Brett Halliday - Murder and the Married Virgin

“How long did she stay at the dance?”

“Why don’t you ask her?”

“I have.”

“Then I don’t see-”

Shayne made an impatient gesture.

“You can refuse to answer if you want. But the police will ask you later.”

Neal said, “I don’t want any trouble. Miss Clarice didn’t stay at the dance late. She wanted to find some excitement and she had me drive her to the Laurel Club.”

“What time?”

“About one-thirty.”

“Was that a customary procedure?”

“I’m willing to answer any pertinent questions,” Neal answered with cool deliberation, “but I don’t see that gossiping about my employer’s family will help you recover the necklace.”

“Did Clarice gamble? Lose much?”

“I don’t know. You forget I’m just the chauffeur. I don’t go in with her.”

“Then she had been to the Laurel Club before?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see anyone else there at the Club?”

“I suppose you mean Eddie. That must be what he meant when he said you were checking up on his alibi. Yes. I saw him leave about two-thirty. Miss Clarice came out immediately afterward and I drove her home.”

“And?” Shayne prompted.

“I went to bed,” Jordan said evenly. He tapped out his pipe on the side of the box.

“And this morning?”

“I was eating breakfast when I heard Mr. Lomax calling me. I knew Mrs. Brown had gone up to awaken Katrin. He was at the door of her room when I got there-and he asked if I could break it in. I smashed the upper panel and he reached in and turned the key.”

“Did you see the key on the inside before he reached in?”

“I don’t know that I actually saw the key in the lock. I know the door was locked. I know Mr. Lomax reached through the broken panel and unlocked it. Is that enough?”

“But he could have had the key in his hand-reached through and pretend to unlock it, and-”

Neal Jordan stood up abruptly. There was a dangerous glint in his clear blue eyes. “I don’t know what your game is, but I don’t like the hints you’re dropping. Sure, I suppose he could have done all that. But he didn’t. I was there and saw him.”

“You went into the room together,” Shayne went on.

“I ran in first and turned off the gas,” Neal corrected, “while Mr. Lomax waited just outside the doorway. I came back and waited until the room was cleared enough so we could breathe. Then we both went to the bed. We knew it was useless. She was dead.”

“And you didn’t see any suicide note?”

“No.”

“Could one possibly have been taken from the room before the police arrived?”

Again he got a curt “No,” for an answer. Then Neal burst out, “What in hell are you trying to prove, Shayne? That Katrin Moe didn’t commit suicide?”

“Do you think she did?”

“Of course. What else could it be?” The chauffeur took a short turn up and down the room. He stopped close to Shayne, faced the red-headed detective squarely. “Sure. I know what you’re thinking. She was a sweet girl with everything in the world to live for. But there was some secret gnawing at Katrin Moe. Find out that secret and you’ll know why she killed herself.”

Shayne said, “You’re the first person around here who has hinted at anything like that.”

Neal snorted derisively. “What do you expect? These people don’t-” He checked himself, took time to choose his words. “They didn’t understand Katrin. To them, she was efficient, tireless-the perfect servant. But servants are also people. I don’t say that I understood Katrin. I do say she lived in a world of her own, and it wasn’t necessarily a pleasant one.” He paused again, then added quietly, “Find out what Katrin did with her Wednesdays off and I think you’ll find out why she committed suicide.”

Shayne said, “Yesterday was Wednesday.”

Neal nodded. “But she didn’t employ it as usual. Every other Wednesday she left the house soon after lunch and returned shortly after dinner.”

Shayne considered this in silence, tugging at the lobe of his left ear. “Did she ever tell anyone where she went?”

“Not that I know of. It caused some speculation at first, but it became a habit and ceased to be a novelty. She was always upset when she returned on Wednesday nights.”

“Upset?”

“A little more withdrawn, and under a tension.” He thought for a moment, then said dryly, “I think she had a lover.”

“What was unusual about yesterday?” Shayne asked.

Neal clasped his strong fingers around one knee, “I’ve been thinking about it. I guess it isn’t my secret any more.”

Shayne waited for him to continue.

“You see, she asked me not to say anything about it. I wouldn’t, except that-well, it might help clear up the mystery of her suicide. Shortly after Mrs. Lomax and I returned from Baton Rouge I had to drive to town on an errand. Katrin asked if I would take her down. She rode with me in the front seat, as silent and reserved as usual. She asked me if I’d stop by her bank a minute. It was right on the way, so I did.”

“What bank?” Shayne asked.

“I didn’t notice the name, but it’s a savings and loan bank on the corner of Broad and Canal. She was in there a few minutes, and then she asked if I was going near the Union Station. So I took her there.”

Shayne’s eyes were alert with interest. “Did she say what she wanted there?”

“No. I was going to drop her there but she asked me to wait for her. She acted rather peculiar. She wasn’t in the station more than ten minutes, and when she came back to the car she asked me-right out of a clear sky-” Neal paused dramatically, gesturing with his pipe. “She asked me if I knew my way around in Storyville.”

Shayne frowned. “The old red-light district?”

“It knocked me for a loop,” said Neal. “I still don’t believe she knew what the district actually was. She was quite naive about things like that.” He paused again and Shayne had to prompt him.

“When I recovered from my surprise,” he continued, “I told her I had been there a few times. Then she asked if I’d mind driving her there. I tried to argue with her, Mr. Shayne. I hinted that it was no place for a decent girl even in daylight, but she just compressed her lips and said she had to go and if I didn’t drive her she’d take a cab. So I drove her.”

“Where-what address?” Shayne asked.

“She had an address written on a piece of paper that looked as though it had been torn from the telephone pad here at the house. She referred to it and told me she wanted to go down along Iberville. She kept watching numbers as I drove, and finally told me to stop at the next corner.

“I tried to get her to let me go with her, but she wouldn’t, and she wouldn’t tell me the address. She insisted that I let her out on a corner and drive on. Well, I let her out and turned around the corner while she started back along the street. I found a parking place and swung into it and hurried back on foot to see where she went.”

Neal smiled wryly. “It was spying on her, but it really wasn’t mere spying. At least I convinced myself that I was worried about her. I was in time to see her go up the walk and enter an old building.

“I waited fifteen or twenty minutes and she finally came out. I dodged back around the corner before she saw me, and drove back to town to do my errand. I didn’t mention it to her later.”

Shayne got out a pencil and pad and jotted down the Iberville address Neal gave him. He said, “You’ve given me a lot to think about. Thanks.”

Shayne went out to his car and drove slowly through the business section until he found a barber shop with all the chairs filled and men waiting. He parked and went in. Before sitting down he picked up a newspaper from a table, looked at the date, and began turning the pages.