‘Seven.’
‘Why couldn’t one of the others come just as well?’
‘That’s what I said to Wyman.’ T. A. Wyman was the managing editor who had given Murdock the assignment that noon. ‘He said I’d do a better job, a statement which I doubted then and still doubt. He said the stock shots they’d get from the photo services wouldn’t be enough; he wanted some human interest stuff they could build into a feature piece.’
Murdock gestured idly. ‘Last week I had lunch with Wyman and your uncle Walter. We talked about you. This morning I asked Wyman if the assignment had anything to do with getting me down here so I could see how you were. He said no—and you can argue only so far with Wyman. He’s an old friend of your father and he’s been worried about you. He likes you and——’
‘I know’, she said, ‘Mr. Wyman got me my job on the paper.’
‘The importance of the assignment may have been slightly exaggerated but I do know Wyman thinks it’s time you patched things up with your uncle, and he wanted me to find out how it was with you and your husband. He’s been getting reports lately—your Uncle Walter, I mean. He knows he made a mistake and he’s ready to relent.’ He fashioned a grin and kept his tone unchanged. ‘I come bearing an olive branch.’
‘I see.’ She put her cup down and a new firmness came about her mouth. ‘Come back home, all is forgiven. Is that it?’ She shook her head and her tone was flat. ‘Well, I’m doing all right.’
‘That’s not the way I hear it. The way I get it Lee’s been chasing another girl, and lately you’ve been seeing another man—rather regularly, they say. Name’s Leonard—isn’t it?’
She nodded, her glance remote. ‘Murray Leonard. He works upstairs.’
‘Do you like him?’
‘Very much.’
‘Then why don’t you divorce Lee? You could, couldn’t you?’
‘I think so. Perhaps I will—now.’ She sipped coffee and now her eyes went beyond him, mirroring the past. ‘Do you remember how everyone tried to tell me about Lee? They said he was handsome and agreed that he had a lot of charm. They also went out of their way to point out that he was not a solid citizen or a particularly desirable one, suggesting that he did not have either the courage, the moral scruples, or the integrity for a nice girl like me whose experience was largely limited to college boys my own age. You talked to me, too, didn’t you?’ She sighed, her tone sardonic. ‘But right then all I could see was that surface charm.’
She said other things along the same line and now Murdock’s mind went back until he saw in fancy the girl he had known as Helen Dorrance. In those months she had worked for the Courier-Herald she had brought with her something not often seen in a newspaper office, for she was the sort who, by virtue of background and training, seldom worked in business offices.
It was not alone her fresh attractiveness and pleasant ways that made others notice her, rather it was the way she carried herself, the set of her neck and shoulders, the unconsciously graceful way she moved. Her early training at home. and the additional shaping of manners and the proprieties by the right schools, had resulted in a certain air of distinction often imitated but seldom achieved by those denied her advantages. Yet for all of this there was a trustful attitude towards life and a certain innocence that was both positive and assured. Her approach to her problem was honest and direct, and because there had never been a need for such things as guile and cunning, she was not equipped to recognize such traits in others.
All this made it easier for Lee Farnsley and Murdock knew she was right when she said her experience had been limited to college boys her own age. In Farnsley she had a schemer who recognized quality when he saw it and knew which side his bread was buttered on. Sufficiently older to impress her with a superficial knowledge of the ways of the world, he wove a spell of enchantment that she found wholly fascinating.
Murdock realized that she was still talking and focused his thoughts on her words. Still holding the cup she said: ‘Uncle Walter hit the roof when I told him the news. It was melodramatic; it was revolting, even to me who knew so very little at the time. One of those, “Never-darken-my-door-again” scenes. And “Marry him and you’ll never get a penny of your money until you’re twenty-five.”’ She shrugged and her eyes came back to him.
‘Well, you were right, all of you. I knew it within three months. If there had been the slightest sympathy or understanding in my uncle’s attitude I probably would have come back like a good girl, ready to admit my mistakes and ask for forgiveness. In time there would have been a divorce and I would have been ready to start picking up the pieces. As it was—well, call it pride or stubbornness or whatever you want; I simply could not admit my mistake publicly. Or maybe it was just because everyone else was so right and I was so utterly wrong.’
Murdock understood all of this. Knowing Walter Dorrance it was not hard to explain his actions. A highly successful trial lawyer until recently when he went into semi-retirement, in preparation for a judgeship soon to be awarded him, he was a hard-shelled, aggressive man, both stubborn and relentless with those who opposed him. Never tactful or diplomatic—except when courtroom strategy demanded it and in such cases it was but part of an act—he had most of the attributes that make for worldly success; unfortunately he was not gifted with much compassion, or sympathy, or even—where women were concerned—understanding, which perhaps explained why he had never married. Now, inspecting the sweetly moulded lines of Helen Farnsley’s mouth and chin, he saw the strength beneath them and knew that she had inherited enough of her uncle’s characteristics to explain the things she had done.
‘I’m sorry’, he said, aware that she had spoken.
‘I said I still don’t quite see why you were chosen as emissary.’
‘Your uncle’s been doing a lot of thinking’, Murdock said. ‘You wouldn’t answer his letters or wires——’
‘Why should I?’
‘Stop interrupting me.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Murdock grinned to show the rebuke in its proper light. ‘He knew it was no good coming down himself unless you were going to be receptive.’
‘That I understand’, she said. ‘What I didn’t know was that you were such a good friend of Walter’s.’
‘I’m not.… Look’, Murdock said patiently, ‘your Uncle Walter and Wyman went to school together. They were classmates at college, belong to the same clubs, play bridge once a week. They’re still close friends. The way it looks to me, Dorrance knew he’d get nowhere alone so he turned to Wyman for help, knowing Wyman always thought you were pretty swell. They also had sense enough to know that no one could be expected to stick his nose into a domestic problem unless he happened to be very fond of the woman.’
He paused and said: ‘That’s how they happened to think of a guy named Murdock. These two schemers recalled that Murdock had a small crush on you once. They figured—and they were right—that Murdock would do what he could to help, not because he gave a damn about your uncle but because he always wanted the best for you. I guess they must have got the idea that you used to like me. Enough at least to listen to my pitch and maybe tell me your troubles.’ A gleam of amusement touched his glance, brightening quickly. ‘You must have quoted me from time to time.’
‘I did. I thought you were wonderful.’
She tipped her head, speculating, remembering how in the beginning she had been impressed by Murdock’s reputation and his dark good looks. She liked his wellkept hands, his slow smile, the quality of understanding he showed as a listener that seemed always to make their talks personal and confidential. There had, she knew, been a brief period when she thought she was in love with Murdock, though this was something she had never before admitted, even to herself.
She smiled right at him as these thoughts came to her and she said, simply and with complete sincerity: ‘I still do.’
Murdock tipped one hand, unembarrassed by the tribute because he was wrapped up in his argument
and did not suspect the complete honesty of the compliment.
‘Well—that’s it’, he said. ‘For six months he’d had a private detective checking on you and Lee. Oh, not constantly, but from time to time. He thinks he knows what the score is and he’s ready to come down and admit he’s wrong—if he thinks it will do any good.’
He leaned across the table and said: ‘Let’s be fair about it. He brought you up from the time you were thirteen, when your father died. He gave you the best of everything: the best schools, the best——’
‘On my father’s money.’
‘All right. Say he was too strict; lots of parents who love their children are. Say he didn’t understand women. The point is your father left about a half-million dollars, with your uncle in control until you were twenty-five. That was in 1939 and the estate is worth around seven hundred thousand now, not because he was so smart but because things have gone up since then. In less than a year you get it all—he certainly doesn’t need it—and what’s bothering him is that he’s afraid you’ll stick with Lee and then when you get the money Lee’ll grab what he can.’
‘I guess he would’, she said, her voice small.
‘You know how your uncle feels about Lee. He just can’t stand thinking of Lee getting away with anything like that, and I can’t say I blame him.’
He took a breath and said: ‘Look. All your uncle wants is for you to get rid of Lee and get yourself some nice guy so you can have a home and a family and some happiness. If this Leonard is the man, fine.’ He paused and then, realizing now how persistently he had been pursuing his argument, he grinned. ‘You’d think I was working for a fee, wouldn’t you?’
She was looking right at him now, a misty softness in her eyes as she reached out and covered his hand with her own. For a second or two the pressure of her fingers was warm and firm and then, releasing him, she smiled and shook her head, blinking at the first traces of unwanted tears.
‘No’, she said, ‘and I want you to know how very much I appreciate what you’ve done by coming down here.’
Murdock was momentarily disconcerted by the quiet sincerity of her words. He started to tell her that it was her decision and that she must be influenced not by what he said but by her own best judgment.
‘I know’, she said, interrupting, ‘and quite aside from anything you’ve told me I had about decided the same thing. If you want to know the truth, that pride of mine is wearing a bit thin. We’re a little busy now at the office but I thought that in another month or so I’d go to Reno.’
‘Good girl. Have you told Lee?’
‘No, but I will. I’ll phone him this evening.’
Murdock nodded; then thought of something else. ‘Who’s the woman in the case?’
‘I’m not sure who it is now. I understand he broke off with the one he had. She’s a cute little thing. Plays the piano at a place called the Club Ebony.’
Murdock, in the act of picking up the check, stopped to stare. ‘A blonde? Blue-eyed? A little on the brash and buxom side?’ He watched her bob her head and, remembering the incident in his hotel room, considered the wonders of coincidence.
‘Where can I find Lee?’ he asked. ‘He’s not with the Ledger, is he?’
‘Not for a year. He does publicity.’
She mentioned two or three places where her husband might be found and Murdock made a note of the addresses. After that they walked back to the office, and in the lobby Murdock said he thought he’d go up and see Murray Leonard, noticing as he spoke that her manner changed abruptly.
‘Why?’ she asked with some suspicion.
He pretended it was the most natural thing in the world. ‘I want to meet him.’
‘I want you to meet him. But—I mean, why not have dinner and I’ll introduce you?’
Recalling his appointment with Simon Rigby, Murdock said he had a date. ‘Relax, will you?’ he said. ‘I’m not going to foul up anything. I just want to breeze in and meet the guy as one newspaperman to another. Then to-morrow we can get together and have a drink or something.’ He gave her elbow a jog. ‘Will you quit worrying? This is old Murdock, remember?’
Kent Murdock knew a staff man named Eddie Sampson, who had once worked with him, and Eddie, a rim-man on the copy desk now, greeted him with boisterous affection. They talked of this and that until Eddie was brought up to date on the current situation on the Boston press; then Murdock said he understood there was a man on the staff named Murray Leonard. He said he’d like to meet him.
‘Sure’, Eddie said. ‘He used to be out here on rewrite and now his column is picked up by three other papers in the state. Got a cubby of his own now. Come on.’
Murray Leonard was tipped far back in his desk chair, his head cradled in clasped hands and his feet on the desk. He untangled himself somehow—there was quite a lot of him—and stood up as Eddie made the introductions, after which he removed a pile of typescript from the one extra chair and motioned his guest towards it.
Murdock spoke of Leonard’s column after Eddie withdrew, keeping the conversation going while he studied the man, not knowing quite why he had come but persisting in the thought that only in this fashion could he reach an opinion on the other without being influenced by Helen’s Farnsley’s presence.
Without bothering to wonder whether he liked the man or not, he found him to be on the large side: tall, not fat, but big-boned and strong-looking. He had strong wrists and faintly freckled big hands, sandy hair thinning some, a quiet, soft-spoken manner. Rather impassive in countenance, and with his eyes obscured somewhat by the dark-rimmed glasses, he had the air of one who was an easy-going sort, but somehow Murdock also got the impression that he might possibly be a rather tough and violent man when aroused.
Certainly he was quite the opposite—in appearance at least—of Lee Farnsley. One would hardly call him handsome, nor was he any fashion-plate. His suit was a conservative brown and somewhat baggy at the elbows and knees, his tie nondescript, his shoes wellmade but carelessly polished. For all this, however, there was about him an air of solidity and dependability, and though he made no obvious effort to impress, what he said made sense.
‘You’re a friend of Helen Farnsley’s, aren’t you?’ he asked.
Murdock nodded. And because this was the man Helen Farnsley might some day marry, he spoke frankly of his recent talk with her, though he could tell Leonard was not in agreement with all that was said.
‘I don’t know Walter Dorrance’, the big man said grimly, ‘except by reputation. From the things Helen has told me I don’t think I’m going to like him when I meet him. From what I get he’s one of those guys that can’t stand being crossed. He thought by keeping Helen poor that she’d come whining back to him. Well, she stuck it out. She’s been separated from her husband for a year, and she had enough pride and what it takes to work on here and pay her own way. In another six months or so she’ll get her father’s money in spite of anything Dorrance can do.’
He shifted in his chair and said: ‘I could be wrong, but I don’t think he wants this reconciliation with Helen because he’s softened up any; I think he’s got his eye on one thing; that appointment to the State Supreme Court. I think he wants Helen back with him because then his skirts will be clean and nobody can point a finger at him for refusing to give her even a two-bit allowance out of her own money all this time.’
Murdock did not argue the point because he saw such a discussion would be useless in view of the man’s dogmatic viewpoint. Leonard resented Walter Dorrance without ever having met him, and it was unlikely that he would forget his resentment in a hurry, all of which corroborated Murdock’s earlier impression—that Leonard could be a tough man if he put his mind to it.
Now, in an effort to change the subject, he stood up and said he had a small assignment to take care of. ‘Have you heard anything about Tom Larson coming here as football coach?’
‘Sure’, said Leonard. ‘He signed this morning. We broke the story in the early editions.
It’s on the wire now.’
For a moment Murdock stood there, a resentment of his own kindling rapidly inside him. Understanding now that the assignment Wyman had given him so seriously that noon was but an excuse to get him to Uniontown so that he could use his influence with Helen Farnsley, he buttoned his coat and tried to keep his voice casual.
‘Looks like Murdock got scooped on this one’, he said, and to himself he added: Damn that Wyman!…
Chapter Three
THE addresses Helen Farnsley had mentioned as being places where her husband might be found turned out to be a nightclub not yet open, a gymnasium where no one had seen him that day, and the Arena, the office of which announced that Lee Farnsley had been in earlier but had long since departed. Leaving word where he could be found in case Farnsley should drop in later, Murdock went back to the hotel, still nursing the fine edge of his rancour, wanting only to call the Courier-Herald but knowing he must first check Leonard’s information about the coaching job.
He got through to Tom Larson after some delay and asked for confirmation of the new contract. Larson had known Murdock for years and he laughed as he said he was indeed the University’s new coach as from that morning.
‘Sure, you can take some pictures’, he said, ‘but you’re a little late, aren’t you?’
Murdock admitted he was late, but said he still wanted pictures. He said his boss wanted pictures and he was going to get pictures, and since the story no longer had any news value would Larson be around to-morrow.
‘Any time you say’, Larson promised.
Murdock thanked him and hung up. He fretted impatiently while his Boston call was in the making, and when T. A. Wyman’s voice finally came to him he accused his employer of trickery, duplicity, and gross moral dishonesty.
‘You knew Larson had already signed when you soft-talked me into coming down here’, he shouted. ‘Why didn’t you come out and say you were sending me to Uniontown to see how things were with Helen Farnsley and act as front man for Walter Dorrance?’
Eye Witness Page 2