Brett Halliday - The Corpse That Never Was

She took the picture from him and glanced at it, then nodded her head and spoke firmly and positively. “That’s him all right. That’s Mr. Lambert.”

“You couldn’t be mistaken?”

“I’ve got eyes in my head, haven’t I? I looked right at him across the hall there… not once but three times. How could I be mistaken?”

“You may have to swear to it on the witness stand, Mrs. Conrad,” Shayne warned her gravely. “With a lawyer cross-questioning you and trying to get you confused. I want you to be very positive.”

“I am. I’ve got a memory for faces. Oh, I’ll testify on the witness stand, all right.”

Shayne said, “That’s wonderful, Mrs. Conrad. You’ll be a very important witness.” He took the print back from her and slid it into his coat pocket, then turned and reopened the door and glanced out into the corridor to see that it was clear and the door across the hall was properly closed.

“Not many people using this hall tonight I guess.” At the end of the hall he saw a slender figure wearing a droopy black hat suddenly materialize from the stairway and start toward them. He stepped back to stand beside Mrs. Conrad so she could have a clear view through the open door, and heard the clack of high heels nearing them briskly.

“There hasn’t been for a fact.” She stiffened as she heard the heels, and peered past him inquisitively. Then her mouth fell open and she gave a little shriek of panic as Lucy came into her view, and she shrank back and caught Shayne’s arm with thin fingers.

Then she straightened herself, her eyes bulging as Lucy went past with the brim of the hat concealing her features, and she stammered, “My goodness, I thought for a moment…” Then her voice rose excitedly. “It’s the same hat though. I know it is. Who do you suppose…?”

Shayne smiled down at her reassuringly and pulled the door open and said, “Okay, Lucy. Let Mrs. Conrad see who you are.”

“Well I never! It’s Miss Hamilton,” she exclaimed as Lucy turned toward them and showed her full face.

“Just that first minute I thought I was seeing a ghost,” she chattered excitedly. “Then I saw you weren’t near as tall or heavy as her. My goodness, you did give me a turn.”

“I’m sorry,” Shayne said smoothly. “I was testing your memory and your powers of observation, Mrs. Conrad. I must say they are both excellent, and I’m sure you’ll be a perfect witness if it comes to identifying Lambert’s picture.”

When they were able to get away from her questions and back to the apartment downstairs, Lucy threw the droopy black hat on the sofa and turned on Shayne with her hands on her hips to demand angrily, “What did you prove by that stunt, Michael? I felt like a Mata Hari with that dead woman’s hat on my head.”

He told her seriously, “I proved two things. First, that Mrs. Conrad is a very observant woman with an excellent memory… so I don’t think there’s much doubt that Grogan is the man she saw… wearing a trick mustache and blue glasses. We can also now be fairly positive that Suzie Conroy didn’t impersonate Mrs. Nathan by wearing that hat. She’s about your size, Norris said, and Mrs. Conrad spotted the discrepancy in size at once.”

“Suzie Conroy?” Lucy sank down onto the sofa, her face a mask of bewilderment. “The secretary whom Paul Nathan took to dinner a few times? Whatever made you think…?”

“All right,” said Shayne harshly. “I’m grasping at straws. Every elimination helps.” He strode up and down the room, pounding his left fist into his palm, a scowl of concentration on his face. “After I get the answers to a few more questions, everything will be clear to me. About as clear as mud, probably,” he added in disgust, pausing in the center of the floor to glare at her. “But I want to know whether Joe Grogan was left-handed… and whether he owned a shotgun. Let’s see. Mrs. Grogan said she went to work in the Hotel Griffin Lounge as a waitress at six o’clock. See if you can get her there, Lucy.”

Lucy compressed her lips, and went to the telephone book to get the number while Shayne resumed his impatient pacing up and down.

She called a number and spoke into the phone, then replaced it and told him, “Mrs. Grogan did not come to work. She’s at home sick.”

Shayne said, “Good. If I can see her at home I can pick up another piece of the puzzle I need. I think I have her phone number here.” He began to search his pockets for the telephone message Mrs. Grogan had left.

Lucy said, “Michael,” in a queer, stifled voice. He looked up, still searching his pockets.

“I’ve just remembered something.”

He said, “Oh?”

“Talking about people who are left-handed. Did you know Mr. Armbruster is?”

“Eli?” Shayne stood very still and stared at her. “Is left-handed?”

Lucy nodded emphatically. “I don’t suppose it means anything, but… he is. When he wrote out that check in the office this morning. He wrote and signed it with his left hand.”

Shayne sat down heavily, his eyes narrowed, his features tight in concentrated thought. He muttered, “Eli? I don’t see…”

He sat like that for several minutes, shaking his head and moving his lips although no words came out. Then he began looking in his pockets again, found the slip of paper he wanted and held it out to Lucy. “Please call Mrs. Grogan and see if she’s well enough to see me. Get her address if she is.”

Lucy took the slip and asked, “Do you think it’s important, Michael? About Eli?”

Shayne shook his head with a harried grin and ran fingers distractedly through his red hair. “Right now I’m so mixed up with half a dozen fantastic theories that I don’t know what’s important and what isn’t. We have to take it a step at a time, Angel. Call Mrs. Grogan.”

He got up and went into the kitchen to pour a drink while Lucy made the call. She turned to him with the phone in her hand when he came back with a glass in his hand. “She’s not sick… just didn’t feel like working tonight. Do you want to talk to her?”

He shook his head. “Just ask if Joe is left-handed.”

She asked the question, then shook her head at Shayne. “No.”

He said briskly, “Get her address and tell her I’d like to come around for a minute.”

He went back to the sofa to sip his drink, and Lucy hung up and told him, “It’s close by. On N. E. Sixteenth Street.”

He nodded, thinking hard. “You come with me, Lucy. Have you got a paper bag or something you can carry that hat in?”

“Mrs. Nathan’s?” Lucy looked doubtfully at the black hat lying beside him.

He nodded, his gray eyes very bright. “I’ve got one more crazy hunch to check out.”

Lucy knew better than to ask him any questions at a time like this. She went into her bedroom and emerged with a brown paper bag large enough to hold the hat without crushing it too much. Shayne tossed off the rest of the drink and they went out together.

The Grogan address on 16th street proved to be an old two-story stucco building that had been divided into four apartments. When he stopped in front of it Lucy told him, “She said it was the downstairs front. Do you want me to come in, Michael?”

He said, “I’ll be only a few minutes,” and got out briskly and went up the walk to the lighted front porch.

Mrs. Grogan opened a side door on the left and peered out at him as he opened the front door. She said anxiously, “I thought that’d be you, Mr. Shayne. You brought news of Joe?”

Shayne shook his head and told her gently, “I’m afraid it’s going to be bad news when I do bring it, Mrs. Grogan. May I come in a minute?”

She stepped back to let him enter a shabby but pleasant sitting room, saying unhappily, “I’ve been getting that feeling more and more. Seemed like I just couldn’t go to work tonight. When your secretary called me… why did she want to know if Joe is left-handed? Like I told her, he just couldn’t do anything with his left hand.”