Эд Макбейн - The April Robin Murders

Bingo agreed with her that it was a terrible thing. He added, “Did you know this Pearl Durzy at all?”

“Goodness no,” the widow said. “I scarcely ever saw her, in the whole two years I’ve lived here. She just never went out of that house. She had her groceries delivered and everything. It was like she haunted it, I mean.” She paused suddenly, her eyes widening. “Now that’s funny! I guess the only time I did see her leave the house was last night!” She added, “Before she was murdered, of course.”

Bingo started to say, “Naturally,” decided that would sound a little silly, and said, as casually as he could, “About what time?”

“Well,” she said, “well, I don’t know the absolute exact hour. But it was a while before you got here. Before you moved in. I just happened to be looking out the window and I just happened to see her.”

Mrs. Waldo Hibbing, Bingo decided, would probably be happening to look out the window whenever anything interesting happened in the neighborhood. “You didn’t see what time she came back?” he asked, still keeping it very casual.

She shook her head regretfully. “I went out to a movie,” she said. “I don’t, very often, but last night I did, and I didn’t get back until, mercy! almost midnight. But I did see her go, and she looked just like a poor little ghost, and small wonder, cooped up in that house all these years!” She turned her eyes to the house. “It must be wonderful inside, though!”

Bingo didn’t rise to that one. He said, “My partner and me would love to have you come visit us. Soon as we get the furniture in.”

“Oh,” she said, “I wouldn’t mind there not being furniture.”

“We would,” Bingo said politely. “We’d like you to see it at its best.” He changed the subject back. “Imagine you seeing that poor Pearl Durzy last night!”

“And almost the only time she’d ever left the house!” the widow Hibbing said. She glanced over Bingo’s shoulder and said, “Heavens! You have more company coming!” Bingo turned, looked, and recognized the car even before he saw Perroni getting out. “Important business,” he said, and headed back to the April Robin mansion.

Handsome was ushering the two police officers into the cavernous living room, which suddenly seemed darker and more dismal than it had ever been. He thought suddenly of Pearl Durzy, living alone here, never leaving the house. Not a newspaper delivered daily, no radio to listen to, no television to watch. What had she done with herself all those years?

At the moment, Perroni didn’t seem to have Pearl Durzy on his mind. He looked at Bingo as though he had been somehow offended.

“It checks,” Perroni said sourly. “Yes, it checks. Clark Sellers says it’s Julien Lattimer’s signature. And when he says somebody’s signature is somebody’s signature, it’s that person’s signature.” He glared at Bingo and Handsome as though daring them to dispute him.

Bingo felt his spine stiffen. “And who is this Clark Sellers?”

Perroni and Hendenfelder looked at him as though he’d asked who George Washington and Abraham Lincoln were.

“Look here,” Hendenfelder said gently. “You think of doctors. Who do you think of?”

“Mayo brothers,” Bingo said promptly.

“You think of the South Pole, who do you think of?”

Bingo said, “Penguins,” and Handsome said, “Admiral Byrd, but mostly also Roald Amundsen, he reached the South Pole on December 14, 1911. And the next year—”

Hendenfelder said, “You think of electricity, you think of Benjamin Franklin. You think of wireless, you think of Marconi.” He smiled at them amiably. “And when you think of handwriting—”

“You think of Clark Sellers,” Bingo said. “Okay, if he says this is Julien Lattimer’s writing, this is Julien Lattimer’s writing.”

Perroni said, “Now, where’s Julien Lattimer?”

“I don’t know,” Bingo said. In his heart he felt that if he did know, he wouldn’t tell.

Handsome said placatingly, “Mr. Courtney Budlong must know where he is, if he got those papers signed.”

“This,” Perroni said coldly, “is final. There is no Courtney Budlong and never was a Courtney Budlong.”

Hendenfelder said mildly, “Once we find the man who called himself Courtney Budlong—”

“That will be the day,” Perroni said. “The day to remember. If we do.” He glowered at Bingo and Handsome as though they were personally responsible for all the troubles he’d had in his life, including corns, stomach ulcers and income tax. “Meantime, Mr. Reddy says you can stay on. Until further notice. And I’m going to have another look around the house.”

He stalked off toward the staircase. Hendenfelder sat down on one of the two sofas and said, “Y’know, a guy’s feet get tired even driving a car.” He shook his head sadly. “This really breaks Perroni all up. The handwriting expert, I mean.”

Bingo said, “Maybe he signed those things a long time ago. Before he was murdered.” It was a flimsy idea, but the best he had at the time.

“Uh-uh,” Hendenfelder said. “According to Clark Sellers’ office, those signatures were written with a liquid graphite pencil. And that pencil didn’t come on the market until sometime in 1955.” He sighed. “This is really rough on Perroni.”

“It’s rough on a lot of people,” Bingo said, “including various people who seem to have gotten murdered.” He drew a long breath. “In fact, we were going to call you up to ask a couple of questions.”

From overhead he could hear Perroni’s footsteps, slow, measured and patient.

“About Pearl Durzy,” Bingo went on recklessly. “There’s a lot about her we don’t seem to know.”

“Brother!” Hendenfelder said. “There’s a lot about her nobody seems to know.”

“You mean,” Handsome asked, “like who murdered her?”

“Not only that,” Hendenfelder said. “But mostly — who was she?”

“She was Pearl Durzy,” Bingo said, a little helplessly.

“Who says so?” Hendenfelder asked. He rubbed a handkerchief over his forehead.

“But,” Bingo said, even more helplessly, “she was identified.”

“Sure,” Hendenfelder said. “You identified her. How many times had you seen her? Once, and by your own story you weren’t even introduced. So you say she was Pearl Durzy. She was pointed out to you by someone who said she was Pearl Durzy, and now nobody knows where he is, or who he is, either.”

Bingo scowled. “But somebody must have known her.” He added, “Everybody has somebody who knows them. Like friends. And relatives.”

“Far’s we can see,” Hendenfelder said, “she didn’t have neither. I mean, she didn’t have nothing! Almost like she didn’t exist even. Except, we got her body in the morgue.”

“Mr. Reddy,” Bingo said. “From the trust company. He’d know about her. She, well, she worked for him, in a manner of speaking.”

“Mr. Reddy, he doesn’t know anything,” Hendenfelder said. “She’d been the housekeeper here for Mrs. Lois Lattimer. When the trust company took over this place, it seemed all right to keep her here as caretaker. It was,” he said, frowning, “it is a very unusual situation. He’d been told she was Pearl Durzy and he just took her word for it and kept her on here. Every month he came and looked at the place and made sure everything was all right, which it always was, and paid her her salary and went away. Then there was a man who came in two times a month to look after the lawn and the shrubbery and stuff, but he didn’t know Pearl Durzy. He just came in and did his work and went away, which was all that was expected of him. Mr. Reddy paid him with checks. From the looks of the place, he didn’t work very hard. Sure, he saw Pearl Durzy, and he knew her name was Pearl Durzy. I mean, he knew it because somebody had told him that was who she was, same way everybody else did, including you and,” he added, “us.”