Rita’s head came down again and this time she spoke with her eyes averted.
“I did. Not the name. He’d already been using that. But there had to be some reason why he should come here. I had to give some explanation to the family and then I thought of all the summer theaters in Maine and on the Cape. I thought if he pretended to be an actor it would sound all right. I couldn’t say he was a brother because of the name, so I did the next best thing.”
“So he made a deal with you,” Kirby said. “He told you he’d keep still until you got the estate money if you cut him in. How much did he want?”
“Half.” She looked up and continued quickly. “But that’s not the reason I had to do what he said. It wasn’t the money.”
“Oh, no?” Kirby said with heavy irony.
“No. George was always generous. I had a little money. I had all the clothes I needed and my engagement ring and two or three pieces of jewelry that were good—presents he’d given me.… It was Jerry,” she said, and turned to Murdock, her eyes asking for his understanding.
“You know how we felt about each other. He wanted to marry me and I wanted it too, because I love him. Even Barry could see that when he came to the house that time. He guessed the rest. He said I could keep still and he would too. When I got the estate I could pay him and he’d get a divorce and no one would ever know the truth. He said if I didn’t want to play his way he’d not only tell Harriett to make sure I got nothing, but he would never give me a divorce so Jerry and I could get married.”
This much Murdock believed because he had seen enough of this girl to know that her moods and actions were motivated by her feelings rather than by a calculating brain. Neither her background nor her training had given her the mental equipment to match wits with the world and this may have been the reason why George Alderson had married her in the first place. For George was tired of sophisticates and he had responded not only to the fine body and the tawny attractiveness of her face and the striking eyes, but to some other quality that was young and ingenuous and not yet tarnished by the sort of café society he knew so well. And so, unable to outthink Denham, she had been trapped by her emotions and in the end she would have to pay the piper.
Now, indicating the newspaper on the floor, Murdock asked if she had read about her first husband. He said he had a theory about how Denham had been killed.
“You went to his room last night. That’s where you got the bruise, wasn’t it? Why?”
“I told him I couldn’t go on any longer. I told him I was afraid, that it would only be a question of time before the police found out the truth.” She rearranged her hands on the cushions and glanced up. “He was furious,” she said. “He hit me. He said if I told the truth now I’d wind up in the electric chair.”
“You went out before he did,” Murdock said. “He got a call from someone. He took a gun which means he was ready for trouble. So here’s what I think happened. You knew where he kept his car, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“At that time of night, with one attendant and no fence around the lot, it would be easy enough to move in and climb into the back seat of the right car. After that you could simply wait until Denham came along. When he drove to the right place all you’d have to do would be to put a gun to the back of his head and tell him to stop. It would be easy enough then to get his gun and make that one close-up shot. When it was over you could fix the doors so he’d be locked in.… Oh, yes, and push the body on the floor so it wouldn’t be noticed for a while.”
“No.” She shook her head violently, her long lashes high. Her red mouth was open and she closed it. “No. I didn’t.”
“I didn’t say you did,” Murdock said. “If the barman at Freddie’s Bar told the truth—he says you came in about a quarter after eleven, which was the time Denham left the hotel, and stayed there—you couldn’t have done it. But I’m not much interested in Denham, Rita. I think that’s how it happened. I don’t know how to prove it. I’m not going to try.
“It’s different with Brady,” he said. “You were there. A tenant saw you in the lobby at nine o’clock. He can identify you once the police pick you up. You took the briefcase and Brady’s reports and you never could have done that if he had been alive. To get those reports from a man like Brady you’d have to kill—”
“No.”
“I say yes. So will a jury.”
For another moment she hesitated, her eyes wide open as she stared back at him. Then, as though she had reached some decision of her own, her hand moved between the cushions. When it came up it held the automatic and her body twisted as she tried to pull away to give herself room.
This time Murdock was ready. He had expected some such attempt and he moved when she did, reaching out with one hand, leaning forward, then striking sharply at her wrist.
It was all over in two seconds and she never had a chance. He heard her cry out as he hit her hand and the force of the blow sent the gun spinning to one side. It struck the carpet five feet away, turned over once, and came to rest not far from Kirby’s chair.
For another moment or two there was no sound but the small whimper from the girl as she rubbed her bruised wrist. Until then Kirby had remained motionless, nothing moving but his eyes. Narrowed and suspicious now beneath the angling brows, they took time to study the girl before he leaned forward without leaving his chair and retrieved the automatic. Holding it loosely, his hand dangling between his knees, he fixed his gaze on Murdock, as though waiting for him to continue.
Murdock leaned back and let his breath out softly, aware that the first act was over. He had learned what he had to know about the girl’s past and her motives, but there was more to come. He was not quite sure how it would develop but he knew it was too late to turn back now. He had set this up and he had to keep calling the shots. It was his move and as he considered the consequences he felt the beginning of some pressure inside him, as though a hidden valve had been opened by some mechanism of the mind.
“You’re going to have to convince the police pretty soon, Rita,” he said. “You might as well start rehearsing.… How did you know Brady was going to ask me to make some copies for him?”
She was still stroking her wrist, her head down and the blonde hair obscuring her eyes. When she spoke her voice was muffled.
“I overheard him when he telephoned Harriett.”
“You heard him say he was going to have certain documents put on film and that I was going to make the copies. That scared you so much you came to the Courier to ask if I would let you know what I was photographing.”
“I didn’t stop to think or I never would have asked. I was upset. I didn’t know what to do and—”
“All right,” Murdock cut in. “And so you went to Brady’s office at nine that night.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He telephoned me.” She pushed her hair back and looked up. “At dinner time. He said he would be busy that evening but if I could come to his office at nine he’d like to talk to me.”
Murdock weighed the words and found them reasonable. For Brady’s letter to his daughter indicated that he was worried about the trouble he would make with his report. He had known the truth about Ruth Colby and Rita Alderson and he had probably wanted to give her a little warning of what was to come.
“So you went there. With that gun?” he said, pointing to the automatic Kirby held.
“No. There wasn’t any gun,” she said, the words tumbling out now in her effort to explain. “I went up and knocked and there was no answer, so I went in. He was there on the floor. I didn’t know he was dead,” she said, her voice rising. “I didn’t know what had happened at first; I didn’t know what to do.”
“Go on,” Murdock said as she took a breath.
“I went over and spoke to him. I tried to shake him and then I saw the stain on his shirt. I seemed to know then that he must be dead and—oh, I don’t know what I thought,” she said. “I was too frighte
ned to think. I was petrified and all I could think of was that I should get out.”
“Did you see a gun?”
“No. But I did see the sheets of paper on the desk, clipped together. I don’t know how I made myself take time to look at them but I did. Then I saw this was the report he was going to turn in the next day and I knew what it would mean.… I took it,” she said with a show of defiance. “I didn’t stop to think whether I should or not, I just did. I got all the way to the door before I realized there would be other copies.”
“The file cabinet was open?”
“Yes. And because I was afraid to take the time to look—I couldn’t be sure how many copies there were—I knew I had to take everything. When I looked round and saw the briefcase I took it.”
“Did you go through Brady’s pockets?”
“No. I—I couldn’t have done it.”
“Or his raincoat?”
“No. I told you what I did,” she cried. “I took the papers and the briefcase and—”
Murdock cut her off. “All right,” he said. “So when did Kirby get in touch with you?”
She started to reply and then stopped. She gave Kirby a furtive glance and caught the edge of her lower lip between her teeth.
“The next morning,” she said finally.
“He telephoned you?”
“Yes. He asked me to meet him downtown. I did.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he knew I was Ruth Colby, that I had never been divorced. He said he was willing to keep quiet about it until I got my inheritance if I’d pay.”
“How much?”
“A third.”
Having studiously ignored Kirby’s presence, Murdock now looked at the detective and Kirby looked back at him. He had not moved either his body or the gun, but the gray-green eyes had hard glints in them now and his mouth was tight.
“How did you know Rita was Ruth Colby?”
“Who says I did—besides her?” He glanced at the girl.
Murdock ignored the remark. “One thing I do know and that is that Brady didn’t tell you or show you that report. Brady had a very strong feeling about the confidential nature of his work. Which has to mean that either you had a look at the report, or part of it, or at the originals of the documents I photographed—Brady had them with him when he left me at the studio—or both.”
Kirby’s mouth dipped at one corner and his quick laugh made an unpleasant sound.
“You’re pressing, chum,” he said. “She says I propositioned her and I say no. She’s the one that took the reports, not me.”
Murdock’s dark gaze remained steady as he put his thoughts in order. The pressure was still there inside him, not bad yet but building. When he spoke he took his time.
“How would you know she took the reports unless you saw her, Kirby?”
“What the hell. She just admitted she took ’em.”
“But you called her the morning after the murder.”
“That’s what she says.”
“Actually, I think you did see her take the reports. I think she trapped you there and if she hadn’t been lucky—or if you hadn’t been quick—you’d have had to kill her too.”
“What are you,” Kirby said, “psychic?”
“The physical facts of that killing don’t fit a woman.”
“Don’t they?”
“And since we’re just kicking this around suppose I do a little guessing,” Murdock said. “Let’s start with the initial supposition that was made the first night. Because Brady was killed with his own gun we decided that someone, maybe a woman, had come in and covered him. This someone demanded the reports but Brady would not take a thing like that sitting still. So he eased his gun out of that drawer and was seen doing so. He was forced to put it on the desk. The killer took it and when he was ready he used it.”
“So?”
“If that had happened that drawer would never have been jerked out on the floor. The drawer would have been eased open an inch at a time, and just enough so Brady could get his hand on the gun. To jerk at the drawer, to make any sudden move, would be stupid and Brady was never stupid about a gun; he had too much experience.”
He paused and when Kirby made no comment, he said: “I think the killer jerked that drawer open to get at a gun he knew was there. If you don’t mind my guessing I think it happened like this. I think you had a key to Brady’s file. You had a reputation for being ambitious and hotheaded and you were in business to make money. You were hoping for a big score and you knew Brady had a nice assignment. I think you got curious when he told you he was taking the precaution of having some papers copied by me.
“I think you were in the office, not expecting him back from Kelleher’s so soon. I think you were giving those reports a once-over and he caught you at it. If he did and you gave him any argument I think he took a poke at you. His coat was on the floor where he dropped it. He took his swing—you were behind the desk—and he knocked you over the chair and when you landed on your back you came down on the wastebasket, overturning it and bending the top with your weight. That drawer was right there in your corner and you yanked it open because you had to hurry and you came up with his gun.”
Again Murdock hesitated, a little out of breath now and conscious of some new pressure that began to expand as the word picture he had drawn became clearer. The early tension was still with him, but this had to do with the situation he had made and the dangerous potential that was now a part of it.
But his early bitterness, which had been born of a helpless rage and his sense of personal loss, had dissipated somewhat during the past day. Now the feeling came back to him in increasing strength. It showed in the hard line of his jaw, in the narrowed brightness of his eyes. For he looked at Frank Kirby now not as a detective but as the man who had killed his friend. It was no longer easy to sit and wait while he spoke of things that would prove his point, but because there was no other way he tried to think clearly and keep his voice controlled.
“I don’t know why you pulled the trigger,” he said. “It’s not important now. But I think you were standing there with Brady’s gun in your hand when Rita knocked on the door. I guess that knock saved her,” he said. “Because you must have known that if you were caught you’d have to kill again.
“You had one chance,” he said. “The little conference room. You made it before she came in and you had to wait there until she left. You had to let her take the reports, but she didn’t know about the original documents that Brady had and you got them from his coat pocket. You probably still have them, someplace. When you were sure she was on her way you put the gun on the floor, called police headquarters, and sat down to wait.”
He stopped then, feeling the dampness at his palms and the pull at his muscles as he sat waiting for Kirby and keeping one eye on the gun.
“That’s quite a yarn,” Kirby said. “That’s a lot of guessing but without some evidence—and I haven’t heard any yet—it don’t add up. The grand jury wouldn’t give that routine a tumble and you know it.”
“I’ve got a little evidence.” Murdock leaned forward and shifted his weight. “But that part is not for me. Let’s get the police in on it and see what Lieutenant Bacon thinks.”
He made his move to stand up as he spoke but before he could rise he saw Kirby’s hand snap upward. That stopped him and he stayed that way, half crouching, as the automatic leveled at him and Kirby’s lips flattened.
“Sit still!” Kirby said coldly. “Just relax. Let’s hear this evidence, hunh? Now that we’re all so cozy let’s get it all.”
He shifted his weight slightly, the tendons in the back of his hand tightening as Murdock hesitated. When he saw Murdock ease down on the love seat he nodded approvingly.
22
WHEN Kent Murdock leaned back against the cushions he felt the pressure of Rita’s shoulder against his own and was glad she was sitting on his right away from Kirby. He turned to look at her aslant, his smile crook
ed in an effort to reassure her. He was not sure it did any good because her face was pale and tight across the cheekbones, the dark-blue eyes enormous and bright with apprehension. Because there was nothing he could say to her then, he turned back to Kirby.
“For one thing,” he said, “there’s the smudge on the back of that raincoat of yours I have in my closet.”
Kirby scowled and was instantly attentive. “What?”
“I didn’t know our raincoats had been switched at the Aldersons’,” Murdock said. “But I saw the smudge on the back of the one I had when I hung it up that night. It annoyed me because I’d recently had it cleaned. I thought I got it when I threw the coat in the back of the car at Aldersons’ and then I remembered I’d used it as a pillow for Walt Carey’s head when I found him unconscious earlier. This afternoon when I began to get some ideas I took a good look.”
“Ideas?” Kirby said irritably. “You mean you brought me up here to—”
“I wanted to get the two of you together and see what happened.”
Kirby understood that much and he did not like it.
“You’ll find out,” he said viciously, “but good. What about the coat?”
“That smudge looks bluish,” Murdock said. “It looks as if it could have been made by a typewriter ribbon. The police have still got the one they took from Brady’s basket. They should be able to tell.”
The gleam in those gray-green eyes had a feral quality now and the pressure of Kirby’s jaws made them white at the corners. He spoke between his teeth.
“What else?”
“You said you had seen a woman come out of your building while you were standing in a doorway to get out of the rain. I don’t know why you told me unless it was because you wanted me to think you were playing along with me. You knew the police were already looking for such a woman, so it couldn’t do much harm.”
“What about it?”
“It was a lie. You didn’t see any woman come out. You were never out in the rain.” Murdock leaned forward, his phrases quick. “When I sat down in the office to wait I folded your coat and put it on the floor. It wasn’t wet like mine. That neat gray felt of yours didn’t have a single rain spot. You were in the office when the rain hit at nine o’clock, Kirby,” he said. “The only time you went out was when you left with Bacon and me.”
Murder on Their Minds Page 18