Death of a Doll Read online

  “Yes, I did.”

  Poke flared. “I don’t believe it! It’s a big untruth! She was worried sick about it being gone, she was more upset than the buyer!”

  “She was?”

  “Certainly she was. Everybody that works in a store hates things like that. If anybody’s hinting that she took it herself—”

  “Nobody is, Poke. It wasn’t in her suitcase when Miss Brady searched it after she died. It was in Miss Brady’s room, where it belonged. It didn’t disappear until several days ago.”

  “Well, where would Miss Brady get it?”

  “I didn’t ask her. I’m saving that… Ever been in her rooms?”

  “No, sir. She don’t invite you like Angel.”

  “Maybe it was a present from an old Blackman girl. Did any of them live here last winter?”

  “That would be a dumb thing to do,” Moke said. “With me and Poke living here too. No, sir, we never had any other Blackman people, only Poke and me and Ruth.”

  “Dumb?” Poke repeated. “You mean insane. To give away stolen goods is the act of an insane person. I think Miss Brady found it in a pawnshop.”

  “You both have something there,” Mark agreed. “Now run through that suitcase for me and see if everything looks all right. I want to think.” They dropped to their knees, and he watched their careful hands as they smoothed and folded and brought order to chaos.

  It was indeed a dumb thing to give away stolen goods, but he knew a precedent for it. Miss Lizzie Borden, happily acquitted of a couple of murders and heady with success, had helped herself to a silver picture frame and given it to a friend. And there was something in the pawnshop theory, too. Miss Brady looked as if she would enjoy a pawnshop purchase from beginning to end. Work it that way, he told himself, line it up and what have you got?

  Somebody steals a music box from a department store and pawns it. Somebody else sees it and buys it and puts it on her dressing table, presumably in full view. A third person enters the scene and dies violently, and a fourth person nearly dies. And in between the death and the near death, the box disappears. To turn up later in the dead person’s luggage. The dead person had been a clerk in the store from which the box was stolen. The half-dead—check on the half-dead.

  Something to work with, but ragged. Fuzzy, not clean. Something essential left out and something extraneous added. Find the something extraneous, remove it, and ten to one the resulting gap would turn into a mouth that spelt the answer. M-u-r-d-e-r.

  Moke tapped his knee respectfully. He dragged his thoughts back from their dark journey.

  “The blue suit,” Moke said. “The new one. It isn’t here.”

  “The one she wore to tea?”

  “Yes, sir. And she didn’t have it on that day—you know, that day. Somebody swiped it… This place is getting me! I’m gonna move!”

  Poke said quietly, “Where to?” They sat back on their heels and looked at each other.

  “I’d say this was a pretty good place to live in,” Mark observed. “Nice rooms, good food, cheap, all that. I don’t see how you could do better. Easy enough to do worse.”

  “We know,” Poke said.

  “I suppose all the girls feel the same way,” he went on. “Even those who work here, like Kitty and Jewel. There may be things they don’t like, even things they don’t understand, but it’s better to turn the other way and say nothing. Better than going back to hall bedrooms, dirt, eating out of paper bags, hiding from the landlady when the cash is low… They don’t bother you here when you’re late with your board money, do they?”

  “Right,” Poke said.

  “I know I’m right. And if I were one of the Hope House kids, I’d do almost anything to keep Hope House a going concern… Now that’s all for tonight. If people ask you what I wanted, tell them you checked Ruth’s clothing. And tell them about Miss Brady’s box turning up in the suitcase. But don’t, don’t, don’t give the box’s history. Got that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He led them to the door. “Minnie May’s coming to call, and I want you out of here before then.”

  Someone came down the hall even as he spoke. But it wasn’t Minnie May. It was Miss Small. She looked beaten, and she had been crying.

  “Finished?” she asked when they were alone.

  “Temporarily. You’re having a bad time, and I haven’t been making it any easier. I’m sorry. Want me to get out of here?”

  “Don’t apologise and please stay as long as you like. I came to tell you that I’ve finally located Minnie May Handy, she’ll be along any minute. I’d forgotten about her until Miss Brady reminded me that she and Ruth were very friendly at the tea.”

  “Did Miss Brady tell you about this?” He held up the box.

  Miss Small’s eyes filled. “Yes. She’s terribly upset. She was so fond of it, she adored it, and when it disappeared we didn’t know what to think. We can’t imagine how or why—there’s no explanation. Mr East, does this make any sense to you?”

  “None at all.”

  “I’m almost relieved to hear you say that. I thought I was being unusually stupid. I’ve thought and thought, and all I get is the most dreadful feeling of defeat. I’m afraid we’ve made a sad mistake somewhere, and we’ll never forgive ourselves. Are you really going to straighten us out?”

  “I’m going to have a try.”

  She went on, unhappily. “You know, Miss Brady and I are leaving Hope House, and we simply can’t have this hanging over our heads. First poor Ruth, then Lillian, then this kleptomaniac—”

  “Miss Small,” he began, “has it ever occurred to you that perhaps all three of these apparently unrelated incidents are—”

  Someone struck the door a smart blow. He hid his disappointment. “Miss Handy?”

  “I’m afraid so, and I’m afraid it’s very inopportune, but we thought you ought to—”

  “Quite right. Have her in and stick around yourself. According to Miss Mainwaring, Miss Handy gets too much out of life.”

  Miss Small smiled wanly. “Come in,” she called.

  Minnie May was pale and assured, and she was dressed for an evening of dancing and light wines. Her manner said she wanted to get on with it.

  “Miss Handy,” he began.

  Minnie May took it up. “I know what you want, and it won’t take a minute. I don’t know a thing. Sure I talked to the girl at the tea, because she looked lonely and dumb. She hardly opened her mouth, and when she did she asked things like how long people had lived here and where they were from, things like that. She had a snoopy disposition. You see, I know what you asked the other girls, so I’m all set. No use wasting my time. I never saw the girl before. I didn’t see her when she came, or if I did I don’t remember. I wasn’t myself that night. The other time I saw her was at the party, and I danced with her.”

  He pounced. “You danced with her? Are you sure?”

  “Twice. And I’m sure. I was cutting up, but I knew what I was doing. I always know. I was carrying on, taking the place. Miss Small was sore and spoke to me about it. Didn’t you, Miss Small?”

  “I did,” Miss Small said briefly. “Go on, Minnie May.”

  “So I danced with her twice, and you can’t make anything out of that.”

  “I don’t intend to,” Mark said. “I think it was a friendly thing to do. Do you happen to remember what time it was when you danced?”

  “Who watches clocks at parties?”

  “True. But I hoped you might remember because of some incident. The music, what other people were doing, if the party was going strong or just starting. Try it that way.”

  Minnie May became affable at once. “Oh, that. What a mind you’ve got. Well, the first time was early, I’d say eightish. Right, Miss Small?”

  “If you say so,” Miss Small said doubtfully.

  “So. Eightish. And Miss Small shook a fist at me. I calmed down, I’m no fool, and talked to some of the kids. Deaf-and-dumb style for a laugh, and I had some punch and
hung around the desk watching Plummer have kittens.”

  “You say that was the first time?” Mark asked.

  “Sure. And let me do this my way. If you ask me too many questions you’ll mix me up, and if you mix me up we’re sunk. So I watched Plummer. She was going crazy because the chef had cut himself as usual, and she wanted stuff to fix him up. She was grabbing kids as they went by and asking them to go upstairs for stuff.” Minnie May’s eyes glistened. “She grabbed me, but I’m a slippery cuss. Grabbed everybody but Marshall-Gill, didn’t she, pal—I mean Miss Small?”

  Miss Small wisely ignored the palship. “Hardly grab,” she reproved. “But the confusion was dreadful,” she said to Mark. “One of the maids was actually covered with blood, but fortunately we were able to keep it from Mrs Marshall-Gill. I went down to the kitchen at once. It wasn’t serious, he’d been drinking. He does that.”

  “Some fun,” Minnie May said. “Best party we ever had. Worst punch. Next time I stick with the chef. Well I had some more punch anyway, fixed it up a little, my own brand, nobody else got any, and I followed Marshall-Gill around. Blah, blah, blah. She wanted to go upstairs to wash her hands. Wash her hands! Ha-ha!”

  “Minnie May! Please!”

  “Okay, Miss Small, okay. Now let’s see. Eight-thirtyish, maybe, how’m I doing? Then I went outside for some air and stayed maybe half an hour, and when I got back Marshall-Gill was getting out of the elevator. She looked like—she looked green. I think I scared the—I think I scared her. Had my face on backwards. Cut new eyes and a place for my nose.” Minnie May was convulsed. “Nobody thinks of things like that but me. I clowned for the crowd. Everybody said I was a living sight.” She drew a deep breath. “Say, am I talking too much? Sometimes I do.”

  “No,” Mark said. “But how about getting on to the second time you danced with Ruth Miller?” He saw Miss Small watching him and knew they were thinking the same thing. Eight-thirtyish, plus half an hour for air. The time was creeping up to nine. It may have reached nine. And at nine—

  “Okay, but I think this is silly. You got all this stuff from Jewel, practically. Well, I scouted around with my face on backwards and had some more punch and played some records, and then I ran into Miller. We did a two-woman conga. Now wait, wait, I’m coming to it. Scouting around, punch, records, a lot of records, that took time, I guess it was going on ten.”

  Mark said softly, “Are you sure?”

  “Going on ten, close to ten, could have been ten.” Minnie May was positive. “I know, because we had the guessing soon after.”

  “Miss Handy.” She heard the challenge in his voice and stared. “Miss Handy, why do you think you danced with Ruth Miller?”

  “Why? Why, because I did! I spotted her right off. I saw the kids put that mole on her face, I knew her by that. It didn’t do her any good not to talk, and I told her so. I knew her.” She intercepted the look he sent Miss Small. “Hey! What are you doing? What are you looking like that for?”

  He said, “Both Dr Kloppel and the police surgeon said Ruth Miller was dead at nine.”

  Miss Small made a sign of distress. “She may be mistaken. We all lose track of time.”

  Minnie May stood up. Panic stretched her mouth into an ugly shape and darkened her eyes. “I forgot that. So help me, I forgot that. I heard somebody say nine, but I forgot it… You can’t do this! I see what you’re doing! You can’t do this! I don’t care what the doctor says, she was alive at ten. I saw her! I can prove it!”

  “How?”

  “That mole! It was plain as day if you knew where to look. You’ve only got to ask—”

  “That mole is very convenient, but it means absolutely nothing. Everybody knew about it, so everybody could talk about it. What you need is a credible witness, someone who saw you together, and I don’t think you’re going to find one.”

  “But everybody saw me! Everybody! And they laughed!”

  “You, yes. But nobody saw Ruth Miller. Apparently she vanished shortly after the party began… Did you do your two-woman conga with anyone else?”

  “Sure. Three or four.” Minnie May’s voice was lifeless. “But that’s no good, is it? I can’t prove which was which. Am I in a spot or something?”

  “What does it sound like? Listen. You disappeared at eight-thirty and returned at approximately nine. And at nine—” he dragged it out—“at nine Ruth Miller was dead.”

  She screamed. “You! You!”

  Miss Small took Minnie May’s arm and held it fast. “Mr East! Surely that’s enough? Can’t we let it ride for a little while? I’m afraid of what may happen if you go on. She can’t take much more.”

  Minnie May tore loose and backed to the door. “You can’t do things like this! You’re trapping me! You can’t do it, it’s against the law, you can’t!” She fell against the door and beat the panels with impotent hands.

  His directions to Miss Small were quiet and to the point. “Go along with her, but don’t let her talk to anyone. And don’t leave her alone. Ask her roommate to stand by. I hold you personally responsible, I want to see her again tomorrow.”

  To Minnie May, he said, “If you’re telling the truth, Miss Handy, you’ve nothing to worry about.”

  He was afraid she hadn’t heard him. He watched them leave. He’d see her as soon as possible and tell her she was all right. And she was. She was safer than any girl in the House… He heard her wailing voice as she went down the hall. Everybody would hear, and the story would be public property in five minutes. Doors would open and shut, bathrobed figures would gather in the halls and rooms and whisper far into the night. Minnie May Handy had lied to the detective and he’d caught her. Minnie May had lied about Ruth Miller. Minnie May had lied, lied, lied. And Miss Mainwaring would stand guard over a sinful soul and play the martyr until dawn.

  And Minnie May would meet with no accidents. No open windows or slippery showers. She was too precious for that. She was under suspicion, drawing the fire from Ruth Miller’s murderer.

  Dr Kloppel said, “It’s blood all right. Deep in that bronze carving. Want me to soak it out and type it?”

  “No use,” Mark answered. “We can’t do anything with it. We can’t get a sample for comparison, if you know what I mean. It’s better where it is. Even if it belongs to Harris instead of Miller, it’s better. It says more.”

  “Fingerprints?”

  “None.”

  Dr Kloppel wrapped the box in a clean handkerchief and placed it in the centre of his table. The old-fashioned chandelier shed a cold white light. The box looked like a little coffin, shrouded and lonely.

  “Ugh,” Dr Kloppel said. “So you didn’t get anything out of the girls?”

  “Not much, except for the Smiths. The others are scared stiff, holding out, or putting on an act. They look to me as if they’d scratched and clawed themselves up from tenement rooms with six in a bed, and having attained Hope House they mean to keep it. They’re not too bright in the head and they’re afraid of the law. The law puts furniture on the sidewalk, for one thing. So what would the law do in a case of murder? If one of those kids saw a suspicious move that night, she’d turn the other way.”

  “Harris isn’t like that. She’s the one I told you about before, the one who was interested in windows. She’s a bright, intelligent girl.”

  “And what did that get her? A locked room and a broken head… You know, Dr Kloppel, I’m willing to bet my own life that Ruth Miller left that party with someone, or at someone’s suggestion. That her murder was all set, that someone was watching and waiting to strike. Once I lick that time sequence and know who was where and when, I’ve got it. I can’t figure that ten o’clock dance of Minnie May’s, but I bet I can bust it like a bubble when I get my hands on the right pin… Presumably Ruth Miller went to her own room before nine o’clock, and presumably the window she fell from was her own window. But the box, my friend, belongs on the floor above.”

  “Miss Brady’s box, stolen from Blackman’s. Miss Bra
dy’s box.” Dr Kloppel hated his own words. “You can’t accuse that lady of theft. You can’t even accuse her of murder. It isn’t fitting!”

  “But her box did murder once, and tried it a second time. Unless Lillian Harris knocked herself out for a red herring.”

  “No,” Dr Kloppel said. “You didn’t see those heads and I did.” He reached out and touched the box gingerly. “It hurt, Mr East. It was cruel and painful and slow, blow after blow.” He withdrew his hand and rubbed it. “What do we do now?”

  “We act like honest taxpayers and yell help, murder, police. Who was on the case before?”

  “Foy, for about five minutes. He’s a very busy man. He looked up at the window, shook his head and crossed himself, and said, ‘Pity.’”

  “I know Foy. Call him up tonight, after I leave. Tell him you’re dissatisfied, the Harris development will cover that. Say you’ve talked to me. Then he’ll call me, and I’ll tell him how I got on to it and what I’ve done. I’ll still work from my end, Foy will understand that. Give him the box and the suitcase.”

  Dr Kloppel said, “I like Foy as a poker player, but you’ve got more than he has.”

  “Dr K, I’m touched. But Foy has the pretty badge. He can put a dozen men in Hope House and nobody can stop him. He can pat his holster while he asks questions and blow his whistle and get an army.” He thought of Minnie May, beating her hands on the door because he needed a goat, of Moke and Poke, telling God knows who about Miss Brady’s pretty box. “You might suggest a guard for tonight if Foy doesn’t think of it himself. Tell him you’ll sleep better if he puts a couple of men in.” He drummed the table. “I’ve got to see Harris, soon, and I’d like to see Miss Plummer.” Plummer going crazy because the chef cut himself, Plummer grabbing girls to send for stuff. Stuff where? Upstairs? “Everybody talks about Plummer, but I can’t get to her. People keep shunting me off.”

  “She’s in bed, that’s why. Got a cold. And you’re a young fellow. Miss Plummer is the type that undresses under a nightgown, all by herself. You can come with me in the morning. Harris, too. She’ll begin to worry herself back to consciousness in another twenty-four hours, maybe less. Fine, strong girl. Eight-thirty.”