Brett Halliday - Murder and the Married Virgin

“That’s the way it stands now.” Shayne drew in a deep breath, his nostrils flaring when he smelled the faint odor of perfume. He glanced around and noted that a clothes closet stood partially open. Another door, evidently leading to the bathroom, was closed.

“And I still can’t turn up any motive,” Shayne went on gravely. “Nor any indication that she made any attempt to leave you a message.”

In a bitter tone, Drinkley asked, “Do you suppose the jewel robbery out there has anything to do with it? I’ve been reading about it in the papers. An emerald necklace. I didn’t know anything about it this morning when I talked to you.”

Shayne hunched forward and asked, “Does the stolen necklace mean anything to you?” Then added harshly, “Some of the family seem to think Katrin stole it-and gave it to somebody who was working with her-on the outside.”

Drinkley drew back as though to evade a physical blow. “That’s a lie,” he shouted. “Katrin wouldn’t steal-and she wouldn’t be working with a criminal.” He got up and went to the writing table, took the mixed drink and carried it back to the bed after taking a large swallow. He set the glass on the floor and bowed his head in his hands and moaned, “I’ve been trying to think all day. I don’t know-I simply don’t know.”

Shayne said casually, “For a man who doesn’t drink, Lieutenant, you seem to be doing pretty well for yourself,”

“Yeh. I’m beginning to feel sort of numb.” He raised his head and glanced at the closed bathroom door, shifted his gaze to Shayne.

Shayne was looking at the door and his mouth was set in a grim line.

Drinkley came to his feet. “I’ve been trying to find out a few things for myself,” he said thickly. He walked up and down the room, hands thrust in his pockets, his head bowed. “I had a fantastic idea that perhaps someone might have been gossiping about me to Katrin. You know how those things are, and she was so idealistic. If someone who wanted to break up our marriage had lied to her-oh, God!” He sank down on the bed and moaned, “I still can’t realize this has happened to me-and to Katrin. It’s like I was seeing it happen to someone else. I guess I was just about out of my mind when I went to see you this morning.”

Shayne watched him with eyes that were like gray steel. He said harshly, “Whom do you suspect of gossiping to Katrin?”

“It was just-an idea-that came to me when I racked my brain for a motive. You haven’t-you didn’t learn anything that might make you think that’s what happened?”

“Not yet,” Shayne said softly. Then without warning he demanded, “Was Clarice Lomax in love with you?”

“Clarice? Of course-not,” he stammered.

“Did you ever encourage her? Go out with her?”

“Never. I saw her and talked with her a few times when I went to the house.”

“I just wondered,” Shayne mused. He got up and walked to the window. His back was turned to the officer when he asked, “Do you know what Katrin did on her day off-on Wednesdays?”

Drinkley didn’t answer immediately. Shayne pivoted to look at him. Drinkley was frowning as though he tried to remember. “When I was here,” he said, “we spent Wednesdays together. After I left, I-don’t-know. She never mentioned anything special in her letters. Is it important?”

“I don’t know.” Shayne took a step toward the bathroom door, asked, “May I go in here before I go?”

Drinkley came up from the bed abruptly, restrained himself with a palpable effort and sank back. Shayne was twisting the knob of the door and pushing.

“I’m sorry,” the lieutenant said. “It must be locked. You see, it’s a connecting bathroom and the other occupants must be using it-or forgot to unlock it.”

Shayne arched one eyebrow. “It doesn’t matter.” He strode to the door saying, “Take it easy and don’t drink too much. I’m working on several angles.”

Drinkley followed him to the door and opened it. He said, “I might be able to find out something-”

“Why don’t you have dinner with me this evening?” Shayne interrupted. “I’ll drop by for you-say in an hour or so,” and went out without waiting for a reply.

He walked swiftly down the narrow corridor past the elevator to a turn. Stepping around the corner he took up a position where he could hear the door of 412 open.

The vigil was short. Less than five minutes later the door opened. Peering around the corner he saw a girl come out. She paused to say something to the lieutenant and Shayne ducked out of sight, turned his coat collar up and pulled his hat brim low. When he heard the elevator stop he sauntered around the corner and hurried when he saw the girl stepping into it. The operator waited for him.

She was the only occupant besides himself. A tall, shapely girl wearing a severely tailored suit of tan with green trimmings and a green hat with a jaunty feather tucked into the band. Her tawny hair blended with the tan of her suit and her eyes were a shade darker than her hair. Her mouth was very red and drooped sullenly at the corners. After one quick, wide-eyed look at Shayne her long curling lashes veiled her eyes and she appeared preoccupied with unpleasant thoughts.

Shayne moved to a corner in the elevator and rested his elbows on the rail. When it stopped at the main floor he waited for her to exit, then followed her slowly across the lobby. She was getting into a taxi when he came out the door. There was no other cab in sight. He jotted down the number of the taxicab, noted the company’s name, and went to his car and drove away.

The rain had stopped but clouds lowered threateningly. The wind was damp and cold. The street lights were on. Shayne looked at his watch and was surprised to find that it was after five o’clock. Something tugged at his memory as he drove.

Suddenly he recalled that Lucy was angry when he left his office. He pressed his big foot on the accelerator and exceeded the speed limit until he reached the International Building.

Lucy had on her cellophane raincoat and looked like a slim, lovely wraith with the hood covering her brown curls when Shayne rushed into the reception room of his suite. She took a step backward when she saw the hard-set lines of his jaws and the bleak look in his eyes. “What on earth has happened, Michael?” she cried.

“I hate a hypocrite,” he growled. “God in heaven how I hate a mealy-mouthed hypocrite.”

She ran to him and reached up to grasp his broad shoulders. “Who-what are you talking about?”

He looked over the pointed cellophane peak of her hood, his big hands hanging loosely against his body. “And more than that, I hate to be a sucker. But I am.” He laughed mirthlessly. “Just pile on the old hokum thick enough and I’ll fall for it. And all because I thought I knew what the real thing was.”

Lucy shook him with all the strength of her hands. “Don’t look like that,” she pleaded. “You-frighten me when you’re like this.”

Shayne looked down at her upturned face as though he realized for the first time that she was digging her fingers into his shoulders. He put one arm around her and patted her back. Some of the harshness went away from his face and he said quietly, “Don’t ever let me down, Lucy. You’re a good kid.”

She took her hands from his shoulders and stepped back. “Why, of course I won’t,” she said. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

“You won’t like it,” he warned her. “I’m a heel, Lucy. I come in here and prey on your sympathy.” He got out a cigarette and lit it, dragged smoke deep into his lungs and let two thin streams roil through his nostrils.

Lucy said, “I don’t think you’re a heel.” She slid out of her gossamer raincoat, turning her back as she laid it on the railing.