Michael Shaynes' 50th case ms-50

by Brett Halliday

  Rourke nodded slowly and closed the cardboard folder and tucked it under his arm. “I can use this in the paper.” He strode across the room to enter the bathroom and look around, then opened the door on the other side and glanced into Sissy’s room.

  When he returned, Leroy Smith said hesitantly, “If you think you’d like a picture of me, Mr. Rourke, to run in the newspaper, I could get you one without any trouble just by stopping off at home for a minute. It shows me in my uniform and all.”

  “Just exactly what I need,” Rourke told him enthusiastically. “We’ll caption it: Scientific Sleuth Goes Clueless.” He started briskly out of the room. “Now then: Tell me how to get to the Wilsson house. I understand that’s where the Blake child is staying until her father gets home from Miami this afternoon.”

  “That’s right.” Leroy Smith hurried after him. “You go down to the end of this lane and turn to the right…”

  8

  In even the most ordinary circumstances Minerva Wilsson was an exceedingly voluble woman. Most of her friends indulgently agreed that she could talk more and say less than any woman in seven counties, and one homespun philosopher had opined sagely, “You just got to take part of what Minerva says with a grain of salt. It stands to reason there just ain’t that much truth in the world.”

  That was in the most ordinary circumstances.

  Today, of course, the circumstances were most extraordinary, and by eleven o’clock in the morning Minerva had broken all her own previous records for long-distance gabbing. Since seven o’clock when the news had begun to spread, her telephone had rung incessantly, and there had been a constant stream of callers to the Wilsson bungalow. If she had told it once she had told it forty times, each time with certain added dramatic highlights and embellishments which made for better listening and drew more gushing “ohs” and “ahs” and “do tells.”

  “Right after six o’clock it was when the telephone started ringing and woke me spang up out of the soundest sleep I’d had all night. I just knew it was terrible news. Like a premonition, I guess you’d say. I’ve always been real sensitive like that, you know, ever since I was little. It was like it wasn’t the telephone at all, but the shrill screaming of a soul in deadly agony that woke me up. But I was out of bed and on my feet before I had time to think, and Harry just lying there on his back snoring peacefully through it all.

  “Well, I tell you I just flew into the other room and grabbed up the telephone and said hello, and then I heard this tiny, little voice that seemed like it came from a far distance off, almost like it wasn’t real but came from some place not on this earth.

  “And it said ‘Aunt Minerva’, and it was like it was crying but not quite crying either, but choked up and frightened and, well… tragic, that’s what it was. I can tell you it gave me a turn. I wasn’t quite all awake, I guess, and it was like it was part of a dream, but I knew I wasn’t dreaming. I remember standing there and distinctly thinking to myself, ‘I wish it was a dream, but I know it isn’t,’ and then this little voice said, ‘This is Sissy, Aunt Minerva. Mommy’s hurt bad. She’s sick, I guess. She’s lying in bed and won’t talk to me.’ That poor, dear lamb. Can you imagine?

  “And I knew right then. I tell you I felt it in my bones. Don’t ask me how. I’m just psychic, I guess. And I said, ‘You stay right there downstairs to open the front door and let me in, Sissy,’ and then I hung up the phone and scooted back to the bedroom and didn’t even take time to get dressed, but put on my slippers and a robe, and Harry sort of woke up and rolled over to look at me and he asked, half-asleep, ‘Was that the telephone?’ And I said to him, ‘That’s what it was, all right. It’s Ellie Blake. She’s dead, Harry.’ That’s exactly what I said to him, right out, without any ifs or ands or buts. Don’t ask me how I knew, but I did. And I said, ‘You get up and put on a pot of coffee. I’m going over to bring Sissy back home with me,’ because I remembered that Marvin was at that convention in Miami and wouldn’t be home until this afternoon and there was that poor child all alone, and I ran out the back door in my robe and slippers and drove as fast as I could to the Blake house, and there was dear, little Sissy, standing in the front door like I’d told her, bare-footed and in her little nightgown with her face all screwed up trying not to cry and her great, big eyes pleading with me, it looked like, to wake her mamma up and tell her it wasn’t so.

  “I just dropped down to my knees there on the doorstep and held out my arms to her, thinking to myself, but not saying it out loud, ‘You poor, motherless lamb, you,’ and she flung her arms around my neck and pressed her face up against me, but not a word out of her and not a tear in those sweet, big eyes.

  “And I carried her inside and put her down gentle-like in the living room, and I said as brisk and businesslike as could be, ‘You stay right here, honey, while Aunt Minerva goes up and sees about your mamma.’

  “And she stood there and she looked at me, sad-like and understanding ’way beyond her years, and she folded her little hands in front of her and she said, ‘Mommy’s dead, isn’t she, Aunt Minerva? God took her up to heaven in the night last night while I was asleep, didn’t He?’

  “Well, I tell you it was all I could do to keep from bursting right out and crying my own self, but I said, ‘You just let me go up and see,’ and I turned away and went up the stairs, dragging my feet and slow because something just told me what I was going to find when I got up there.

  “Poor Ellie! She has been running to fat this last year, you know that, and there she lay. Lumpy and shapeless, you might say. Right in the middle of that big bed without a stitch to cover up her nakedness, and those terrible black and blue bruises all around her throat and her tongue hanging out, all blue and swollen, and her eyes open and staring like they’d looked down into the bottomless pit of hell before Death mercifully drew the veil over whatever it was she looked at before she died.

  “And you knew right then that some vile man-creature had had his way with her before he choked the life out of her. The way she was twisted up like her limbs had been writhing and she’d fought him off as best she could.

  “Because you can say what you will about Ellie Blake, but you know mighty well she was a fine, Christian woman in every respect, and maybe she was considered sort of fast and loose when she was in high school and all, but, after she and Marv started going steady and certainly after they got married and had Sissy, there’s nobody can say she ever looked at another man.

  “You mark my words, and I guess I was closer to Ellie than any other woman friend in the whole of Sunray Beach, you’ll find out it was pure rape, that’s what it was. Some man that got the wrong sort of ideas about Ellie because she was so friendly and it wasn’t her fault if the good Lord gave her a pair of hips that twitched from behind whenever she walked down the street. It wasn’t that Ellie intended it that way. Not the way I see it. She did like to attract attention from the men, maybe, and many’s the time I’ve kidded Harry when I saw his eyes sort of bugging out when Ellie walked past, but shucks, Harry knew right well, just like every other man in town, that Ellie didn’t mean anything by it.

  “I knew right off there wasn’t anything I could do, and I never even went into the room. All I could think about was that poor motherless lamb downstairs and how I had to get her away where she wouldn’t have to see Ellie again, and about Marvin, poor soul, having himself a good time in Miami at the convention without ever dreaming what he was going to come home to.

  “So I went on into Sissy’s room and grabbed some clothes for her and then I hurried back downstairs and there she was standing right there in the doorway to the living room where I’d left her, and still not a tear on her cheeks. And she looked at me with those big eyes that seemed like she knew everything, and she said, ‘She is dead, isn’t she, Aunt Minerva?’ and I lied to her. I said, ‘Land’s sake, child, how can we tell till we get a doctor?’ and I pushed the bundle of clothes into her arms and went past her to the telephone and called Doctor Higgens and woke h
im up out of bed and told him to get over there fast, and then I called Police Chief Ollie Jenson at his home and woke him up, and I said into the telephone, real low so Sissy wouldn’t hear me, standing back in the doorway like she was, I said:

  “‘I’m at Ellie Blake’s house and she’s been murdered and raped in the night.’ That’s just what I said to him, right out. ‘Murdered and raped,’ I said. ‘And you better get over here. I called Doctor Higgens,’ I said, ‘though Lord knows there’s nothing he can do for poor Ellie now, and I’m taking the little girl home with me.’

  “And I hung up fast and turned back to Sissy and she was looking at me with the strangest look on her face and she asked, ‘What’s raped, Aunt Minerva?’ Well! You can imagine. You could have knocked me over with a feather. I never thought she could hear me. What could I say to the poor lamb? So I just pretended I didn’t know what she was talking about, and I bundled her up in my arms and carried her out to the car and brought her straight on home with me, and I put her right to bed in the spare bedroom, and that’s where she is right now. She doesn’t say a word and she hasn’t cried a single tear yet, just lies on her back staring up at the ceiling and she doesn’t want anything to eat or drink. I asked Doctor Higgens, but he said it was best just to leave her alone. Let the shock wear off, you know.

  “Well, say now, there’s a car pulling up in the driveway and I don’t know who it is. Some man getting out and coming to the door. A strange man. I’d better hang up and go see.”

  It was Timothy Rourke at the door. He was confronted by a small, birdlike woman with a sharp nose and very bright eyes and a fluttery manner. She said yes she was Mrs. Harry Wilsson, and, yes, she guessed she and Harry were about the closest friends the Blakes had in town, and oh, was he really a reporter from the Miami paper… “well come right on in and sit down and I’ll try to tell you anything I can.”

  The gangling reporter followed her into a small and painfully neat sitting room where the outer shades were drawn to give the room a funereal atmosphere, and he perched uncomfortably on the edge of a hard sofa and looked about the room unhappily for an ashtray without seeing one, and Minerva sat down opposite him and drew in a deep breath and leaned forward and began, “I guess you’ve heard that I was the first one over to the Blake house this morning and that I found the body as you might say, and…”

  “Yes, I know that, Mrs. Wilsson,” Rourke interrupted her, pretending to glance down at some scribbled notes in his hand. “And I believe you brought the little girl home with you and are keeping her here until her father returns from Miami this afternoon. How is she taking it?”

  “She just doesn’t seem to realize it at all, Mr. Rourke. You did say that was your name, didn’t you? It’s a mercy, I guess, that she doesn’t. So young and all. It was a terrible shock for her, you see. Alone there in the house and all, and waking up this morning so happy and innocent and going into her mother’s room, and what did she see…?”

  Rourke said, “Naturally it was a shock. But kids of that age are pretty resilient in my experience. They often understand a great deal more than we give them credit for. She didn’t hear anything during the night?”

  “Not a single thing, I guess. She’s always been a very sound sleeper. Ever since she was a tiny thing. Always went right to bed without any fuss, and straight off to sleep. Harry and I have been there lots of evenings for bridge, and I always said Sissy was the best thing the way she went to sleep without wanting a light left on or a drink of water or anything the way so many children do. But Ellie had trained her real good, and I always say…”

  “Could I see her for a moment, Mrs. Wilsson.” Rourke got to his feet firmly. “I won’t upset her or disturb her. I’d like to be able to describe her to my readers.”

  “Well, of course. If you’re in a terrible hurry. I thought you’d want an eye-witness account…”

  “I’d like to come back later when I have more time… and maybe get a tape recording. Right now I have to telephone in a story very shortly. If I could just see the little girl…”

  “Right back this way.” Minerva went out of the sitting room and preceded him on tiptoes down a hallway to a closed door leading into a back bedroom. She paused with her hand on the knob, turned to Rourke with a finger pressed against her lips, and then turned the knob soundlessly and pushed the door open.

  Bright sunlight streamed in through an open window and glistened on the tousled, golden hair of Sissy Blake, who sat upright and cross-legged in the center of the bed and regarded them gravely.

  Minerva said, “I see you’re wide awake, Sissy. I thought you might be asleep. I left the shade down…”

  “I let it up to let the sunshine in,” said Sissy. She had smooth, regular features and big, violet eyes. “Do I have to stay here in bed all day? Why can’t I go to school, Aunt Minerva?”

  “Not today, dear. Your daddy will be coming home this afternoon and you want to be all fresh and rested to meet him. Here’s a man that’s come all the way from Miami to see you, Sissy. He’s a nice man from the newspaper, and…”

  The telephone began shrilling in the sitting room, and Minerva straightened up and glanced down the hall hesitantly.

  Timothy Rourke took advantage of the moment to take her arm firmly and push her out the door. “You’d better answer your phone, Mrs. Wilsson. I’ll talk to Sissy just a minute.”

  “Well, if you’re sure…”

  Rourke said, “I’m sure,” and closed the door between them. He turned with his back against the door and grinned at the little girl seated in the middle of the bed and said, “Hi, Sissy.”

  She said, “Hi. What’s your name?” She regarded him with grave curiosity and with no trace of nervousness.

  He said, “Timothy,” and took two steps to the end of the bed and sat down on one corner of it.

  She said, “Did you know my mommy was dead?”

  Rourke cleared his throat and said, “I know, Sissy. I’m very sorry.”

  “I’m sorry too. And Daddy will be sorry when he comes home from Miami.”

  “I know he will. Tell me about last night, Sissy. You and your mother were alone. Did you sleep all night without waking up?”

  “After I went to sleep I did. But Mommy wasn’t alone when I went to sleep. Uncle Harry was there.”

  Rourke steeled himself against any show of surprise. “You mean Mr. Wilsson?”

  “Yes. He’s the only Uncle Harry I’ve got. First I thought I’d stay awake until Mommy came to bed and then maybe I’d slip in with her because she doesn’t mind when Daddy’s away. Then I heard them talking downstairs and I got up and looked down the stairs and saw Uncle Harry coming out of the kitchen with two glasses in his hand, and Mommy doesn’t like it when I don’t go right to sleep if there’s company and so I went back to bed and pretty soon I went to sleep. Did Mommy hurt when she died, Mr. Timothy?”

  “I don’t think so, Sissy.” Rourke’s mouth was dry and his heart was pounding. He heard Minerva coming down the hall and he got up hastily and leaned over to touch the tips of fingers to Sissy’s brow. “I have to go now. You be a good girl and rest until your daddy comes home.”

  The door opened and Rourke went past Minerva into the hall saying hastily, “Thanks a lot, Mrs. Wilsson. I’ll have to…”

  “Maybe you’d like a cup of coffee, Mr. Rourke. I’ve got a pot fresh made. And then I could tell you a couple of things I’ve thought of that might be important, me knowing Ellie so well and all. More like sisters, we were. Harry and Marvin, too, for that matter. The four of us were always just as close as could be.”

  Rourke said through his teeth, “I’m sure you were, Mrs. Wilsson. But you’ll have to excuse me for now. I’ve got to get to a telephone to meet a deadline.”

  He hurried on ahead of her and escaped through the open front door while a flow of conversation continued unabated behind him.

  My God, he thought, my God! Out of the mouths of babes. It was, he realized, the merest chance that had led
Sissy to mention the presence of Harry Wilsson at the house last evening. It meant absolutely nothing to the child. It had no importance whatsoever in her mind. It was like that classic story about the Invisible Man who committed the murder. The postman on his rounds. Although he had been seen by a dozen witnesses, not one of them knew they had seen him. He was just part of the landscape.

  Like Uncle Harry in Sissy’s mind. He was always around, wasn’t he? Often in the evenings when she was sent to bed while the foursome had drinks and played bridge in the living room.

  There was no difference in the mind of a six-year-old between his being there last night alone with her mother and the other times when the four of them were there together. He was certain she hadn’t mentioned it to Minerva this morning, and it was a lead pipe cinch that Harry hadn’t reported to his wife that he had dropped in on Ellie Blake in her husband’s absence the preceding evening to have a drink with her.

  Innocent enough, probably. But, if it were all that innocent, why hadn’t Harry spoken right up this morning as soon as he learned what happened to Ellie in the night?

  He evidently did not realize that Sissy had seen him from the top of the stairs. The way she told it so innocently, she had been tucked away in her own bed by her mother before Harry arrived, and neither one of them had been aware that she had gotten up and peeked down at them. This morning, Harry Wilsson must feel that his secret was perfectly safe, whether the visit had been entirely innocent or not. Either way he’d see no reason to come forward and offer gratuitous information and get himself involved in a murder investigation. That didn’t mean the man was guilty of anything… even of an innocent flirtation with his best friend’s well-stacked wife.

  Rourke looked at his watch as he drove away from the Wilsson house and noted that almost an hour had elapsed since he had telephoned the redheaded private detective in Miami. It was still too early to buy a drink, so Rourke drove directly to the motel where he still had a key to the room he had occupied the night before.