Brett Halliday - Murder and the Married Virgin

Shayne said, “Pretty dark.”

“Jordan said something about a picture being stolen from his room,” Quinlan went on hesitantly.

Shayne didn’t say anything.

“Was that one of your deals? Did you frame the identification as he charged?”

Shayne said angrily, “When I went out of here a few hours ago you told me you didn’t want to know what I was going to do. All right. Leave it that way. You don’t know.”

“That’s fair enough,” Quinlan agreed unhappily. He picked up his fountain pen and rolled it between his palms, his eyes filled with curiosity.

Shayne smoked a cigarette while they waited for Lomax. When he heard a commotion outside the door he drew a chair aside and sat down.

Mr. Lomax looked worried but determined when two detectives ushered him into the office. “I thought a private citizen had some constitutional rights,” he said irritably to the inspector. “These men dragged me here-”

“A murder suspect,” Quinlan interrupted harshly, “has no rights.”

Lomax looked suddenly deflated. He sank into a chair and nodded helplessly. “I was afraid that was it. After they arrested Neal. He couldn’t take your third degree, I suppose.”

“He sang like a canary when he found he was in it up to his neck,” Quinlan told him.

Lomax’s face was more like a death mask than Shayne had seen it. He said sadly, “I think I knew it wouldn’t work out. Ever since I read this morning’s paper. In a way, I’m glad. It’ll be a relief to tell my story.”

“Anything you say may be used against you,” Quinlan warned. “You can refuse to testify if you wish.”

“No… No. I want to get it off my chest,” said Lomax earnestly.

Quinlan rang for a stenographer and said, “Go ahead,” when the elderly court reporter came in.

“It was shortly after midnight when Mr. Trueman telephoned. He told me the necklace was in his possession and that Mr. Shayne had offered him forty thousand dollars for it in behalf of the insurance company.” He paused to turn his murky blue eyes reproachfully upon Shayne. “You had promised to keep me informed of developments.”

Shayne said, “You fell for a gag. Actually, I’d refused to deal with Trueman.”

Mr. Lomax sighed. “I didn’t know, of course. I was anxious to avoid any loss to the insurance company because I felt the whole affair was due solely to my wife’s negligence. So I told Trueman I’d come down and discuss the matter with him. I had Neal get the car ready, and I explained the elements of the situation to him as I drove down.

“I remember that he thought it extremely foolish for me to take that attitude, but I felt duty-bound to pay for my wife’s negligence.

“The Club had just closed when I arrived-some time after midnight. I found Mr. Trueman in his office and it was not difficult to reach an agreement with him. Though he refused to tell me how he had obtained the necklace and insisted he was acting for a third party, he agreed to turn it over to me for fifty thousand dollars. But he insisted on cash, naturally, and I arranged to withdraw it from the bank this morning and complete the transaction at noon today. Mr. Trueman was in perfect health when I left him, and it wasn’t until I read this morning’s paper that I knew what happened afterward.”

“Can you prove your story?” Quinlan asked.

“Neal will tell you-”

Quinlan chortled mirthlessly.

“Your chauffeur saw you go in and saw you come out. Can anyone testify that Trueman was alive when you left his office?”

Lomax moved his skull-like head dispiritedly. “No. He was alone in his office. I’m afraid no one saw me leave. But surely you gentlemen don’t think I caused that havoc in his office, that I bested him in a deadly struggle. I haven’t the strength nor the will for a thing like that.”

“The damage may not have been as extensive as the papers made it sound,” said Quinlan. “They’re apt to exaggerate a thing like that. At the time we suspected another person who would fit into such a rough and tumble.” He looked at Shayne quickly and cleared his throat, shook his head decidedly. “No. Trueman was killed by a single blow on the head,” Quinlan went on to Lomax, “with some sort of an iron bar. A weakling could have delivered the blow-or even a woman.”

“But why would I do it? I was willing to pay his price.” Mr. Lomax spread out his pasty white hands nervously.

“That’s your story. Fifty grand is a lot of money. Or he may have demanded a hundred. That’s a good enough motive for a jury.”

“I’m a wealthy man,” Lomax told him with quiet dignity.

“Maybe. We’ll check on that. In the meantime, here’s another motive that’s going to sound good to a jury. You made him show you the necklace. As soon as you saw it you realized he was trying to palm off an imitation on you. In your justifiable fury you killed him.”

“Oh,” said Lomax faintly, “you know about the necklace being only an imitation?”

“Certainly. In the struggle the necklace was broken and the stones scattered all over the floor. You left one behind when you gathered them up. As soon as we saw it we recognized it as synthetic.”

Shayne lounged forward and said, “That’s why you were so anxious to get the necklace back, wasn’t it, Lomax? Because if it reached the insurance company your fraud would be discovered.”

“Yes. But I tried to do the honest thing. You know I told you I’d prefer not to collect any insurance-that I’d rather pay it out of my own pocket than have your company lose.”

Shayne nodded. “I smelled a nigger in the woodpile right then. I’ve known a lot of wealthy men, but never one with a conscience before. And when I learned you were hard up for cash six months ago, I guessed you’d cashed in the necklace and substituted an imitation. Your wife didn’t know about it, did she?”

“No.” Lomax shuddered. “It was in her name, you know.”

“Wait a minute there, Shayne,” Quinlan protested angrily. “You’re breaking down your own case. If Lomax had substituted an imitation, why would he steal it in the first place-if he didn’t want to collect insurance?”

“I didn’t steal it,” Lomax protested.

“The hell you didn’t.” Quinlan pointed his cigar at Lomax. “You wouldn’t have had to murder Katrin Moe if you hadn’t stolen it. She was the only person in the house who knew it was in the safe in your bedroom at the time the house was burglarized.”

Lomax threw up one arm as though to fend off the accusation.

“Murdered? Katrin? No. She committed suicide. It must have been suicide. I saw the locked door myself-and the gas turned on in her grate.”

“Sure you did,” Quinlan said in a cold even tone. “You were even careful to have someone else break down her door-to have a witness to the fact that it must be suicide. But we know how you did it. And it was smart. I concede that. Damned near perfect. A mere twist of the wrist to shut her gas off after she’d gone to sleep with it burning. Then another twist of the wrist to send gas pouring into her room while she slept.”

Mr. Lomax looked from Quinlan to Shayne in consternation.

“You’re demented,” he panted. “It couldn’t have happened that way. Katrin never burned her gas. We all knew of her aversion to a gas fire.”

Quinlan remained leaning forward. He stopped poking his cigar at Lomax and held it perfectly still in mid-air.

He didn’t move a muscle for a full thirty seconds. Then he twisted his head to look at Shayne in mute appeal.

Shayne drew in a long breath and exhaled noisily. “I didn’t tell you because I figured you’d lock me up the moment you found out that theory had blown up on us. Lomax is right. Katrin Moe never turned her gas on. She wouldn’t stay long in a room where gas was burning.”