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

“Find out which bus it was and question the driver,” ordered Dowie. “If she was as agitated as our witnesses claim, the bus driver ought to remember her.”

Next, Dowie called Joe Balli’s employer, the Veteran’s Cab Company, and learned that Balli had not contacted the office since one o’clock that afternoon. Fearing the worst, Dowie instructed Detective Charles Wersling to get the police dispatcher to send out an all-points bulletin on the missing man.

Accompanied by Capt. Sonnenberg, Dowie drove to the textile mill where the comely victim was employed, and sought out the personnel manager.

“We’re looking for a redhead whose first name is Stella and who was recently discharged for fighting,” explained Dowie. “Can you help us?”

“I think so,” nodded the employee. He rifled through a pile of 3 X 5 index cards until he found the one he wanted. “Her full name is Stella Marshack,” he said. “She’s twenty-two years old and she lives on Allen Street.”

“What do you know about her run-in with Mrs. Balli?” asked Sonnenberg.

“According to what I heard, there’s been bad blood between them for some time,” replied the mill worker. “It seems Stella once attended a party at the Balli apartment and took a fancy to Mary’s husband, Joe. Whether Joe gave her a play or not, I can’t say, but I do know that Stella and Mary hated each other’s guts after that.”

As for the brawl that resulted in Stella Marshack’s dismissal, it took place in an alley behind the plant.

“It’s a lucky thing somebody interfered,” he explained. “Stella had Mary on her back and was stomping her in the face. Witnesses say she would have killed Mary. When a checkup showed Stella had started it, she was fired.”

Dowie and Sonnenberg drove to the address on Allen Street after leaving the plant. Inquiries revealed that Stella Marshack had a large hall bedroom on the second floor. Receiving no answer to their repeated knocking, Dowie induced the landlady to open the door. A careful inspection of the room, however, failed to yield anything that would connect the redhead with Mrs. Balli’s murder.

“Her clothes are all here, so that’s some consolation,” mused Sonnenberg. “At least we know she hasn’t skipped.”

Questioning the landlady, they learned that the suspect left the house shortly after two o’clock, saying she wouldn’t return until late.

“She seemed terribly upset over something,” she said. “I tried to find out what was bothering her, but she won’t confide in anybody.”

After Dowie made arrangements to have the house watched, he returned to headquarters with Capt. Sonnenberg. Electrifying news awaited them.

“Better hop over to St. Philip and Bergundy streets right away,” Chief of Detectives Harry Daniels told him. “Jordan and Dupre have located Joe Balli’s cab, and there’s blood splattered all over the front seat!”

Dowie and Sonnenberg sped to the spot, a run-down neighborhood several blocks from the murder house. The cab doors were open and the keys were in the ignition. A number of fresh bloodstains were visible on the cushions behind the driver’s seat, the steering wheel and the dashboard. Balli’s wallet, containing his personal papers but no money, lay on the back seat.

“It certainly looks as if Balli met the same fate as his wife,” said Dowie glumly. “But what about the body? This is a well-populated neighborhood, which makes it practically impossible for anybody to remove a body unseen.”

“Maybe Balli was knocked off elsewhere and the killer left the car here to throw us off?” Sonnenberg suggested.

“It’s an idea. If he’s really dead, it’s a cinch his death is tied in somehow with his wife’s.”

“Meaning Stella Marshack?”

“Why not?” countered Dowie. “The dame is supposed to have a violent temper, and there’s no telling how deeply she felt towards Balli. Let’s ask some questions around here. We may come up with something.”

A check of the homes nearest to the taxicab uncovered nothing, however. When it was apparent that they could learn nothing of importance in the area, Dowie and Sonnenberg returned to headquarters. A message on the former’s desk informed him that Stella Marshack had returned to her room. Accompanied by Detective Jordan, Dowie hurried to the address.

The officers found the good-looking suspect in her room preparing a late supper. After they identified themselves, she waved them to chairs.

“What can I do for you guys?” she inquired.

“Mrs. Balli was murdered late this afternoon,” said Dowie, watching the woman’s face closely.

She turned, a look of amazement on her face. “Mary? Dead?” she exclaimed. “Why, that’s impossible! I spoke to her a few minutes before five. She was all right then.”

“Why did you go there when you were on bad terms?”

Stella fidgeted. “So you know about that? Well, I might as well tell you the truth. I went there to tear her limb from limb, but she wouldn’t open the door when she found out who it was.”

Dowie looked skeptical. “You went there looking for trouble and an hour later they found her dead,” he said. “Pardon me if I don’t believe you.”

Stella crossed a nylon-clad leg nervously. “It’s the truth, so help me!” she said anxiously. “If I’d gotten into her apartment I know I would have given her a good going over, but I didn’t even see her. She spoke to me through the door. That’s why I was so darn mad.”

Dowie studied the woman closely. Her story sounded plausible enough. Finding the heel lift in the hall outside the apartment was a strong point in her favor, he admitted.

“What about you and Joe Balli?” he asked.

Stella shrugged. “It was just one of those things,” she said. “I met Joe at a party a couple of months ago, and I kinda went for the guy. I knew he was married and had a kid, but he sure had a great line. He said he liked me because I was a redhead. His first wife was a redhead, too.”

Dowie nodded. “Go on.”

“There isn’t much more to tell. His first wife had five kids by him and lives in Victoria, Texas. He met his second wife when she was only fourteen. He sure is a great ladies’ man.”

Dowie advised Stella Marshack not to leave town and returned to his office. He felt reasonably certain that she had nothing to do with the murder, despite the fact that she was there around the time it happened. He was studying the shortened length of rope used by the killer when Detective Dupre entered with a short, powerful-looking man in his early 30’s. The man wore a cab driver’s cap and was obviously nervous.

“This is Bob Benoit, chief,” said Dupre. “He’s the cabbie who took Mrs. Balli home this afternoon.”

Dowie waved him to a chair. “How well do you know Mrs. Balli?” he inquired.

“I never laid eyes on her until this afternoon,” maintained Benoit, twisting his cap nervously. “I was cruising along Canal Street when she hailed me. It was a fifty-cent trip, but when we got to her place on Saint Philip she had only forty cents in her bag. She told me to come inside with her and she’d give me the other dime. That’s all there was to it, I swear it!”

“You were inside for at least five minutes,” Dowie pointed out. “Did it take that long for her to get the money?”

“No, not exactly. After I got the dime she asked if I wanted a glass of beer. I said ‘yes’ and she got two cans out of the refrigerator. When I finished the drink I left.”

“Did you notice anyone or a car in the vicinity when you left?”

The cabbie frowned. “No, I don’t think so. There was another cab parked around the corner on Miro Street, but that was all.”

Dowie straightened in his chair. “This other cab, can you remember what company owned it?”