Homicide at Yuletide

by Henry, Kane,

  The doorman said, “Merry Christmas.”

  “Yeah, man,” I said.

  I looked for my keys in front of the door of my apartment. No keys. I rang. No one answered. I rang again. No one answered again. I stood vis-à-vis to a blank door. Vis-à-vis to a blank door. Very fancy. I didn’t feel very fancy. I felt numb. I cursed, softly. It didn’t help. I slammed my fist against the wood, hurt coming through, but I remained vis-à-vis to a blank door. I turned on my heel. I went to the elevator and down to the apartment of the superintendent and I leaned against his bell until he awoke.

  “I’m locked out,” I said at his slumberous face.

  “G’morning,” he said.

  “I’m locked out.”

  “Locked out?”

  “My apartment. Upstairs.”

  “Oh? Apartment.”

  “Locked out.”

  “Oh? Locked out.”

  I found a ten dollar bill and waved it. “Locked out.”

  “Oh,” he said, coming awake. “Locked out? Why didn’t you say so, Mr. Chambers?”

  Glumly I followed him to the elevator. Upstairs he opened the door for me, stepped aside, said, “Christmas. I know how it is.”

  “Yeah, you know how it is.”

  “So why didn’t the company open the door?”

  “What company?”

  He pointed. I looked.

  “Thanks,” I said, and went in and closed the door.

  The diplomat was asleep on the floor. Terry was asleep on the couch. The sound of snoring came from the bedroom. I threw my coat on a chair and tiptoed in to investigate. I was met by Gay, slightly nude, tiptoeing out. The snoring continued.

  “Sh!” she said.

  “Who’s in there?”

  “Stella.”

  “Everybody nice and sober, huh?”

  “Dead drunk.”

  “How about you?”

  “Everybody, except me. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Waiting for me? Didn’t you hear me ring?”

  “Sure I heard you ring.”

  “Well, it was real sweet of you to open the door so promptly.”

  “Sarcasm this early in the morning—it ain’t fittin’. Reminds me of my husband.”

  “Why didn’t you open the door?”

  “Because someone was ringing.”

  “Now, just … one … second—”

  “If someone was ringing, it wouldn’t be you. You live here, remember? You wouldn’t be ringing. Anyone else, I wouldn’t be interested.”

  “Okay. I understand.”

  “A little obtuse, aren’t you?”

  “Well, it’s difficult concentrating—”

  “Any special reason?”

  “You don’t have any clothes on.”

  “I told you I was waiting for you.”

  I pushed past her and went to the bedroom and got a bathrobe and tossed it to her.

  “Listen,” she said, “you’re insulting. You have cute ways of being insulting. Not like my husband.”

  “Get dressed, huh?”

  “Why?”

  “I’m in love.”

  “Oh? With whom?”

  “Stella.”

  “Ah, nonsense.”

  “No. I’m going to marry her.”

  She drew herself up in dignity. “Well,” she said. “Why doesn’t somebody tell me these things?”

  She put on the bathrobe and tied the sash tightly. Haughtily she marched to the door, bowed, turned, and went out. I was thinking of other things, but suddenly I thought of her. I rushed out and caught her at the elevator. “Perfectly sober,” I said, “or not. It’s cold out. Barefoot and bathrobe, and nothing else, you’ll catch your death.”

  “You know something, you’re right.”

  “Well, stop standing here. Come on.”

  “Promise me a drink?”

  “Come on.”

  I led her back. I slammed the door and went for the drink, stumbling over the diplomat, who didn’t seem to mind. I brought it to her and she said, “Oh, no, not without you.” I stumbled over the diplomat again and again he didn’t mind. I poured myself a short one and joined her.

  “Well,” she said. “Voilà.”

  “Voilà,” I said.

  “Voilà,” murmured the diplomat.

  She took off the bathrobe and dropped it to the floor.

  “Now stop it,” I said. “Will you, please?”

  “You hate me, don’t you?”

  “Of course not. Put the bathrobe on.”

  “I’ve got to get dressed, mustn’t I?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, I can’t get dressed on top of the bathrobe, can I? Men. God. You’re worse than Noah.”

  “Noah. What happened to him?”

  “Left in a huff. Noah’s always leaving in a huff. The hell with Noah and his huffs. I’m divorcing him.”

  “Where’s everybody else?”

  “The two young men left together with the redhead, and the Greek gentleman took Evelyn home. The remainder passed out in the following order, the French diplomat, Terry, and your betrothed.”

  “My who?”

  “Stella.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  She raised her hands over her head and turned slowly. “See what you’re missing?”

  I picked up the bathrobe and put it over her shoulders. “Get dressed, huh? Will you, please?”

  “Boor,” she said, but she went.

  She came out of the bedroom without the bathrobe, but she was carrying her clothes. She began to dress.

  I said, “It was nice of you agreeing to Sheldon’s revocation.”

  “Thanks. How do you know?”

  “I was told. Did you agree?”

  “Damn right I agreed.”

  “When?”

  “When I saw him, a couple of days ago.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I’ve heard Noah’s running out of money.”

  She had on her bra and her panties. She sat down and lifted a long leg and began to work a stocking on. “I don’t know where you’re getting your gossip, mister, but you’re certainly getting it factual. He’s not running out, he’s practically run out. Stock market. Ever hear of the stock market?”

  “Never.”

  “Everybody in the world is picking up loot in the stock market, so Noah goes broke throwing good money after bad. That’s my Noah.”

  “Then why did you agree to that revocation?”

  “Listen, the man says he needs the money. If the man says he needs the money, he needs the money. I don’t want charity. From anybody.”

  I shifted my eyes to her face and kept them there. I said, “There’s nobody around to disprove that.”

  “Whatever that means,” she said. Nothing happened in her face.

  I helped her zip the dress and she had another drink. I brought her coat and I said, “Don’t forget our supper tomorrow night, or is it tonight?”

  “I’m not forgetting. I accepted your invitation, though you declined mine. I bet you’d have had a better time than I’m going to have.”

  We shook hands gravely and she left, leaving me to stumble once more over the diplomat, and fight my way out of my clothes. In the bedroom, I sneaked a pillow from under Stella’s head and a blanket from a closet. I couldn’t locate pajamas but I found a tuxedo shirt and a pair of shorts with purple stripes. I washed my teeth in the bathroom and gargled noisily, and then I laid out in the bathtub bent but formal in the stiff shirt and regal shorts with the blanket under me to keep off the chill from the porcelain. I hoped, once, that the shower wouldn’t leak, and I fell asleep mulling over Barney’s pungent quiddity about somebody ought to pay for it.

  • • •

  I woke up to white-reflected sunshine in the bathroom. My bones had acquired the stiffness that the white shirt had lost. I groaned as I got out, stretched, and straightened.

  The apartment was empty. My snoring guest
s had probably banded together and carried themselves out. The place was a shambles, but a shambles that would respond to light cleaning. Resplendent in a crinkled formal tuxedo shirt and purple-striped creased shorts, I light-cleaned. Then I showered, looked at crisscrossed bags beneath my eyes, and had breakfast. I called the caterers, numbly surprised that they functioned on Christmas. I learned that they functioned at their best on holidays, only at slightly higher rates. I ordered a sumptuous supper, twelve people, for ten o’clock, with champagne.

  Champagne, yet.

  I hung up.

  Barney’s euphemism whistled through me, and I whistled back at it, and suddenly an idea crawled up from nowhere. I clung to it. After the day and night I had spent, any idea was something to cling to. But first I called Gene Tiny.

  “Good morning, Miss Tiny.”

  “Morning.”

  “How are you?”

  “Up and around, but good and tired. What time is it?”

  I looked. “Eleven. You going to be in?”

  “All day, if I can manage it. You going to come visit?”

  “You bet. See you later.”

  I hung up and pursued my idea. I dressed carefully and went out into a brilliant day. Snow was white and sun was glaring and cabs were lined up at the hack stand like the queue at the Copa come closing time. I waved, and we went to the Tamara Towers.

  Stella was wan in lounging pajamas, eager, but tired. A tired Stella was something to see, at least you had an opportunity to observe. Lounging pajamas or no, her figure was more exciting than parade music on a bright afternoon. It caught at you and made you tingle. And the glint in her half-closed eyes did nothing to assuage the tingle. I kept a serving-table between us, let the tingle die down, and spoke my lines.

  “And how are you, Miss Talbot?”

  She sniffed. Sweetly. “Now,” she said, “you come.”

  “And what is wrong with—now?”

  “Now is tomorrow, and right now, I’m so beastly tired.”

  “I’d like to talk with you.”

  “Still using a phony approach, eh? You know you’d rather kiss me.”

  “Not right now.”

  “Well, right now, I don’t care. How do you like that? Right now, I’m probably not up to it. But you will, fella, I promise you. Sooner or later.”

  “Later. This morning it’s business.”

  “Business? You and me?” The glint grew narrower.

  “Well—”

  “No. Real business. Money.”

  “Money. Dear old money. All right, sit down, make yourself comfortable.”

  I sat and she sat beside me.

  “About that bunch of jewelry,” I said. “The stuff that’s itemized in the will—”

  “How do you know about the will?”

  “Your mother told me.”

  “So?”

  “It’s gone. Disappeared. Vanished.”

  “What’s gone, disappeared, vanished?”

  “The jools.”

  “Oh, the jools. I know that.”

  “How?”

  “Same answer as yours. Terry told me. After you told her.”

  “Look, I can do a job here. I mean, I can try. I can try to turn that stuff up for you. Incidentally, I can try to clean up the killing, too. I won’t believe that you had anything to do with it.”

  “You won’t? Well, isn’t that nice of you? Is there anybody that does have an idea that I had anything to do with it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who?”

  “People. But I saw you there. I know what you looked like.”

  “What people?”

  “Let’s say—cops. Cops might believe anything.”

  “Now look here—”

  “Wait a minute.”

  “No, you wait a minute. I want to know why anybody should think that I had anything to do with it?”

  “You were there. The gun was in your hand. In a cockeyed way, motive could be worked out. But I don’t want to discuss that. I want to get you to retain me. Now.”

  “I can’t afford it. Unless, well, you’d like to take it out in—”

  “Whoa.”

  “Always whoa, always when it gets interesting.”

  “You don’t have to be able to afford to hire me. We’ll do it on a contingent basis. If I can turn the stuff up—it’s yours, under the will. Right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Okay. Let’s say five per cent. Does that sound all right, five per cent?”

  “That all? I’d think you’d be entitled to—”

  “I want to be fair, Stella. Seriously. I think five per cent ought to do it. Deal?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Do you have paper, and a pen?”

  “You’re dull, you know? I don’t know why I like you.” But she stood up and brought me letter paper and a scratchy ball pen that needed more ball, or balls. I scribbled a contract and she signed it.

  “ ‘By, now,” I said.

  “That fancy supper invitation still stand for tonight?”

  “But, of course.”

  “I’m going to rest all day. So look out for me tonight, brother. Tonight I’m really going to pitch.”

  “ ‘By, now.”

  Out of doors, the sun was higher and it was turning warm. Snow had become slush and you jumped from the splatter of the trucks but you did not curse because you had a contract folded in your pocket and Christmas was beginning to be merry and Barney’s taunt was no longer a torment.

  But where do you start?

  You didn’t start. You went to the Somerset to tighten your contract. You rang at the door and Terry opened it. She wore a fuzzy bathrobe and looked just as tired as her daughter.

  “You?” she said. “I thought it was the man with the bromo.”

  “I’ll only take a minute.”

  “Come in.”

  I sat on the arm of a couch and I said, “Stella retained me this morning to see if I can’t turn up the loot.”

  “Loot?”

  “The gems. Sheldon’s stuff.”

  “A very good idea. So? You don’t expect to find them here, do you?”

  “I don’t know. But that’s not why I came.” I took out the contract. “Your daughter is below twenty-one. Contracts with people like that are voidable. I want to avoid the voidable, if you know what I mean. I want an additional contract with you, repeating what’s in the one with Stella. Like that, I’m protected. Okay?”

  “Slow down, fella. Don’t overwhelm me.”

  I handed the paper to her. “Read it, please. Read it carefully. Read every word. Then turn it over, and write it out again, and on that side, you sign it.”

  She read it quickly, smiled, said, “I’ll say this for you, you’re shrewd, but I don’t think the fee is unconscionable. I’ll be happy to do exactly as you ask.” She sat down and she did. Then she gave the paper back to me. “One thing I didn’t have time to tell you yesterday, before my party got out of control.”

  “Yes?”

  “Noah Cochrane was on Thirteenth Street too.”

  “What?”

  “Noah Cochrane.”

  “When?”

  “Yesterday. Before I got there.”

  “Now, what was Noah doing there?”

  “Gay had told Sheldon that things weren’t too hot for them. Sheldon didn’t know whether or not she was telling the truth. She had agreed to the revocation, that is, she told him she agreed, but she also told him that without the income, she might be destitute. Sheldon wanted to know whether she was telling the truth. He called Noah, and asked him to come over.”

  “What did they talk about?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose Sheldon inquired about his finances.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I beg your pardon, Mr. Chambers?”

  “Is there anything else? Yesterday I was told about three ex-wives who had seen him, and one daughter. Today it’s an ex-wife’s husband. Who else? Any grandchildren?”


  “There are no grandchildren.”

  “All right, thanks.” I stood up. “And please remember. Stella or no Stella. You or anyone else. It’ll tear where it’s tight. Whoever gets hurt, gets hurt. ‘By, beautiful.”

  Busy Christmas. Next stop was Gene Tiny. She wore a pink sweater, tan slacks, and mules. She looked tall and bright and clean. I kissed her and gave her my hat and coat.

  “Would you like coffee?” she said.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Neither would I.”

  I kissed her again. That took time. Then I said, “Evelyn Dru. Where does she live?”

  “This is a fine time to ask that.”

  “Please,” I said. “It’s business.”

  I went to my jacket and showed her the contract. “It’s finally developed to where I can earn some money. I’d like to talk with wife number three. You know where she lives?”

  She went to a drawer, opened it, and tossed a little address book at me. “This is a new bit,” she said. “Girl friends I got to supply—yet.”

  Under D, I found Evelyn Dru. Name and address.

  “Now I use the phone once, and I blow.” I brought her the address book, kissed her square on the mouth, and got no response.

  “You’re not sore?” I said.

  “I’m not exactly happy.”

  “It’s business, and it’s nothing else.”

  “Look, I know Evelyn Dru. And, brother, I know you too. It’s been a short acquaintance.”

  “Stop it, will you?”

  I pulled out a phone book and checked for Noah Cochrane. I couldn’t find him.

  “What’s the matter?” she said. “Don’t you trust my address book?”

  “I’m looking for Noah Cochrane.”

  “You won’t find him in that book. They live on Long Island. Ask information.”

  Information gave me the number and I called. A butler told me that Mr. Cochrane was not at home, spent the night in New York. It’s important, I told him. Mr. Cochrane would be at the Crematorium at four o’clock, the butler advised, special ceremonies for somebody. Thanks, I said.

  She came near me and fixed my hair. “What’s the matter? No Noah?”

  “No Noah. He didn’t go home last night. He’s still in town.”

  “So what?”

  “Nothing, except I’d like to talk to the guy.”

  “What’s so special about Noah?”

  “He was visiting, they tell me. Yesterday morning, on Thirteenth Street.”

  “Noah?”

  “Noah. How do you like it?”