Murder, She Reported

by Peg Cochran

  Finally, a cab came along with its light on. To Elizabeth, it felt like the beacon atop a lighthouse guiding a ship safely to shore. She waved frantically and the taxi screeched to a stop a couple of yards beyond where she was standing.

  She ran toward it, terrified that someone else would snag it before she got there. She breathed a huge sigh of relief when she was finally ensconced in the backseat on her way to Gloria’s townhouse on Sixty-fourth Street.

  Elizabeth wasn’t looking forward to confronting Gloria. What if she was wrong and it was some random stranger who had shot Frances? It didn’t do to get on the wrong side of Gloria. She had already demonstrated the deadly blow she could deliver to Elizabeth’s social life if she chose.

  Before Elizabeth could reconsider, the taxi was pulling up to the curb outside the DeWitts’ townhouse. There was a light over the front door and in one window—the rest of the house was dark. Perhaps Gloria wasn’t at home.

  Elizabeth rang the bell with a feeling of trepidation. A minute passed and then another. Nerves beset Elizabeth suddenly. Was she being foolish in confronting Gloria alone? If Gloria had indeed shot Frances, would she hesitate to shoot Elizabeth, too, if that meant getting away with murder?

  Elizabeth had turned away from the door when it was flung open. She spun around to see Gloria leaning against the doorjamb. Despite the time of day, she was dressed in a white satin negligee and robe. Elizabeth knew instinctively that Gloria hadn’t gotten ready for bed early but had never bothered to get dressed that morning. Her peignoir set was wrinkled and soiled around the hem as if she had been trailing around in it all day.

  “Elizabeth,” Gloria said, slurring the word slightly.

  She gestured for Elizabeth to enter. She had a partially filled martini glass in her hand and the liquid sloshed over the edge onto the richly colored Oriental carpet in the foyer.

  “Let’s go into the sitting room,” Gloria said and turned her back to Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth followed her up the stairs to the second floor where the sitting room was located at the front of the house. Large, arched windows looked out over Sixty-fourth Street and the glow from the streetlight directly outside created a pool of light on the polished wood floor.

  Gloria stumbled—perhaps she tripped over the hem of her robe—and banged into a small Empire desk. An ornate letter opener tumbled to the floor. Gloria stood looking at it, swaying slightly.

  Elizabeth bent, picked it up and put it back on the desk next to a stack of unopened mail.

  Gloria collapsed onto the sofa. A silver cocktail shaker and a bottle of Gordon’s gin and Martini & Rossi vermouth were on the coffee table in front of her.

  “If you’ll fetch a glass from the cabinet over there, I’ll mix you a drink.”

  “No, thank you,” Elizabeth said.

  “Then I’ll mix myself another.” Gloria drained her glass and unscrewed the top to the gin bottle.

  “Haven’t you had enough?” Elizabeth said.

  Heavens, Elizabeth thought, she sounded like Nanny used to when she scolded Elizabeth, Rose and James for eating too many sweets.

  Gloria didn’t listen. She splashed a measure of gin into her glass, added a few drops of vermouth and mixed the concoction with her index finger. She took a drink.

  It was obvious she’d gone to bed the night before without removing her makeup—her mascara was smeared under her eyes making it look as if they were bruised. Her glorious mane of dark hair was disheveled, too, and needed a good brushing.

  Something was obviously wrong. Was it guilt that was eating away at her?

  Elizabeth perched on the edge of her chair. Her gloves were in her lap, and she methodically smoothed out the velvety soft leather as she tried to think of how to approach Gloria with what she’d learned at the racetrack.

  “Congratulations. Margarita won her race today. I understand it was her maiden race.”

  Gloria’s head, which had very nearly been lolling on her chest, snapped up.

  “How do you know that? I wouldn’t take you for the horse racing type.”

  “I was covering the race today for the Daily Trumpet.”

  Which wasn’t strictly true, Elizabeth thought. But no need to tell Gloria that.

  “I took some pictures of Margarita after her race. Oh, and Teddy O’Doyle as well.”

  “Teddy? What did he have to say for himself?”

  “Something quite interesting, as a matter of fact. He said he left your debutante ball early—before Frances was murdered.

  “He’s lying.” Gloria’s retort came so fast it was like a shot.

  “Which means he can’t have been the one who murdered Frances.” Elizabeth stopped stroking her gloves. Her hands lay still in her lap. “I think you were giving yourself an alibi, Gloria, by saying that Teddy had been with you the whole evening.”

  Gloria’s eyes filled with tears. “That’s not true. It had to have been Teddy. Who else could have dropped that receipt in the ladies’ room? My guests were certainly not in the habit of renting dinner clothes, I can assure you.”

  “I think you rented the dinner clothes for Teddy yourself. And you planted that receipt knowing it would point a finger at him.”

  “I didn’t, Elizabeth, you have to believe me.” Gloria took a gulp of her drink and some of it dribbled down her chin. “You’re not going to print this in that vile newspaper of yours, are you?” she said suddenly.

  “And I think you killed Dupont because he was threatening to reveal secrets about your father that would have ruined him socially.”

  Gloria buried her face in her hands and began to sob. “No, no, no!”

  “Maybe Dupont had had an affair with your father before he took up with Frances. And maybe Frances knew as well. What better way to put pressure on your father to change his will than to threaten to reveal his sordid other life.”

  “No, no, no!“Gloria shrieked again. She reached across the coffee table to grab Elizabeth’s hands. “You must believe me. I didn’t kill Frances. I don’t even know how to shoot a gun.”

  If Gloria was lying, it was very convincing, Elizabeth thought. But what if Gloria hadn’t killed Frances? Could the pieces of the puzzle be put together in a different way?

  Was it possible that Gloria wasn’t protecting herself by claiming to have an alibi but was protecting someone else?

  “It was your father wasn’t it?” Elizabeth said suddenly.

  Gloria looked stricken. She grabbed her glass and gulped down the rest of the martini as if it was poison and she wanted to die.

  “I can’t lose my father. I just can’t. It’s bad enough that my mother’s gone.”

  “Did you see—”

  “I saw Father go into the ladies’ room after Frances. I heard raised voices. They were arguing. Then I heard a shot. Father had taken to carrying a gun ever since he was nearly robbed walking home from his club one night.” Gloria covered her face with her hands. “I didn’t know what to do. I hid behind one of those dreadful potted ferns and waited until he came out.”

  She poured gin into her glass with a shaking hand.

  “I didn’t go in immediately. I wanted to give Father a chance to get away. When I saw him go back into the ballroom I assumed it was safe.” She stopped and took a drink. The glass clattered against the table as she put it down. “I had to be sure Frances was dead. I thought maybe…that’s how I got the blood on my gown and hands.”

  “And Teddy O’Doyle?”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt Teddy. But I needed to lead the police away from Father. I had that receipt in my handbag and I thought if I left it at the scene….” She shrugged.

  “Then why did you tell me you were with Teddy the entire evening?”

  “I guess you could say I got cold feet. I didn’t want anything to happen to Teddy. Not really. I only d
id it to cause confusion.”

  Gloria began to cry, silently. “I feel terrible. I haven’t been able to eat or sleep.”

  Either Gloria was an amazing actress, Elizabeth thought, or she was telling the truth. It was impossible to tell.

  Gloria grabbed Elizabeth’s arm. “You won’t tell anyone, will you? Please tell me you won’t.”

  “Of course she won’t be telling anyone.” The voice came from the door to the sitting room.

  Elizabeth spun around. Edward DeWitt was standing in the doorway, and he had a small but very lethal-looking gun pointed straight at Elizabeth.

  Chapter 22

  Elizabeth was too surprised to scream. Not that it would have done any good. Gloria had answered the door herself—it was obviously the staff’s day off. And what would their elderly butler have been able to do against a younger and more able-bodied man like DeWitt?

  Elizabeth felt a chill wash over her, turning her hands and feet to ice. Her teeth began to chatter uncontrollably.

  “Father, no!” Gloria cried, but DeWitt ignored her. He motioned with the gun for Elizabeth to get up.

  She wasn’t sure her legs were going to hold her and, as she rose to her feet, she bumped the coffee table and knocked over Gloria’s bottle of gin. The liquid quickly spread across the inlaid mahogany table.

  “You fool,” DeWitt said. “Look what you’ve done. That table is priceless.”

  “Not nearly as priceless as a human life,” Elizabeth shot back.

  “Frances was worthless. And a dreadful bore to boot.”

  “Is that why you killed her?”

  DeWitt laughed a laugh that chilled Elizabeth to the bone.

  “I suppose that would be grounds enough. Frances was cheating on me.”

  “So you decided to shoot her?” Elizabeth hoped that if she kept DeWitt talking, someone—the DeWitts’ butler or cook, perhaps—would return and call the police.

  “I didn’t care one whit about her having an affair. But she was sloppy and people were beginning to talk. I ran into an old friend at my club and he said that tongues were wagging—they’d seen Frances around town with some man. She wasn’t even trying to be discreet. She would have made a fool out of me.”

  “So you killed her?”

  Dewitt looked irritated. “I tried to reason with her. I told her if she continued to embarrass me, I’d cut her out of my will.”

  “Why not simply divorce her? These are modern times—divorce isn’t the social stigma it used to be.”

  “I had a better idea.” DeWitt smiled again. “I told her I wouldn’t divorce her, but in the end, when I died and she was left a widow, she’d be penniless. I’d leave everything to Gloria and not a penny to her. She’d be out on the street without even so much as her good looks to get by with.”

  Elizabeth gasped. How terribly cruel this man was.

  “But you shot her instead?”

  DeWitt frowned. “Frances was slightly more clever than I gave her credit for. She found out about my…other sexual predilections. She confronted me at Gloria’s debut and demanded I change my will. She tried to blackmail me. She insisted I write my daughter out completely.” He glanced at Gloria briefly and his expression softened. “I couldn’t have that.

  “I refused and we argued,” he continued. “She stormed off and ran into the ladies’ room outside the ballroom. I followed her.”

  “And shot her?”

  Dewitt nodded.

  “Did you know Gloria was trying to make Teddy O’Doyle the scapegoat to protect you?”

  “I suspected as much,” DeWitt said. “I never meant for her to get involved.”

  “I love you,” Gloria cried, grabbing DeWitt’s arm. “I can’t lose you.”

  DeWitt gently shook Gloria off. He looked at Elizabeth. “And now you and I are going to go for a short drive.” He motioned toward the door with the gun.

  “Did you kill Guy Dupont as well?” Elizabeth said, trying to buy more time. “What did he do?”

  DeWitt sighed and looked at his watch. “Dupont was Frances’s lover. But that wasn’t why I killed him. As far as I was concerned, if he kept her occupied, that was fine with me. But Frances was giving him money, and it was beginning to cost more than I was willing to spend. When Frances told him the well had run dry, he decided to blackmail me instead.”

  “You?”

  “He knew I was a homosexual. We’d had a brief affair before he took up with Frances, who was willing to be more generous with my money than I was. If he couldn’t get money one way, he was going to get it another—by blackmailing me. I’d like to think I still have something of a reputation to protect.”

  He looked at his watch again. “This is wasting time. Let’s go.” He pressed the gun into Elizabeth’s back.

  Gloria tried to grab her father’s arm, but he shoved her aside. She lost her balance and fell against the edge of the sofa table—hard. Elizabeth saw tears spring into Gloria’s eyes. Gloria grabbed her side and stared at her father in disbelief.

  Elizabeth thought of her family: Who would take care of Rose and her mother if something happened to her? She had to get away from DeWitt somehow.

  “Tell Rogers to bring the car around,” DeWitt said, turning to Gloria.

  “What for?” Gloria cried. “Elizabeth isn’t going to say anything, are you, Elizabeth?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Gloria. She can’t be trusted.”

  “I’m sorry, Elizabeth,” Gloria said. She was sobbing now.

  At the mention of a car, another puzzle piece fell into place for Elizabeth.

  “You sent someone to kidnap me the other night, didn’t you? After I left the St. Regis Hotel.”

  DeWitt scowled. “And if they hadn’t made a mess of it, we would have been rid of you by now.”

  “You knew!” Elizabeth turned to Gloria. “That’s why you insisted I join you that evening.”

  “Father said he only meant to scare you. To make sure you wouldn’t talk. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise, I promise. He said you’d seen him…at that place…and that you might print something in the paper. It would ruin us.”

  “Enough of this,” DeWitt said. “If you’re not going to call Rogers, I’ll have to do it myself.”

  He grabbed Elizabeth’s arm and tried to drag her toward the desk and the telephone sitting on it.

  Elizabeth refused to move. She dug in her heels and struggled to break free of DeWitt’s grasp. He was going to shoot her anyway. She certainly wasn’t going to make it easy for him.

  DeWitt let go of Elizabeth’s arm and instead planted the palm of his hand against her back and gave her a mighty shove.

  She went flying and landed on her knees beside the desk. The letter opener clattered to the floor again.

  DeWitt was busy reaching for the telephone. Elizabeth snaked out a hand and grabbed the letter opener, hiding it inside the folds of her coat. She grasped the edge of the desk and pulled herself to her feet.

  Before she could lose her nerve, she raised the letter opener over her head and plunged it into DeWitt’s shoulder. He screamed and dropped the gun.

  “Help!” Elizabeth yelled to Gloria.

  Gloria hesitated briefly then kicked the gun out of the way. It went skittering and spinning across the floor and bounced off the wall under the windows.

  DeWitt let out a roar and went after it.

  Elizabeth didn’t wait. She ran from the sitting room and down the hall toward the stairs. She stumbled down the steps, twisting her ankle slightly as she did so. She heard footsteps behind her but didn’t dare risk a look.

  The marble foyer floor was slippery, and Elizabeth nearly fell, but caught herself on the edge of a small decorative table at the last moment. A white marble bust of a woman that sat on top slid to the ground and broke in half.

&nb
sp; She was about to turn the doorknob when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  DeWitt dug his fingers into Elizabeth’s flesh, and she tried to squirm away from the pain that shot down her arm, but he held her fast.

  He dragged her back from the door and reached for the knob himself. Elizabeth screamed.

  Before DeWitt could turn the handle, the door flew open and slammed against the wall.

  Three policemen with guns drawn burst into the foyer. DeWitt let go of Elizabeth’s arm, and she squeezed herself against the wall. They pursued him through the foyer, up the stairs and into the sitting room. Elizabeth heard a crash and then Gloria’s scream.

  The front door was still wide open. It had started to snow fat, wet flakes that drifted lazily toward the ground. A sharp wind blew them across the threshold and into the foyer, leaving damp splotches on the marble floor. Elizabeth shivered.

  She was still paralyzed with fear—a feeling that brought back unpleasant memories. She knew she ought to run out the open door, but she couldn’t seem to move. She wrapped her arms across her chest and listened to the noises coming from the sitting room.

  A dark shadow suddenly filled the entranceway and Marino rushed into the foyer. The shoulders of his coat were damp from the snow, and his shoes left muddy footprints on the floor. He glanced at Elizabeth quickly.

  “Where are they?”

  She pointed toward the stairs. “In the sitting room.”

  Marino nodded and started in that direction but stopped when the policemen came through the door with DeWitt in tow. DeWitt was in handcuffs, and the largest officer of the three was gripping the collar of DeWitt’s jacket urging him along.

  Elizabeth suddenly burst into tears. She couldn’t stop shivering.

  Marino took her in his arms. She rested her head against his chest as he patted her back.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he said.

  * * *

  —

  Kaminsky arrived a few minutes after DeWitt had been carted off, protesting, in the waiting police car to be taken to the station where he would be left to stew until Marino returned to interrogate him.