Харлан Эллисон: Murder Plus: True Crime Stories From The Masters Of Detective Fiction

Dowie checked his watch. “It’s almost six now. Maybe he can tell us what this is all about when he gets here.”

Leaving Sonnenberg to look after things, Dowie climbed a short flight of carpeted stairs to question the victim’s sister, Mrs. Martinez. The latter, who bore a remarkable resemblance to the dead woman, seemed stunned by the tragedy. She said that as far as she knew, her sister had no enemies. On the contrary, she was quite popular in the neighborhood.

“How did she and Mr. Balli get along?”

Mrs. Martinez hesitated. “All right, I guess. They had their spats like other married folks, but nothing serious.”

“Any arguments between them lately?”

“No, not that I know of.”

Mrs. Martinez explained that her sister met Balli in Galveston shortly after his divorce from his first wife in 1945. Balli was a truck driver then, working at the Navy Air Base in Hitchcock, Texas. They had moved to New Orleans five years ago, but had only been living in the murder house a month.

“Did you find the body?” inquired Dowie.

“No, a man named Robert Williams found Mary. He lives up the street.”

Mrs. Martinez revealed that her sister was employed as a machine operator in a textile mill a few blocks from the house. Because work at the plant was slack, she’d said she hadn’t bothered to report for duty that morning.

“How did your sister get along with the other girls?” probed Dowie.

Mrs. Martinez frowned. “Come to think of it, she did have a fight with one of the girls a while back. The other girl was let go because of it.”

“What’s her name?”

“I don’t know her last name. Her first name’s Stella.”

When Mrs. Martinez promised to check her sister’s things to see if anything was missing, Dowie thanked her and left. He found Williams, a personable young man in his early twenties, on the porch. Questioning him closely, Dowie learned that he had been brought to the house by two neighborhood children.

“They stopped me on the street and said something about a lady being dead, so I followed them into the house,” said Williams. “When I saw they were telling the truth, I called the police.”

“Was there anyone loitering around the house before you found the body?”

“No, sir.”

Dowie took Williams’s name and address and excused him with thanks. He then talked to the two children. They said they were playing in the hall when they noticed that the door to the Balli apartment was open. When they investigated they found Mrs. Balli’s body. Like Williams, they saw no one hanging around the house prior to their finding the body.

Dowie thanked them and rejoined Sonnenberg in the kitchen. He found the precinct captain studying the short piece of rope which was used to murder Mrs. Balli.

“Make anything out of it?” inquired Dowie.

“Not much,” replied Sonnenberg glumly. “It’s about three and a half feet long and has been recently cut from a longer piece. However, it’s ordinary clothesline rope, which practically makes it impossible to trace.”

A thorough search of the premises failed to uncover any additional clues. It wasn’t until they examined the hall outside the Balli apartment that they got their second lead, an odd-shaped piece of worn leather.

“It’s a lift from a woman’s spike heel,” said Sonnenberg quickly.

“It certainly doesn’t belong to Mrs. Balli,” said Dowie. “She was wearing low-heeled sandals.”

Nor did a check of the slain woman’s wardrobe reveal a pair of high-heel shoes. Examination of Mrs. Martinez’s shoe rack also proved entirely unproductive.

“Maybe a woman killed Mrs. Balli?” suggested Sonnenberg.

“It’s possible,” agreed Dowie. “It doesn’t take much strength once you’ve got the rope around your victim’s neck. However, we know it’s got to be someone who Mrs. Balli trusted enough to turn her back on.”

“Maybe she was going with some guy and his wife got sore. I’ve known women to kill for less.”

“It’s a good angle,” nodded Dowie. “Suppose we talk to a few of the neighbors? They may have seen something.”

They did. A woman who lived across the street from the Ballis said that she saw a pretty redhead enter the murder house about an hour or so before the police arrived.

“How long did she stay?” pressed Dowie.

“Five, ten minutes. I can’t be sure.”

“Can you describe her?”

“I think so. She was about five feet eight in spike-heeled shoes. She was wearing a white linen dress and carried a large patent leather handbag. She was about twenty-three years old.”

The woman added that the redhaired woman appeared somewhat agitated when she left.

Another neighbor said that she was looking out the window when a taxi stopped before the house around three o’clock and Mrs. Balli got out. After talking to the driver for a few minutes the two of them went inside. He emerged five minutes later and drove off.

“Did you notice what kind of cab it was?” asked Dowie.

“Yes, it was a Red Top.”

Their informant said the cabbie was about medium height and weight, somewhere in his late twenties, and good looking.

Dowie jotted down the information and left. Outside, he said: “Suspects are popping all over the place. The redheaded woman and the cabbie had good opportunities, and we mustn’t overlook the husband.”

“Whoever did it knew Mrs. Balli wasn’t going in to work today,” said Sonnenberg thoughtfully. “Which means it could be an inside job.”

Back at the murder house, Dowie sought out Mrs. Martinez.

“This Stella you mentioned,” said Dowie. “Do you know what color hair she has?”

“Yes, she’s a redhead.”

Dowie nodded thoughtfully. The trail was getting warm, he decided grimly.

When Dowie returned downstairs he found Assistant District Attorney Peter Campagno waiting for him. The homicide sleuth quickly brought him up to date on what he had learned thus far. The men were about to leave when a tall, scholarly looking man in his late fifties, entered the apartment.

“My name is John Meeker,” he said. “I’d like to speak to the officer in charge.”

“That’s me,” said Dowie. “What’s on your mind?”

After explaining that he was a friend of the Balli family, Meeker said: “I met Balli a couple of days ago on Canal Street. He seemed unusually worried and I asked what was troubling him. He said that he had caught his wife fooling around with another man, a cabbie like himself. When he ordered the man out of his house, the man got very angry and threatened him.”

“What kind of threats?” pressed Dowie.

“Joe didn’t say, but he was obviously afraid for his life. When a neighbor told me his wife had been murdered, I hurried over to tell you about it.”

“Did Balli tell you the man’s name?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Can you tell us anything about the Ballis?” inquired Dowie.

“I liked them very much,” replied Meeker. “They seemed very much devoted to each other, and it certainly was a shock to learn that Mrs. Balli played around. Although she was an extremely good-looking woman, I somehow got the impression that she was crazy about her husband.”

After Meeker left, one of the lab men announced that a score of legible fingerprints had been uncovered in the apartment, all but two of which had been made by the victim, Mrs. Balli.

“Check those two with our files,” instructed Dowie. “It’s very likely you’ll find their mates in the license files, seeing as how Balli’s a cab driver.”

Meanwhile, Detectives Jordan and Dupre had learned that a redhaired woman, answering the description of the one seen leaving the murder house, had been observed boarding a Broad Street bus shortly after four o’clock. According to their informant, she was crying.