Dan Marlowe - Killer with a Key

He dragged hard on the cigarette. “It's your problem.” He couldn't keep the irritation from his voice.

“Granted. I'll handle it. Myself.” Twilight had stolen up to the apartment windows; he sat and watched the cigarette in the chair opposite glow more brightly as Lorraine Barnes continued. “There is a husband-and-wife relationship almost impossible to describe to an outsider. You're Vic's friend, so I'm trying. I'm also trying because I'd like your help.” The cigarette in her hand moved in a vague arc; the steady voice was expressionless. “Vic is not a passionate man. It has nothing to do with his age; he never has been. In our marriage there are really only two things I can give him: companionship, and his own self-respect. I've compromised the self-respect, but I don't intend for Vic to know it. Vic needs me, depends upon me; I'm his crutch against the world. And in turn I'm very grateful to him for being the sweet person that he is.” Above the smoldering cigarette her gaze was unwinking. “I wouldn't want you to think this an excuse or a rationalization, even. I'm simply trying to explain to you the position in which I find myself.”

He stirred uneasily in his chair. “So where does it leave you?”

“That depends on you. Do you think I killed Ellen, Johnny?”

He drew in his breath; this woman beat him to first one punch and then another. For the space of ten seconds he turned it over in his mind, and then he spoke deliberately. “I don't know. I doubt that a woman would have the strength; Ellen was no midget. On the other hand, you had opportunity as far as Sanders and Ellen both were concerned, so far as I know, and I have to think that whoever got Sanders got Ellen, too.” He was silent a moment. “I don't know about Sanders, but there's one way you can get yourself ninety-five per cent clean with me on Ellen. The police didn't put it out, but Ellen reached whoever killed her with her fingernails-reached them good. This morning when we went downtown you had on a high-necked dress. You've got another on now. I want a look. To the waist.”

She said nothing at all for a count of twenty, and when she did speak her voice was an octave lower. “If I didn't need you-” She said it between her teeth as she stood up.

“I'm in this thing, and I want out with as whole a skin as I can manage. Sit where you are.” She unfastened the three small mother-of-pearl buttons at the neck of her dress and in one long flowing motion stooped, caught up the hem of her skirt and pulled the dress off over her head. She had on a half-slip and a bra. In seconds she had the bra unhooked and off, and made one slow, complete pirouette. In the room's waning light her body glowed, and the only break from neck to waist in the ivory symphony were the dark-nippled, firmly jutting breasts.

She re-hooked the bra, face averted, picked up her dress and reversed it from its inside-out condition. She sounded a little breathless as she slipped it back over her head. “Satisfied?”

“Almost. I want to look at your scalp.”

“Then come and look at it,” she said wearily and sat down. In ninety seconds he had satisfied himself that there were no more scratches or abrasions hidden beneath her hair than there had been beneath her clothing.

He returned to his chair, and his voice was abrupt. “I don't know why you want me on your side. I don't know what you've got in mind, but let me tell you something I've got in mind. I wouldn't want to find out later that you had a partner and that he had the scratches.”

She sounded honestly curious. “And if you did find it out?”

“We wouldn't need any police.” The sound of his voice hung in the room, fiat and deadly. “I'd break your back. His, too.”

“I wish I knew you better, Johnny. Anyone who can make a statement like that, which should sound merely theatrical, and make it so impressively lethal-”

He refused to be distracted. “Who killed Sanders, Lorraine?”

The face she turned to him was perfectly guileless. “I don't know. I didn't see him killed. I'm not sure I know anyone with a good motive for killing him.”

“Why were you over there near his place?”

He could see her jawline ridge itself prominently. “That's my business.”

“You said a minute ago you needed me,” he suggested softly. “I don't move very fast up a one-way street. I want to know what you know. Now, not when it's too late. Let's hear something.”

“You've heard all you're going to hear from me,” she replied positively.

He did not want an open rupture-yet. He went off at a tangent. “You know a guy named Ed Russo?”

“Russo? I don't believe so. Why?”

“He has an office over at the hotel. He's a slim, dark, slick-looking job, thin face, good clothes, quick way of moving. Was Ellen carrying a white kitten when you saw her last night?”

“Why, yes, she was. I remember it on her arm-”

Johnny nodded. “She had it at the hotel, too. This morning I overheard this Russo asking if a kitten had been delivered for him. I got curious and went upstairs and poured a little kerosene on him. He exploded all right, but not in a way that meant anything to me. Then in his desk I found a newspaper folded back to the Robert Sanders headline.”

Lorraine Barnes frowned. “Your general description… Does he wear a ruby ring?”

“Never noticed.”

“The rest of it sounds like a man named Winslow I see in and out of Mrs. Sanders' office all the time. Hair plastered down-”

“Tight,” Johnny agreed. “You know his first name?”

“I think it's Edward, though that doesn't sound-” She looked up at the ceiling. “Edmund. That's it. Edmund Winslow.”

“At my place he's Edmund Russo. He worked for Mrs. Sanders? Or was there something personal between them?”

“Something personal? I wouldn't think so.” Lorraine Barnes said it slowly; obviously the possibility had not occurred to her before. “And he did run around a bit with a girl in the office. Roberta Perry; everyone calls her Bobby. I know they've dated.”

“You got an address for this Perry girl?”

“It's in my address book. I'll get it for you before you go.”

“What about her? How would you size her up?”

“Well, a little on the shrewd side, I'd say. Attractive. Calculating is the word I want, I guess. I wouldn't think vicious.”

“She'd better be shrewd if she's taking on Russo.”

“You don't like him?”

“We've agreed to disagree.”

Her smile was surprising, the first real smile he had seen on the usually guarded face. “You said he exploded? I don't see any marks on you.”

“I must outweigh him seventy pounds.” The smile still lingered. “Years ago I found the application of strength and leverage a fascinating subject. You'd never think it to look at me, but I'm a phys-ed grad.” She looked at him steadily. “If we can't be partners, Johnny, how about an armed truce?”

“Why can't we be partners? Because I want to know too much? I want to find this guy.”

“I'm afraid you'll have to forgive me if I don't want you finding him at the expense of shattering the foundations of my life.”

“Look, Lorraine. I don't give a damn about your private life. I want to know what you know that'll help me get closer to this guy. I don't see why you're afraid-”

“I'll tell you why I'm afraid,” she interrupted firmly. “In the important area of the police I'm not yet involved in this thing. If I should tell you my suspicions, and you acted upon them without proof, we would both be involved with the police, and my entire purpose would be defeated. That's why I'm afraid.”

He stood up and turned to the door. “Good night, Lorraine.”

“Good night, Johnny. I'm sorry.”