There was an aspect of that late afternoon's doings that I hadn't anticipated. There were literally hundreds of phone calls, both to the Beaumont and, I learned later, to police headquarters from people who claimed to have seen a man in a black mask wandering the city streets. You would have to believe that a substantial segment of our male population was wandering around the city masked.
"The passion to get into the spotlight," Chambrun said, when I expressed my astonishment. "And this is a beaut! You don't have to give an exact description, just the black mask. It will waste hours and hours of skilled police time, because the police will have to follow up on these calls until they recognize that seeing men in black masks is an epidemic disease."
We did, along about suppertime, get a totally unexpected offer of help. A phone call came to me in my office.
"You don't know me, Mr. Haskell," a pleasant woman's voice said. "My name is Millicent Huber. I am an old friend of Toby March's. I'm here in the hotel with another friend of Toby's. We thought we might be helpful. Could we come and talk with you?"
"Of course," I said. "Ask any hotel employee, and they will show you where my office is."
"On our way," the lady said.
I don't know what I expected, but Miss Millicent Huber and the gentleman with her were, for some reason, not it. Miss Huber was a handsome middle-aged woman, and by middle-aged I mean early forties. Her companion was a man older than she, with short-cut white hair and a military bearing. He was introduced as Colonel Archibald Watson.
"Arch and I probably know Toby March better than anyone else," Miss Huber said.
Watson's handshake was firm. "I can't say that meeting you is a pleasure, Mr. Haskell," Watson said, "not under the circumstances." He sounded very British.
"Arch is a kind of policeman," Millicent Huber said.
"Her Majesty's military intelligence," Watson said.
"Her Majesty?"
"The Queen of England, of course," Watson said.
"We both met Toby in England not long after his terrible accident," Miss Huber said. "He went to a London hospital for plastic surgery by a famous British surgeon. I was a nurse in the hospital and Arch was an orderly."
"You two didn't get here from London because of what's been on radio," I said. "There hasn't been time."
"We were here last night for Toby's opening in the Blue Lagoon," Millicent Huber said.
"You came here from London for that?"
"Toby thought it was the high point in his career so far. He wanted us to share it with him," Millicent Huber said.
"Have you seen him since last night's show?"
"We saw him after the show —in the Blue Lagoon, along with an army of fans. There was no way to be private with him, so we made a date to have dinner with him tonight."
"How bad is the situation they describe on the radio?" Watson asked me.
I described the wrecked living room, the bloody bedroom.
"I don't like the sound of it," Watson said.
"Do you know anyone who might have had it in for Toby March?" I asked him.
"There is no one!" Millicent Huber said. "Arch and I are probably his only close friends."
"There's Pasqua, his manager," Watson said. "Have you talked to him?"
I explained that Pasqua hadn't showed up yet. "The other musicians say that Pasqua turns to women on Saturday and Sunday nights. None of them know who it might have been last night. Unless he's heard the radio or seen the TV news, we may not hear from him until tomorrow morning. You say you were in on March's act early on?"
"From the very start," Millicent Huber said.
"You know what's behind that black mask of his?"
Watson nodded. "You'd never forget it if you saw it."
"But to get back to the start of Toby's act," Millicent said.
"The only thing that mattered to Toby after his disaster was his music," Watson said. "The hospital people moved a small spinet piano into the recreation room. Toby played a lot. He was awfully good with popular music. Nothing classical. Toby would stay in, plugging away at his music. One afternoon, when I came on duty, he seemed excited. 'Close your eyes and tell me who you hear,' he said to me. I closed my eyes and he began to play and sing—a tune 111 never forget: 'You Must Have Been a Beautiful Baby.' He stopped. 'Who were you listening to?' he asked me. Without any hesitation, I told him. 'Perry Como.' He let out a little screech of delight. That was the beginning. He had worked out a reason for hiding his mutilated face and still be able to perform in public. It was a stroke of genius. When he was released from a convalescent hospital, his face still scarred, he began playing in English music halls with his new act and became a sensational success. He perfected imitations of dozens of famous popular stars."
" 'Re-creations,' he called them, not imitations," Millicent Huber said.
"We think he came up here after the show was over in the Blue Lagoon," Lieutenant Herzog said. "Let himself in and found someone ransacking the joint."
"You're talking about Toby?" Watson asked.
"Who else?"
"Miss Huber and I were the last people to spend time with him downstairs before he decided to turn in," Watson said. "That was at about three-thirty."
"So you and Miss Huber were close to him?"
"Have been for years," Watson said.
The lady looked embarrassed. "I have been the—the woman in Toby's life for a long time," she said.
"Then you would know who his enemies are," Herzog said.
"I —I don't know of any," Millicent said.
"Why do you think it was any more than a common thief?" Watson asked. "A wealthy and famous performer is an obvious target for a hotel thief. Toby caught him red-handed, fought with him."
"And then?" Chambrun asked, speaking for the first time.
"If Toby won, that's the thief s blood in the next room," Watson said. "If the thief won, it's probably Toby's."
"So whoever won takes off," Chambrun said. "And takes the wounded man with him. Why? March would have called for help from us. Your thief would have just taken off. It's more complicated, Colonel, than just a thief caught going through the bureau drawers or the desk. Can you suggest why they're both gone?"
"Assuming that one of them was Toby, it does get complicated," Watson said. "Maybe Toby never came here. Maybe what happened here had nothing to do with him."
"So where did he go after he left the Blue Lagoon when he was headed for bed?" Chambrun asked.
"This is where he was staying," Millicent said. "Where else would he go? He didn't have any other living quarters here in New York. He's a legal resident of England."
"Was there anything he said to you at any time that suggested he expected any kind of trouble?"
"No," Millicent said.
"Who anticipates finding a thief in his rooms?" Watson asked.
"I still ask," Chambrun said, "why a thief would take a wounded Toby March out of here after the fight? And why would March take a strange thief somewhere?"
"The thief escaped after the fight and Toby chased after him," Watson said.
"You should take a look at the blood in the next room, Colonel," Chambrun said. "Whoever'chased someone out of here,' as you suggest, there would have to be a trail. There isn't a sign of blood anywhere but in the bedroom."
No one had an answer.
"What kind of valuables would Toby have with him on a concert tour, Miss Huber?" Herzog asked.
"He had expensive studs and cuff links for his evening clothes," the woman said. "He always carried a lot of ready cash. Three or four hundred pounds in London, I suppose a thousand dollars here in America."
"He'd have been wearing the studs and cufflinks, carrying all that cash. If those were what the thief was after, he'd have to come face-to-face with March. His best chance would be to wait for him here in his rooms."
"How did he get in?" Chambrun asked. "The door wasn't forced."
"Passkey?" Herzog suggested. "That's how the maid got in here an
d discovered this mess."
"Mrs. Kniffin?" Chambrun turned to the gray-haired housekeeper, who was standing in the corner of the room with Irma, the maid.
"I don't always have the passkey in my possession," Mrs. Kniffin said. "But I know who has it and for what purpose. No one would have it after midnight—in the early hours of the morning."
"Suppose a guest loses his key, how does he get in?" Herzog asked.
"There's a spare key locker at the front desk," Chambrun said.
"So that's where the thief got what he wanted," Herzog said.
"No way," Chambrun said. "The clerk wouldn't turn over the spare to just anyone. The thief couldn't steal it. The clerk wouldn't let him, and there are security people right there in the lobby."
"So March left the door unlocked when he went down to work in the Blue Lagoon."
"It's a Yale-type lock," Chambrun said. "All he'd have to do is close the door, and it's locked. The spare key, passkey theory doesn't work," Chambrun said.
"So come up with an answer," Herzog said.
"I don't have an answer," Chambrun said. "Unless the second person was a friend of March's, let in by March or given March's key by March."
"Are you suggesting March set himself up?" Herzog asked.
"Friend turned out not to be a friend," Chambrun said.
"Can you guess, Miss Huber, to whom March might have given his key?" Herzog asked.
"Me," Millicent said, "but he didn't."
"You, Colonel Watson?"
"But he didn't," Watson said.
"You're missing the one person who might have all the answers for you," Millicent Huber said. "Frank Pasqua, Toby's business manager. He's closer to Toby than a Siamese twin. Frankie isn't just a business manager, he is Toby's only close and trusted friend."
"According to one of the musicians I talked with," I said, "Pasqua's habit would be to be womanizing somewhere after the Saturday-night performance."
Millicent Huber smiled. "That's a pretty good guess, I'd say. And his date wouldn't be till late, after Toby's performance was over."
"March did his last number at about one-thirty this morning. Pasqua was there, standing at the bar. I saw him."
"No way he would be unavailable if Toby wanted him," Millicent said.
"Mark, circulate among the musicians," Chambrun said to me. "See if one of them can't give you a name of Pasqua's current girlfriend. Something a little more specific than what Ben Lewis gave you—'Maggie, the red-haired one with the beautiful boobs!' We need an address, a phone number."
It turned out to be easier than I'd expected. In the hall outside, reporters and March's musicians were gathered, along with a few curious sensation-seekers, and a couple of Jerry
Dodd's men, who were trying to keep things from getting out of hand.
Standing next to Ben Lewis was a girl with bright-red hair and bosoms about as sensational as I can ever remember seeing. Lewis introduced me to Maggie Hanson.
"She's here looking for Frankie," Ben said. "He's not in there?"
"No, and I'm supposed to be looking for the girl he might be dating. Not you, Miss Hanson?"
"I was supposed to be," the girl said. She had a husky, sexy voice. Pasqua certainly knew how to pick them. "Frankie was supposed to come to my place after the show was over. He never came."
"No phone call?"
"No. And that isn't like him. I gave up on him about daylight, a little angry that I'd been left out to dry. Then, this afternoon I heard on the radio about what had been found here."
"Cop inside would like to talk to you," I said.
"I can't tell him any more than I've told you," Maggie said. "But what can I lose?"
The security men let us back into March's suite. Ben Lewis came along with us. I saw the look of shock on the girl's face as she looked around the shattered room and heard her murmur, "Oh, wow!" I brought Herzog and Chambrun up to date.
"Broken dates not a habit of Pasqua's?" Herzog asked.
"No."
"You're his girlfriend?"
"Not in the way I think you mean it," Maggie said. "I'd have to say I was one of his girlfriends."
"So he could have ditched you to go out with someone else?"
"He could have," Maggie said. "But not without letting me know."
"Not a very satisfactory relationship," Herzog said.
"I guess you'd have to say it depends on what you wanted from a relationship," Maggie said. "If Frankie was an everyday thing in my life, I'd have to say it isn't very satisfactory."
"He's just a once-in-a-while guy in your life?"
"You could say that. The trouble is he's rarely here since he hooked up with Toby March. March is all over the world with his act, mostly in Europe. This date at the Beaumont is one of the rare times they've been in New York."
"But when they came here, you and Pasqua got together?"
"Yes." Maggie's smile was provocative. "When we get together, we have something very special going for us."
"But when he's somewhere else he's with some other woman. Right?"
"I can't expect him to be a monk, can I?"
"And are you a nun when he isn't here?" Herzog asked.
The girl gave him a cool smile. "What have these questions got to do with what's happened here?" she asked.
"We're trying to find out where to look for Pasqua. Wherever he is, he obviously hasn't heard the radio or seen the TV."
"If Frankie is with another girl," Maggie said, "you can be sure he isn't listening to the radio."
"He was here until March's show ended at one-thirty in the morning," Chambrun said, taking over. "Then he was scheduled to go to you. He didn't, and he didn't let you know. You've explained that to yourself, Miss Hanson?"
"Yes, and another girl wasn't my explanation. Maybe that's vanity. But he's been so enthusiastic about our having time together, when he didn't come I knew it had to be March."
"How do you mean?"
"Toby March is Frankie's life, professionally and personally. If Toby had some kind of problem, Frankie would back him up, no matter who else got shut out. They aren't like a team — more like one person. Frankie loves the guy. When I heard on the radio what had been found here, I knew Frankie was in some kind of trouble."
"Did Pasqua ever tell you about any enemies March had?" Chambrun asked.
"He never told me anything about Toby's personal life," Maggie said. "He was like a priest or a doctor when it came to Toby's world. What he knew was confidential and secret."
"Do you know anyone with whom Pasqua might have shared those secrets?" Chambrun asked.
"No one, not some casual girlfriend, that's for sure," Maggie said. "Frankie and I were close but nothing unusual about Toby March ever came my way."
"Thanks for helping," Chambrun said.
"I wasn't much help, I'm afraid," Maggie said. "If you find Frankie, please let me know. I'm in the phone book."
"We're all pretty damn worried," Ben Lewis, the musician, said.
"You think of Toby March as being addicted to physical violence?" Chambrun asked.
"Last thing in the world," Lewis said. "I've never heard him raise his voice to anyone."
"You're forgetting one thing that will set Toby off like a rocket," Millicent Huber said.
"And that is?" Chambrun asked.
"A mask snatcher," Millicent said. "There's always some crazy fan around who wants to snatch off Toby's mask to see what it hides. That enrages Toby."
"You're suggesting some mask snatcher was waiting here for March?" Chambrun asked.
"I've been thinking along that line," Millicent said. "A photographer. Steps out of the next room and snaps a picture of Toby as he takes off the mask. Toby grabs the fireplace poker and tries to smash the camera. In the end he makes it, and wounds the photographer in the process. There's no picture left but there is a hurt man. Toby might take him somewhere for help. The photographer would go willingly."
"That's a very interesting guess, Miss Hub
er," Jerry Dodd said. "But that's all it is. A guess! We've been over this place from top to bottom and there isn't a sign anywhere of a smashed camera. And if Toby March wanted to get help for a man he'd injured, why did he sneak away? Why not call the hotel doctor, the hotel's hospital facilities, our emergency equipment?"
"He didn't know what was available," Millicent said.
"He's a world traveler," Jerry said. "He knows what a hotel like the Beaumont has available. Does he have a doctor of his own here in the city?"
"I think not."
"You are close enough to him to know—from what you've told us."
"He has a doctor in London. I don't think he's spent enough time in New York to have anything regular here."
"So what we need is evidence," Jerry said. "Evidence that will back up elaborate guesses. Let's hope that Pasqua can come up with something when he shows."
"He's the closest person to Toby in this world," Ben Lewis said.
"I think that's true — except for me," Millicent Huber said.
2
Crime is not unheard-of in the Beaumont. As Chambrun has often said, the hotel is a "city within a city." It differs from any other small city you may know in one respect. The people who use it are transients; they are, by and large, strangers to each other. They have just one thing in common. They are rich. You don't stay at the Beaumont and enjoy its luxuries on the loose change in your pocket. Thus, the hotel guests are targets for criminal greed. Chambrun and Jerry Dodd and the entire staff are dedicated to making sure that our guests are not victimized by those criminals. But a bludgeoning with an iron poker is not the kind of thing they are on guard against.
A feeling of community does exist among the hundreds of people on the hotel staff. From the lowest shoeshine boy in the barbershop to the heads of special departments and facilities, everyone is held together by two things: loyalty to Chambrun, and pride in the efficient functioning of one of the greatest hotels anywhere.
"When one of my people lets me down," Chambrun says, "it will be time for me to quit. It would mean I'd been guilty of bad judgment when I hired that person."
In all the time I've worked for Chambrun, I've never known any one of his people to let him down. It didn't occur to me that Sunday evening that anything like this could have happened in Toby March's suite on the seventeenth floor.
Murder Goes Round and Round: A Pierre Chambrun Mystery Hardcover Page 2