Headless Lady

by Clayton Rawson

  “That,” Merlini said, “is what I call needed information. It explains the unexplainable—the fantastic incident of the elephants that escaped on purpose. The Duke, though he has tried to hide it behind clown white, certainly does have a head on him. Kellar once said, and without any exaggeration, that he could stand facing you and so misdirect you that if an elephant walked past, behind Kellar, you wouldn’t be aware of it. The Duke has worked that stunt in reverse. The elephants themselves were the misdirection! It’s a classic. One of the most massive bits of misdirection in the book.”

  “Never mind the blurbs.” Gavigan glowered. “The Duke’s a slick article right enough, but he’d have been lots smarter to stay on the right side of the law. You’ve figured it right, though. While the front yard was full of auto wreck and the flower beds full of elephants and animal trainers, the Major—the Duke would probably have kept out of sight—fished up the boodle. I think now it was in the well. We found a few traces. I’ll have to admit that an elephant-truck accident was so damned unusual that I didn’t think it could be a phony. And I’d just dug up the fact that Paula Starr was originally Paulette Hannum and figured what had happened when Captain Schafer phoned me about you.”

  “And now the Duke is on the run with the dough. O’Halloran will be glad to hear this—because it gives the Duke a motive for eliminating the Major. He didn’t want to split with him. And Paula might have boggled at murder—while the attempt on Pauline was to prevent his discovery. But if Pauline accuses the Duke without mentioning the money, what motive does she give him?”

  “One of those jaw-breaker ones like we had in that Skelton Island case. She says he’s a claustrophobe—that he’d commit a dozen murders to avoid landing in a prison cell, and that the phobia worked on him so strong he got to the point where he wouldn’t trust a soul. He began to suspect that the Major and, after he’d killed him, even Paula, were going to turn him in. But that’s eyewash. Because the Duke isn’t the murderer.”

  “And who is?”

  Gavigan shrugged. “Why should I tell you that until I’ve made the arrest? Do you ever tell me?”

  “I’ll make an exception this time,” Merlini said. “If your candidate is not the same as mine, I’ll trade you. I think I’m going to need your help putting the cuffs on anyway.”

  “Thanks for nothing,” Gavigan said. “Okay. It’s a deal. And Ross is a witness to that promise, remember. If you try to welsh, you’ll have another chance to try getting out of Hooper’s jail; and this time I’ll make it really tough for you.”

  “Cross my heart, hope to die,” Merlini said.

  Gavigan scowled at him, suspicious of this unexpected open-handedness. “Okay. I don’t see how you can have any other answer anyway. The murderer, as usual, is the most unlikely person. How the hell you manage it I don’t know, but you always seem to get mixed up in just the kind of a murder case that gives Harte here material for a book. No waste motion with you two.”

  “The most unlikely person?” Merlini asked. “Sure you know who that is, are you?”

  “I don’t see how anybody could be more unlikely,” Gavigan came back. “It’s the old, old gag—so old that I’m afraid for once Ross will say it’s too trite to write. The murderer is the invalid who’s flat on her back and apparently can’t move hand or foot—Pauline Hannum!”

  I wasn’t too surprised at that, because I’d been considering the idea myself. I couldn’t make out whether Merlini was surprised or not. But Mac Wiley wasn’t having any.

  “You’re crazy,” the latter exploded. “Pauline wouldn’t—”

  Merlini broke in, “You don’t think her injuries are real then, Inspector?”

  “They’re not as bad as she makes out by a long shot. She may have some cuts and bruises, but she took that fall on purpose for an alibi. You told me yourself once that acrobats know how to fall with lots less chance of injury than other people. They land relaxed instead of all tightened up, and they go into a roll. And since it wasn’t unexpected, since she knew exactly when she had to take the drop—”

  “Then you’re holding off on the arrest until you can check back on Dr. Tripp in Waterboro?”

  “Yeah. And he’s going to get a good going-over. If he says she’s really badly injured, it’s possible she paid him off with some of the cash. I’m pretty sure the Duke already handed over a first payment because of that salary payoff last Saturday.”

  “I see,” Merlini said. “And her motive?”

  “She inherits the show, doesn’t she?”

  “I wish I knew,” Merlini said. “Though of course when the Major was killed she may have thought she did.”

  “But she does. She just showed us the Major’s will. There was one all along. She sneaked it from the Major’s trailer right after his accident. It leaves Pauline, Paulette, and Joy Pattison each a third interest. The show’s to go on with Pauline as manager and the profits to be split three ways. Pauline held back the will because it mentioned Paulette under her real and under her stage name, Paula Starr. She didn’t want the cops to pick up Paula before she’d had a chance to eliminate her, and she wanted the Duke to get clear so she’d collect some more of the Weissman dough that he’d promised to pay. The circus needed cash. Joy was next on her list. Pauline’s always been burned up because of Paula’s more glamorous success and has been angry as hell that Joy should chisel in on what she figures should be hers. When she killed the Major, I don’t think she knew he’d actually left Joy anything, but she did it partly because she was afraid he would. She planned the Major’s death to look like accident. When you got nosy, she knew Paula’s death, accident or not, would look suspicious; so she arranged that fall of hers as an alibi and planned to make Paula’s death look like a disappearance by concealing the body. She was going to take it along for a day or so and ditch it a hundred miles or more away. When Schafer started his search, she had to get rid of it quickly, and she passed it to you to queer your investigation. And now, because she knows that won’t really stick, she’s got the Duke picked for the fall guy.”

  “Tex Mayo assisted her, I take it?”

  “Yeah. They worked together on Paula’s death, and maybe he did more than that; though if necessary, being an athlete herself, she could have moved the body.”

  “And the missing head?” Merlini asked. “Was that removed so as to prevent discovery of Paula’s identity and avoid any suspicion that the Duke might be lurking on the lot?”

  “Anything wrong with that reason?”

  “I don’t think I care for it particularly,” Merlini said. “Our murderer has been so careful all along, I can’t quite see him—or her, as the case may be—failing to remove the clothing labels.”

  Gavigan wasn’t greatly impressed. “When you’ve known as many murderers as I have,” he said, “you won’t give them credit for so damned much intelligence. They make mistakes like anybody else, and some of the smartest killers make the dumbest ones.”

  “Yes,” Merlini said. “I know that. Just the same—”

  I took a chance and stuck my neck out. “I know another reason why that head might have been removed,” I said. “And the murderer, though trying to hide the identity of the body, would have left the clothing labels on purpose and for a damn good reason.”

  Gavigan said hopefully. “Well, let’s have it.”

  Merlini looked at me narrowly and said, “Wait a minute. Ross, I noticed that you carefully avoided using the murderer’s name. I’ve a feeling that you are not talking about Pauline.”

  “No,” I said, “I’m not. I’ve got a much better candidate for the job. And boy, has she given us the run around! The murderess—”

  Merlini looked behind him and said softly, “Oh, oh! This would happen! It’s pay day. And we collect the wages of sin. Brady has opened Pandora’s box!”

  Several running figures came at us out of the darkness. Schafer and Hooper in the lead.

  Hooper spied us first and, though the bellow he gave vent to didn�
�t sound like “Tally-ho!” by a long shot, that’s what it meant.

  He had a gun in one hand and a pair of handcuffs in the other. He didn’t waste any words until one cuff was on Merlini’s wrist and the other on his own. Then, still puffing, he said, “From now on we sleep together!”

  Merlini said unhappily, “That’s an indecent proposal, Chief. There’s a law—”

  Inspector Gavigan stepped forward. “Just a minute. I’ll vouch for this man. He—”

  Hooper turned on him. “You?” he growled. “Who the blasted hell are you?”

  “Now you’ve gone and done it, Hooper!” Merlini said. “May I present Chief Inspector Gavigan? Chief of Police Hooper and Captain Schafer.”

  “Oh. Ha. Humpf. I’m sorry. Glad to meet you.” Hooper was flustered, though not nearly as much as I had hoped.

  Schafer asked heavily, “What do you mean, you’ll vouch for him? You told me to lock him up!”

  “Yes, I know,” Gavigan said, and rapidly gave Schafer the reasons he had given us.

  Chief Hooper, however, wasn’t going to play. “I don’t care if he’s your brother, Inspector. I don’t even care if he’s not a murderer. I’ve got all I want on him. Pocket-picking, breaking and entering, willful destruction of county property, jail-breaking, assaulting officers in the performance of their duty, impersonating an officer! Most of that goes for Harte, too. Stevens, get the patrol wagon around here! They’re going in now!”

  Schafer regarded Gavigan. “The Chief’s right,” he said. “I don’t know why you’ve changed your mind, but we’re not taking any chances. And we have got enough on them to keep them behind bars for a good long time. Take ’em away, Hooper, and watch them.”

  “Are you telling me?” Hooper growled.

  Chapter Twenty

  Chariot Races

  Misdirection is a short-circuiting of the mind. Mother Goose supplied an admirable example with the man who, going to Saint Ives, met a polygamist with seven wives, each of whom carried seven sacks that held a total of 343 cats and 2,401 kittens. The misdirected mind multiplies to discover how many were going to Saint Ives. Since the puzzle is a sort of practical joke on paper the misdirection has to be considerable. In practice, so much misdirection is unnecessary. A few well-chosen, well-timed words can, and have, vanished an elephant!

  —A. MERLINI: THE PSYCHOLOGY OF DECEPTION

  HOOPER started forward abruptly. He stopped even more abruptly when Schafer suddenly let loose with a fusillade of profanity that was every bit as good as anything Hooper had yet emitted. Hooper looked around, startled, and his eyes popped. For the moment he was at a loss even for cuss words.

  Merlini walked away from them; and we saw that Hooper’s cuff, which had been on Merlini’s wrist, now encircled Captain Schafer’s arm outside his coat sleeve. Schafer and Hooper were linked like the Siamese twins. Merlini held a key at his fingertips, and as Hooper saw it he said, “Goddammit! He picked my pocket!” Then he grabbed at the key. But as he did so, it flickered like Merlini’s famous half-dollar and vanished with the same dispatch.

  “No you don’t, Chief,” Merlini said, spreading his empty palms. “I’m in Dutch so far now that it couldn’t be much worse. That key won’t appear again unless you and the Captain agree to calm down and listen to the Inspector and myself solve this murder. And furthermore, if you’re real good, I might even promise not to let any reporters know what a pushover that nice new jail of yours is. The taxpayers of the county might think they had bought a turkey—or appointed one!”

  Hooper was purple. “Stevens,” he roared, “search that man and get that key!”

  “It won’t do any good,” Merlini said. “When I vanish something it stays vanished, unless I want to—”

  Inspector Gavigan had had enough. “Merlini!” He did some roaring himself. “Produce that key at once! And give it to Hooper. You hear me?”

  “If you say so, Inspector,” Merlini replied. “But you’d better figure out some way to call them off. The solution you’ve got for this case won’t stand up under a good stiff push. And I can’t give you a better one if I’m going to have to collect the evidence I need from a jail cell. If we don’t get this murderer within the next few minutes we may never—”

  Gavigan came through then. “Hooper,” he said, “you’re way late. These men, both of them are in my custody. I arrested them last week. You can have them after I’m through with them. But, until I give different orders, they’re staying here.”

  “That’s more like it,” Merlini said. He closed his empty left hand, made a pass over it with his right, and opened it again slowly. The key lay on his palm. He gave it to Stevens, who unlocked the cuffs.

  Both Schafer and Hooper eyed Gavigan with deep suspicion, but they simmered impotently. Schafer released me.

  Gavigan said, “Okay, Merlini, Wave your wand, but wave it fast and use your best spells, because you’ve got to produce something damn good.”

  “I know. And I could produce an elephant on an empty stage with more confidence.” He turned to me “Ross—”

  Detective Brady stepped from among the cops, dicks, and troopers who had followed in Schafer’s and Hooper’s wake. “Inspector,” he said, “just as we left, a teletype message came in from upstate. The State Police picked up the Duke the other side of Utica. They tailed him for speeding, and when he started shooting they let him have it, and winged him.”

  Merlini turned to him. “Did he have the money?”

  “No,” Brady said. “He had a couple of grand in bills in his hip pocket. But he didn’t have what we’ve been after.”

  Merlini looked at him a moment, without speaking. Then he said, “Inspector, I want a word with you in private.”

  They moved off to one side out of earshot, and for a good ten minutes Merlini poured words into the Inspector’s ear. I tried to move closer, but Schafer gave me a warning glare and I gave it up. Schafer and Hooper muttered to themselves. Mac Wiley leaned against a stake and watched Merlini and Gavigan with the worried look that had come to be his usual expression. O’Halloran chewed dejectedly at his gum. The news of the Duke’s capture by someone other than himself was obviously a disappointment.

  I wasn’t too cheerful myself. I had the answer of the case under my hat, a whirling, coruscating humdinger of a solution, and Merlini was over there spilling it into Gavigan’s ear—grabbing off all the glory for himself. I gave my theory another once-over in my mind. I couldn’t see any holes. Maybe I would come out on top after all. Merlini, I was beginning to suspect, had a theory that differed from mine; he hadn’t picked the same murderer after all. If he had, why was he stalling, why had he said he needed more evidence? My theory was so easily checked. It stood or fell on one point—the true identity of—

  Gavigan called, “Hooper, Schafer. Step over here a minute, please. And you, Brady.”

  At my elbow a voice asked, “What’s happening? Have they found the murderer?”

  I turned to see Joy Pattison. She had changed from her ring costume and wore a close-fitting sweater and riding breeches. Keith stood beside her, his arm in hers.

  “There are four theories to date,” I replied. “And I think we’re going to strike fire with one of them any minute now. You’d better stick around. Did you know that the will had been found, Joy, and that you’re a third owner of the show?”

  They both stared at me. “Pauline have it?” Keith asked.

  I nodded.

  Joy said, “After what has happened, I don’t think I want it.”

  “It’s yours anyway,” I said.

  Schafer approached us. “The Inspector wants to use your trailer for a few minutes, Miss Pattison. Some questioning.”

  “Why, yes,” she said. “Yes, of course.”

  “You, Atterbury, and Wiley wait for him there. Harte, too.” Schafer turned, jerked his thumb at me, and spoke to Stevens. “You go with ’em. Watch this guy. O’Halloran, Mayo must be nearly finished with his Wild West act. Wait for him and take h
im down, too.”

  As we started off, Schafer added, “Oh, yes, and Merlini wants to know if you can let him have a spool of white cotton thread, Miss Pattison.”

  “White cotton—”

  “Do you have it?” Schafer asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Robbins, you bring it back here.” He turned on his heel and walked off.

  As we moved away, Joy said, “Robbins, what does he want with white cotton thread?”

  “I don’t know, Miss. He might be figuring to catch a murderer with it.”

  We followed orders. Joy’s trailer was the last one in line near the farther end of the big top. There were some camp chairs near it. We sat down and waited. No one said very much. I lit a cigarette and mentally polished up my theory, piecing in some additional facts and checking it over for weak spots. I couldn’t find any. As far as I could see, the machinery turned over nicely on all eight cylinders.

  Brady brought Irma King along a few minutes later; and then, when the concert performers had come out of the big top and the crowd inside was leaving, O’Halloran arrived with Tex Mayo. The latter produced a bottle, sat glumly on the grass, and proceeded with simple directness to make a start toward getting tight. He didn’t offer to pass it around, which may have been just as well. The keyed up nervous tension that held us all might have been produced by alcohol. Our voices when we spoke were a little too high and bright, our words slightly stilted as if their formation was a conscious effort.