Women Crime Writers

by Sarah Weinman

  When John, who taught in the biology department, had to go away on field trips, Evelyn frequently came over to spend the night because Claire was nervous about being alone.

  John liked to tease his wife about these occasions. “Afraid of the dark, at your age and weight.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  “What did you do before you were married?”

  “Before I was married, I lived in an apartment house with people below me, above me, and on both sides of me. The walls were so thin you could hear a pin drop, so there wasn’t much chance of being murdered in your bed. It’s quite different living in a house, like this. You’re cut off from people.”

  “By a driveway and two flower beds.”

  “No, you know what I mean.”

  He knew exactly what she meant. She’d been brought up in a large family and lived in dormitories at school. There had always been people around, brothers and sisters, and friends and cousins and cousins of cousins. Being left in a house by herself made Claire feel insecure, and John was grateful to Evelyn for keeping her company in his absence. He had long since lost his original distrust of Evelyn and he believed now that, in her quiet way, she was just about the nicest girl in the world.

  On Wednesday morning John took some of his freshmen students on a field trip to Los Padres National Forest and in the late afternoon Evelyn came over to the house to have dinner with Claire and spend the night. The two women had planned on going to see a play at the Biltmore Bowl but the arrangements were canceled when Claire arrived home with a severe cold. She went to bed at eight, drugged with antihistamines and codeine, and slept around the clock.

  She woke up the next morning to the sound of dishes rattling and the smell of burning bacon. Slipping on her husband’s old paisley bathrobe, she went out into the kitchen and found Evelyn making breakfast.

  Claire said, yawning, “I could eat a horse.”

  “You may have to. I just ruined the last of the bacon.”

  “I like it well-done.”

  “It isn’t well-done, it’s charred.”

  “Well, Johnny says everybody should eat a certain amount of carbon. It acts as a purifying agent.”

  “You’re making that up.”

  “It sounds rather plausible, though, doesn’t it?”

  “I can tell you’re feeling better this morning.”

  “Oh, I am. How about you?”

  Evelyn turned, her face white and aloof. “Me? There was never anything wrong with me.”

  “You’re looking rocky. If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you’d been out on a binge.”

  “Binges aren’t much in my line.”

  “I was just kidding. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “I’m afraid I offend easily these days.”

  “I know you do. John and I—well, we’ve noticed, and we couldn’t help wondering.”

  “Wondering what?”

  “If you shouldn’t get married.”

  Evelyn was silent.

  “I mean,” Claire said with awkward earnestness, “marriage is a wonderful thing for a woman.”

  “Oh?”

  “It really is. I don’t know why you’re looking so amused. What’s funny?”

  “I’m afraid,” Evelyn said, smiling, “you wouldn’t understand.”

  On Thursday afternoon Claire arrived home from her classes a little earlier than usual, around four-thirty. It was already getting dark and she didn’t notice the car parked at the curb until she let the cocker spaniel out. The dog streaked across the lawn toward the car and began pawing at the door.

  A man wearing a gray felt hat leaned out of the window and said, “That’s not doing the finish of my car much good.”

  “So I see.” She picked up the squirming spaniel.

  “You’re Mrs. Laurence?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’m Paul Blackshear. I called you at the University this afternoon.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Is Miss Merrick here?”

  “Not yet. She will be, though. If you’d like to come inside and wait . . .”

  “Thanks, I would.”

  She led the way across the lawn, feeling apprehensive about letting the stranger into the house and yet unable to think of an adequate reason or a polite way to get rid of him.

  In the living room she turned on all four of the lamps and left the drapes open, and when Blackshear had settled himself on the davenport she sat down in a straight-backed chair at the opposite end of the room.

  “My husband,” she lied firmly, “will be home at any minute.”

  Blackshear gave her a quizzical look. “Good. I’ll need all the help I can get.”

  “Help with what?”

  “I am trying to find a woman. I have reason to believe that Evelyn Merrick knows where this woman is.”

  “You mean you think Evelyn helped her to disappear?”

  “I mean that, yes, but not in exactly the same sense that you do.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The woman’s disappearance was involuntary.”

  Claire stared at him, her face pale and astonished, her clenched fists pressed against her thighs. “What are you—implying?”

  “It’s obvious, isn’t it, Mrs. Laurence?”

  “No, it’s not obvious. Nothing is obvious. I’m confused. I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t understand either, but I’m trying to. That’s why I’m here. The woman who disappeared is Helen Clarvoe, a friend of mine. She was also, at one time, a friend of Evelyn Merrick’s.”

  “At one time. Does that mean they quarreled?”

  “Let’s say they lost touch. Until last Monday night. At that time Miss Merrick telephoned Helen Clarvoe at her hotel. I won’t go into detail but I assure you it wasn’t an ordinary call from one old friend to another. As a result of it, Miss Clarvoe asked me to try and find Evelyn Merrick.”

  “Why?”

  “She was disturbed and frightened by Miss Merrick’s remarks. During the course of the week I’ve discovered that unusual telephone calls are Evelyn Merrick’s specialty. Some people, when they have a grievance, blow their top, some brood, some write crank letters. Evelyn Merrick telephones.”

  “Nonsense,” Claire said sharply. “I don’t believe it. Ev hates to talk on the phone. I should know, I’m her best friend.”

  “Look, Mrs. Laurence, there may be some things about this woman that even her best friend doesn’t know because Miss Merrick herself may not know them.”

  “That’s not possible. Unless she’s—are you trying to tell me she’s insane?”

  “It’s a form of insanity.”

  “What is?”

  “Multiple personality.”

  Claire rose abruptly and began to pace the room. “Ev is my best friend. You’re a stranger. You come here and tell me some monstrous things about her and expect me to believe them. Well, I can’t. I won’t. What right have you got to go around diagnosing people as multiple personalities?”

  “The theory isn’t mine. It was advanced as a possibility by Miss Merrick’s own doctor. I talked to him this afternoon. Miss Merrick has already suffered two emotional disturbances, one after her parents were divorced and her father went east to live, and the other after the breakup of her own marriage last year.”

  “Marriage,” Claire repeated. “Ev’s never been married.”

  “It’s a matter of record.”

  “She’s never said a word to me about it. I—why, just this morning we were talking and I said something about marriage being good for a woman and she—well, it doesn’t matter now.”

  “Go on, Mrs. Laurence. She what?”

  “Nothing. She just smiled, as if I’d said something unintentionally funny.”

  “You did.”

  “It wasn’t a happy marriage, then?”

  “No.”

  “Who is the man?”

  “Helen Clarvoe’s brother, Douglas.” Blackshear hesit
ated, feeling a sudden and acute distaste for the job he had to do. “The young man died this morning.”

  “Why do you say it in that particular tone?”

  “I wasn’t aware of my tone.”

  “I was. You sounded as if you thought Evelyn had something to do with the man’s death.”

  “There’s no question in my mind. And two men have died.”

  She was shaken but obstinate. “There must be some terrible mistake. Ev is the gentlest creature in the world.”

  “Perhaps the one you know is. The other . . .”

  “There is no other!” But the strength had gone out of her. She slumped into a chair, the back of her right hand pressed against her trembling mouth. “How—how did her husband die?”

  “He killed himself.”

  “And the other man?”

  “He was stabbed in the throat with a barber’s shears some time this morning.”

  “My God,” she said. “My God.” And her hand slid down to her throat as if to try to staunch an invisible flow of blood. “She’ll be here any time. What am I going to do?”

  “Nothing. Act as if nothing’s happened.”

  “How can I?”

  “You must. Helen Clarvoe’s life may be at stake.”

  “There’s no chance you’ve—made a mistake?”

  “There’s always that chance, Mrs. Laurence, but it’s pretty small. When she called Mrs. Clarvoe about Helen this afternoon she made no secret of her identity, she was even proud of herself.”

  He told her the content of the telephone call. She listened in stunned silence, rubbing the same place on her neck over and over again.

  Outside, the spaniel began to bark. Blackshear turned and looked out of the window. A young woman was coming up the walk, laughing, while the spaniel jumped around her in frenzied delight. As she reached the steps of the porch, she leaned down and put out her arms and the spaniel leaped up into them. Both the girl and the dog looked very pleased with themselves at this remarkable feat.

  It was Blackshear’s first sight of Evelyn Merrick, and he thought how ironic it was that he should see her like this, laughing, greeting a dog—the gentlest creature in the world, Claire Laurence had said.

  He turned and looked back at Claire. There were tears in her eyes. She brushed them away with the back of her hand as she went to unlock the door.

  “Did you see that, Claire? She finally did it, jumped right up into my arms! John said he’s been trying to teach her that for years. How’s your cold?”

  “Much better, thanks,” Claire said. “We have company.”

  “Company? Good.”

  “Come in and meet Mr. Blackshear.”

  “Just a sec, I’ll shed my coat.”

  When she came into the room she was smiling slightly, but it was a guarded smile, as if she already suspected that the company wasn’t the kind she would enjoy. She had short dark hair and gray eyes that borrowed a little blue from the shirtwaist dress she was wearing. When Blackshear had first seen her greeting the spaniel, she had seemed strikingly pretty. Now her animation was gone and she looked quite commonplace. When she shook hands, her clasp was limp and uninterested.

  Blackshear said, “I heard Mrs. Laurence call me company. The term isn’t quite accurate.”

  She raised her dark straight brows. “No?”

  “I would like to ask you some questions, if I may, Miss Merrick.”

  “You may. I may even answer them.”

  “Mr. Blackshear is trying to find a woman who disappeared,” Claire said. “I told him you probably don’t know a thing about it.” She caught Blackshear’s warning glance and added, “I’ll go and make some coffee.”

  When she had gone, Evelyn said lightly, “This sounds very intriguing. Tell me more. Is it anyone I know?”

  “Helen Clarvoe.”

  “Helen. Good heavens, I think that’s the last name in the world I expected to hear. You say she’s disappeared?”

  “Yes.”

  “That is odd. Helen just doesn’t do that sort of thing. She’s, shall we say, on the conservative side.”

  “Yes.”

  “Still, she’s old enough to do what she likes and if she wants to disappear why should anyone try and find her?”

  “I’m not sure she wanted to.”

  “Oh really?” She seemed amused. “Helen isn’t quite as dull as she acts, you know. There may be a man involved.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “In any case, I don’t see how I can help you, Mr. Blackshear. I’ll try, though.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Fire ahead.”

  “Are you acquainted with South Flower Street, Miss Merrick?”

  “South Flower? That’s downtown, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I suppose I’ve driven along it. It’s not the kind of section I’m familiar with, however.”

  “How long is it since you’ve seen Helen Clarvoe?”

  “Over a year.”

  “Have you talked to her on the telephone?”

  “Of course not. Why should I? We have nothing to discuss.”

  “There’s no bad feeling between you?”

  “There’s no feeling at all between us. Not on my side, anyway.”

  “You were good friends at one time.”

  “In school, yes. That,” she added with a shrug, “was a long time ago.”

  “You married Helen’s brother, Douglas.”

  “I wouldn’t say married. We went through a ceremony. Do you mind if I ask you a question now?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Where did you get all your information about me?”

  “From your mother.”

  She looked genuinely amused. “I might have guessed. Mother’s a great talker. She bares her soul to the milkman or the boy who delivers the groceries. Unfortunately, she bares mine too.”

  “Have you seen Douglas recently, Miss Merrick?”

  “No, I haven’t seen him. I’ve talked to him, though.”

  “When?”

  “He telephoned me last night.”

  “Here?”

  “Yes. After Claire had gone to bed.”

  “How did he know you were here?”

  “I presume he called the house first and mother gave him this number.”

  “Do you think that’s likely, in view of the resentment she feels toward him?”

  “He probably didn’t give his name.” She added with a touch of scorn, “I assure you I haven’t been keeping in touch with him. As far as the Clarvoes are concerned, I’ve had it. They’re a good family to stay away from.”

  “What was Douglas’ reason for calling, Miss Merrick?”

  “I don’t know. It’s the first time I’ve heard from him since the annulment. He sounded lonely and confused. I was a little of both, myself, so we talked. Mostly about old times, years ago when Helen and I were at school together and I used to go home with her for holidays and week-ends. Dougie, we called him then, and he was always tagging around after us, no matter how much we teased him. Even Helen was happy in those days. Funny how everything’s turned out.”

  But she spoke with complete detachment, as if the Evelyn of those times had no connection with herself. Blackshear wondered when the split in her personality had begun. Perhaps it had been there from infancy and no one suspected. Or perhaps it had started during her teens, during the very times she’d been reminiscing about to Douglas, the “happy” days. It was possible that those were the “happy” days because she had already started on her flight from reality.

  Of one thing he was almost certain, the split in her personality was complete. The woman he was talking to was unaware of the existence of her deformed twin. She remembered talking to Douglas on the telephone the previous night, and yet he knew that if he told her she had also talked to Mrs. Clarvoe, and in quite a different fashion, she would be incredulous and probably very angry. Nothing would be gained by antagonizing her. His job was to wait until
the change occurred and the twin took over. Only the twin knew what had happened to Helen Clarvoe and where she was now. South Flower Street was miles long and had more brothels than restaurants.

  Even if it had been safe to do so, there was no way of precipitating the change in Evelyn Merrick because no one knew what caused it. It could be something external, a word, a smell, a sound, a chance phrase of music, or it could be something inside, a sudden chemical change in the body itself.

  “It was funny,” she said, “hearing from Douglas again. I expected to feel all sorts of resentment against him, but I didn’t. Odd, isn’t it, how people plan what they’ll do and say in a certain situation and then when the situation actually occurs, they don’t do any of the things they’ve planned.”

  “What did you plan?”

  “To make him feel like a worm. But I knew as soon as I heard his voice that I didn’t have to say anything. He feels worse than any worm.”

  “Miss Merrick, how did you spend the day?”

  “Looking for a job.”

  “Any particular kind of job, such as modeling, for instance?”

  “Modeling. What on earth would give you that idea?”

  “You’re a very pretty girl.”

  “Nonsense. Thanks just the same, but it really is nonsense. I want a job with a future.”

  “You haven’t been home, then, all day today?”

  “No.”

  “Have you seen your mother?”

  “No. I tried to get her at the flower shop this afternoon but they told me she was taking the rest of the afternoon off.”

  “She went to see Mrs. Clarvoe.”

  “Verna? Why on earth would she do that?”

  “Douglas died this morning.”

  Evelyn sat quietly, her eyes lowered, her hands folded on her lap. When she spoke finally her voice was clear and distinct: “The coffee must be ready by now. I’ll get you a cup.”

  “Miss Merrick . . .”

  “What do you expect me to say, that I’m sorry? I’m not. I’m not sorry he’s dead. He’s better off. I’m only sorry he wasn’t happier while he was alive.”