David Alexander - Masters of Noir - Volume 4

I leaned back against the plate glass front of the shop, studying her. “Who do you think killed her?”

“Schuyler killed her.”

“That’s a pretty serious accusation, Miss Webb.”

“I realize that.”

“How do you know he killed her?”

“It had to be him. I know it, just as well as I know I’m standing here. It caught up with him, that’s all.”

“You mind explaining?”

“That’s why I called you, isn’t it? Schuyler and Lucille were having an affair. I was his right hand around that place for four years, and then one day Lucille shows up. Right off he starts breaking her in on my job. And that’s not all. He started her in at more money than I made, after I’d been there four years. Oh, it made me sick to watch the two of them. They thought nobody knew what was up. But they were wrong. Here he was, more than twice her age, and she sitting there smiling so prissy and nice — it made me want to throw up.” There was a hard set to her features now.

“Still,” I said, “that’s hardly—”

“Have you talked to Schuyler?”

“Yes.”

“Did he tell you he was married?”

“Yes.”

“Did he also tell you that he was just a photographer’s assistant, till he met his wife? Did he tell you that she was a very wealthy woman, and that he married her for her money?... No? No, of course he didn’t.” Her voice grew tighter. “He isn’t dumb. Not that one. He wouldn’t have let go of his wife any sooner’n he would let go a gold mine.”

“I don’t quite follow you,” I said.

“Well, you’ll soon begin to.” She was staring at the knot in my tie now. “Why would a man buy a girl an engagement ring — if he was married to a gold mine, and meant to stay that way?”

“You mean he bought one for Lucille Taylor?”

“That’s right. He bought it at Lormer’s, on Fifth Avenue. They made a mistake somehow, and sent the bill to the office. I opened it, right along with all the other mail, and put it on his desk. About ten minutes later I overheard him giving Mr. Lormer hell. He said he’d specifically told the clerk there not to send a bill, either to his office or his home. He was so mad that he was almost shouting. And then, about two or three days later, Lucille shows up with a big diamond on her finger. When I asked her who the lucky man was, she just simpered like the silly fool she was, and acted coy. I thought I’d have to go to the window and be sick.”

“That’s interesting,” I said, “but it could have been a—”

“A coincidence? Oh, no — it was no coincidence. Schuyler bought that ring for Lucille, and she wore it. And if you were a woman, you’d know from the way she acted around there that she thought she and Schuyler were going to get married.”

I thought it over.

“That’s the whole thing, can’t you see?” she asked. “Schuyler was after something, but he couldn’t get it without promising to marry her. He wanted to have his cake and eat it too. I mean he didn’t have any intention of giving up his wife’s money, but he wanted Lucille. So he told her he was going to divorce his wife and marry her. He was just sharp enough, and she was just dumb enough, and he pulled it.” Her eyes came up as far as my mouth, but no higher. “And that couldn’t go on forever, could it? When it came to a showdown, and Schuyler had to admit that he’d been playing her for all he could get—” she shrugged — “well?”

“You didn’t care much for Lucille, did you?”

“I loathed her.”

“And Schuyler?”

She took a deep breath. “I–I guess I was in love with him once. But no more. After Lucille had been there a couple of months, he called me in and fired me. Just like that. He didn’t even give me a reason — because there was no reason. He didn’t need two girls, and so he just kicked me out on the street. Why, it was all I could do to get him to write a few references for me. And that after I’d been there all those years...”

I nodded. “A tough break, Miss Webb.”

“When will you arrest him?”

“We’ll talk to him again.”

“But isn’t it plain enough? What more could you possibly want?”

“We’ll talk to him,” I said again. I got out my notebook and took down Miss Webb’s address and phone number.

“I see I’ve wasted my time,” she said.

“Not at all,” I said, making it friendly. “I’m very grateful to you. As I said, we’ll—” But she had turned quickly and was walking off down Sixth Avenue. Once she hesitated a moment, as if she might turn back, but then she went on again, walking even more rapidly than before.

I went into a drug store and called the Twentieth Precinct. Paul Brader told me that Vince Donnelly hadn’t opened his mouth, except to demand a lawyer. Paul had been able, through other sources, to establish that he was the same Vince Donnelly who had gone around with Lucille Taylor, but that was all. We had nothing at all on Donnelly, and unless we came up with something within the next few hours we’d have to let him go.

“I got a feeling about this guy,” Paul said. “I think we’re on our way.”

“Yeah? Why so?”

“I just sort of hunch it, that’s all.”

“Well, keep at him. I’m going to check out a couple things with Schuyler, and then I’ll be over to help you.”

He laughed. “Schuyler — or the girl?”

“Schuyler.”

“Okay. See you later.”

I hung up, located the after-business-hours number of the Lormer Jewelry Shop in the directory, and finally got through to Mr. Lormer himself. He lived in a hotel on Lexington Avenue, and asked me to come up. From him I learned that the diamond engagement ring, while large, had been of the lowest quality he carried. I asked if Schuyler had brought a young woman to the shop for a fitting, and Mr. Lormer said no. Schuyler had asked that the engagement ring be made up in the same size as a small intaglio he wore on the little finger of his left hand. And then — very reluctantly — Mr. Lormer told me that Schuyler had returned the ring yesterday morning. He had not wanted a cash refund, but had applied the refund value of the ring against two jewelled wrist watches, to be delivered to his two daughters.

I took Mr. Lormer to his shop, impounded the ring, signed a receipt for it, and took him back home. Then I drove to Seventy-second Street and got a positive identification of the ring from Lucille, Taylor’s aunt and uncle.

I located Schuyler’s home address in the directory, picked up Paul Brader at the Twentieth, and we drove downtown toward Schuyler’s apartment house.

In his office, Schuyler had been as cool as they come. Standing in the doorway of his apartment, with his wife and daughters just behind him, he was something else again. We had counted on surprise and the presence of his family to unnerve him, and we weren’t disappointed. He had divided his life into two parts, and we had suddenly brought the parts together. He stared first at Paul and then at me, moistening his lips.

I had the engagement ring in the palm of my hand, and now I opened my fingers slowly and let him see it.

“What is it, dear?” his wife asked, and one of the girls moved a little closer, her eyes questioning me.

“I–I can’t talk here,” Schuyler said, in what he probably thought was a whisper. “My God, I—”

“Get your coat,” I said.

He nodded rapidly. “Yes, yes — of course.”

We rode down in the self-service elevator, phoned in a release for Vince Donnelly, and crossed the street to the RMP car. Paul got behind the wheel and I got into the back seat with Schuyler. Paul eased the car out into the heavy Lexington Avenue traffic.