant. I saw to that. I don't think there's any necessity to go into details-"
"I think maybe we'd better," she said quietly. "Maybe not in a formal statement, if we've got to make one, but you'll want to know enough to-add it up, won't you, Luis? I don't mind. I mean, it was-in a way-the sort of thing that might happen to anybody, though I don't excuse myself. It was-oh, well." She shrugged; her tone was even but her hand shook as she raised the cigarette to her mouth. "And a legal charge too-I wouldn't like to go to jail for it now-I don't know how that kind of thing works, if you could-"
"I think it would be a question of a fine, that's all," said Pickering, "but if the press get hold of it there'd be a little mess, and while it wouldn't make any difference to my position, anything like that-and the hell with it if it would-we'd just as soon that didn't happen. But if you think we'd better come out with the whole thing, hon, O.K., we're in this together."
"I do, Toby. Well, I don't want to bore you, Luis, but I guess you'd better have a little background-not that I'm trying to excuse myself, as I say. I got married a while after we knew each other, and it didn't it turn out so well. To make a long story short, he was a drinker and I got to drinking too, and by the time I'd got the divorce, well, I wasn't much good for anything. I'd lost a lot of jobs, and the agencies got to know I wasn'
t-very reliable, and finally I couldn't get any jobs. It's all right, I don't mind talking about it now-I pulled myself up and used some common sense, got back on an even keel. But it was while I was-down-that way, and pretty desperate-I hadn't any money and I had to do something-I ran into this Shorter. He had a photography shop, a little hole in the wall, but it seemed he did a nice side business in-in feelthy peectures, if you see what I mean. Well, he offered me good money and I took it. I did two series for him-six shots apiece-and maybe you can say the whole business was what-pulled me up, because I loathed it, and I got to thinking, how low can you get? I used that money to live on while I got myself back in some kind of physical shape, and after a while I got a decent job, in a department store. As a clerk really, but when they found I'd had modeling experience they used me for that too, sometimes, at the fashion shows. I just quit there last week, because Toby and I are going to be married.
"Well, every once in a while I'd think about those pictures, and I didn't like the idea of them floating around. Shorter had the negatives, of course. About two years later, when I'd saved some money, I went and saw him and asked if he'd sell the negs to me, and he just laughed and said for five hundred apiece. I didn't have that kind of money.
Well, about a year ago I was introduced to this Brooke Twelvetrees at a party. A couple of girls I know do extra work, bits in TV mostly, and it was in that crowd I met him, he was a hanger-on, I gathered. I didn't think much of him one way or another, you know-I saw him maybe three or four times in this crowd, at parties, that's all-it just came out of the blue when he-approached me." She took a breath, leaned forward to put out her cigarette.
"You take it easy now," said Pickering, and she smiled at him.
"It's O.K., Toby, I don't mind really… You see, I-I got to know Toby, and we'd been going around some together, and of course there'd been a little smart talk-you know-gossip. And when I read in the paper one morning, about three weeks back it was, that Shorter had been arrested and all his-stuff-confiscated, I nearly died of fright. I mean, there'd have been those things I posed for in with the others, and identifiable as me, if the c-the police-"