Эд Макбейн - The April Robin Murders

“Fingerprints,” Handsome said.

Hendenfelder gave him a pitying look. “Sure. We got her prints. Only it looks like she never had her prints taken. Account of, hers don’t match up anywhere. People don’t just go out and have fingerprints taken so’s they can be identified properly if they are suddenly found dead or dying. They got to be booked for a crime, they got to apply for a driver’s license, they got to apply for some security job, they got to join the army. It looks like Pearl Durzy never done any of those things.”

“But,” Bingo said, “she must have a social security card. Or a bank book. Or letters, or — something—”

“She didn’t have a social security card,” Hendenfelder said. “On account of it seems like she didn’t need one in this type job. And Mr. Reddy paid her in cash every month. She didn’t like checks. So he would bring her out, every month, her hundred dollars in cash, and inspect the house, which she kept pretty nice. The bills for the light and the gas and everything else, why, the trust company took care of that.”

Bingo did some rapid figuring. Pearl Durzy had been here since the trust company took over, and that had been when? 1953? 1954? Her only expenses had been for the meager groceries from the neighborhood market.

“Where did she put all that money?” he asked.

Hendenfelder said, “Why do you think Perroni’s giving this place another going-over right now?”

“I thought maybe he was looking for mice,” Bingo said.

That didn’t seem particularly funny to Hendenfelder. “She must’ve put it in a purse,” he said. “Every lady has a purse even if she don’t go out much, because she always has a lot of stuff to carry.” He frowned and said, “You should only see the stuff my wife carries in her purse. A compact, and a lipstick, and her wallet and coin purse, and keys, and chewing gum, and old letters, and Kleenex—”

Handsome said, “Well, maybe. Only it seems like this Pearl Durzy wouldn’t need a lot of things like that. She didn’t put stuff on her face, and her coin purse was in her coat pocket, and if she almost never went out of the house, maybe she didn’t bother with keys, and probably she never got any letters from anybody, or if she did she didn’t keep them, and—”

“The money,” Hendenfelder said. “She would have had to put that somewhere every month, when Mr. Reddy gave it to her.” There was a small silence while each of them figured how much money Mr. Reddy must have given her, at a hundred dollars a month.

“And she didn’t spend much for her groceries,” Hendenfelder said.

“She could have had a bank account,” Bingo said.

“Sure,” Hendenfelder said. “Where? Perroni’s been trying to find out about that all day.”

Bingo started to say, “But money doesn’t just vanish!” and then checked himself, thinking of the capital of the International Foto, Motion Picture and Television Corporation of America.

Hendenfelder sighed and said, “Usually when a person gets killed, or is found dead, they have folks or friends which turn up and make the legal identification, and claim the body. But this Pearl Durzy, she don’t seem to have anybody. And living here alone the way she did, all by herself, and not getting acquainted with the neighbors—”

He didn’t say any more. He glanced around the great shadowy room, all but denuded of furniture. The glance took in the balcony, the rooms upstairs, the dreary emptiness in which Pearl Durzy had lived.

“She didn’t have a radio set or a TV,” he commented. “And she didn’t get the daily papers delivered.”

Bingo closed his eyes for a moment. He tried not to think of the house as it had been those past years, with the little gray ghostlike figure of Pearl Durzy moving through it, living her secret and dreary life. What did she do with all her waking hours? Not just for a week, or a month, but for years.

“She certainly kept the place pretty clean, though,” Hendenfelder said suddenly. “Guess maybe she thought Mrs. Lattimer might come back sometime.”

“If you could only find Mrs. Lattimer now,” Bingo said. He had a vague hope of cheering up Hendenfelder.

The look Hendenfelder gave him told him that he’d failed completely.

“And there’s never been a trace of Mrs. Lattimer?” Bingo pressed.

“Sure,” Hendenfelder said. He reached for a cigarette, found an empty pack, accepted one from Bingo and said, “You know how it is when a person disappears. They get reported from everywhere. Kansas City, Vancouver, some place in Guatemala. We got one reliable trace from El Paso, but then she was gone again. Oh, she took off with the dough and probably married some handsome young guy, and she’s just sitting pretty some place thinking we’re a bunch of dopes.”

“She was young and pretty,” Handsome said, “wasn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Hendenfelder said. “She was in show business. Night clubs. Then somehow she met Mr. Julien Lattimer, who fell for her and married her, and you oughta know the rest of the story backwards and sideways by this time.” He looked tired and discouraged. “And this Pearl Durzy, who used to be her maid or something, came to work for them as a housekeeper. And then all that business happened. And instead of nobody worrying about it much as time went by, Perroni, he went on worrying. And now all of a sudden, this happens. Oh well,” he said wearily, “in this business that’s the way things are because—”

“Because that’s the way things are,” Bingo finished for him sympathetically.

Perroni came down the long stairs from the balcony. He looked unhappier than ever.

“Nothing,” he said. “So now we got a motive. Murder for robbery. She must’ve had all that dough some place in the house. Well, it isn’t in the house. And when I look, I look thorough.” He looked nastily at Bingo and Handsome.

“When I rob old ladies of their savings,” Bingo said, “I lure them into a park and hit them over the head. I don’t fool around with dry-cleaning fluid.” He added, “Besides, we have an alibi. Not just Goody-Goody’s. But the lady next door, Mrs. Waldo Hibbing” — he stressed the name just slightly — “saw Pearl Durzy leaving here before we came back with our luggage.”

Perroni and Hendenfelder looked at each other, and then back at Bingo and Handsome.

“You mean, she left the house?” Perroni asked. He sounded a little incredulous.

“Why not?” Bingo said. “Maybe she wanted some fresh air. Maybe she didn’t like the company.”

Perroni said, “But where did she go?” He didn’t say it to anyone in the room. “Why?” His brows were puzzled. “She never left the house. She almost never left the house.”

He thrust his hands in his coat pockets and glared at Bingo and Handsome. “You guys seem to have brought all the trouble,” he said, not so much angrily as reprovingly. “Mind you, I’m not accusing you of doing anything wrong. So far.” He started for the door, paused, turned and said, “After the handwriting experts got through with those papers, I sent them to Mr. Reddy. You’ll have to work that out from there. But I’m still going to find Julien Lattimer’s body.”

Hendenfelder shrugged and followed him out of the house.

“Bingo,” Handsome said thoughtfully when they were gone, “maybe he will find Mr. Lattimer’s body. With Mr. Lattimer still alive in it.”

“That would be nice,” Bingo said. “Then that would be definite proof he signed those papers. And I suppose I’d better call up our lawyer and tell him about it. And call Mr. Reddy and tell him we know what the handwriting expert said.” He paused. “And call Mr. Henkin and tell him many thanks for getting us such a fine lawyer. And call Mr. Victor Budlong just to say hello. And call up Adelle Lattimer and tell her we haven’t had any luck, but we’re still looking.”