Lost Lady Page 8

  Iris explained that the house had a huge attic and that part of it had been turned over to Robert for his railroading. She said he loved it like some men love fishing or hunting, and that he was always fussing around. “He doesn’t run the trains much,” she explained, and I knew what she meant because I’d encountered it before. “He’s always building locomotives and cars from kits that he buys, and doing backgrounds and scenery. He’s got a beautiful layout in the attic. It isn’t half as silly as it sounds.”

  “How did Bayless and Halliday get along?”

  She looked at me. “You saw them together today. It’s that way. What Robert really thinks, I don’t know. He never says anything unkind about anyone. Dean needles him, but rather good-naturedly. When he goes in the attic—Dean, that is—he always kids about messing up Robert’s railroad.”

  “Has he ever bothered it?”

  “Oh, no.”

  “What does he do in the attic, then—play with the trains?”

  “Not that, certainly. I don’t know why he goes up there. Why does anyone go up in an attic?”

  Iris was pretty much at ease now. Marty had handled that cleverly. So he came back again to the line of questioning I’d been waiting for.

  “Does your sister wear much jewelry, Miss Kent?”

  “She wore very little. She had a good deal of it, some she got from Mother, some that was given her, some that she bought. She kept most of it in a box at the Security-First National.”

  “How much did she wear, usually?”

  “Let me see… .” Iris was thinking. “There was her wedding ring, of course. That was a plain platinum band. She had a very handsome engagement ring. Then there was a dinner ring that was fairly valuable and that she always wore. She had a jeweled wrist watch. I was with her when she bought that. It cost fifteen hundred.”

  “That all?”

  “Not quite. She had an unusually fine set of clip and earrings. Diamonds and emeralds. She kept those in her dresser or in her bag, and only wore them when she was going out to dinner or to a party. I know they were fine, but they looked like costume jewelry—or would have to anyone who didn’t know better. Anyway, she had them all insured. You can get the descriptions from her policy.”

  “Did she have all the jewelry with her when she drove you downtown? The stuff she was in the habit of wearing, I mean. You say she only wore the earrings and clip when she was going someplace special. It would be interesting to know whether …”

  “I’m sure she wasn’t wearing them. But she must have had them with her.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I looked in her dresser—that place where she usually keeps them—today. They weren’t there.”

  “When you ate dinner with her night before last, was she wearing all of her rings?”

  Iris frowned and shook her head. She said, “I can’t answer that one directly. All I can say is that she probably was. If she hadn’t been I think I’d have noticed.”

  “But you aren’t sure.”

  “No, I’m not sure. Why are you so interested?”

  “Because when we found her, she had no jewelry on or with her except her wedding ring. That gave us the idea that robbery could have been the motive.”

  Iris obviously liked that idea, but couldn’t quite go for it. She said she didn’t see where it fitted exactly, because someone must have been in the car with her when the killing occurred, someone she expected, someone she’d probably planned to meet. She said, “I wish I could remember whether she was wearing those rings at dinner, but I can’t. That’s the best I can do.”

  We told her that was good enough, and Marty apologized for having taken up so much of her time. He asked whether she’d mind going back in the den, and if she’d be good enough to let us have a few words with Robert Bayless.

  I could see that she wanted to ask us some questions, but after making a false start she changed her mind and walked out of the room. A few seconds later Bayless came in. He walked across to us and smiled.

  “You wanted me?”

  “Yes. Just a few questions. Routine.”

  “Of course.” He looked around in the direction of the den, satisfying himself that the door was closed. Then he said, “I’d like to say something first, if you don’t mind.”

  Marty invited him to go right ahead.

  He walked over to the corner and picked up a brief case. He selected a key from his ring and fitted it into the lock of the case. He opened it and produced something rolled up in chamois. He drew the coffee table up close, opened the chamois, and spilled some jewelry out onto the table.

  Jewelry. Rings, clip, wrist watch, earrings… It glittered and gleamed at us. Marty tried to keep his voice level.

  “Mrs. Halliday’s?” he asked.

  Bayless said that it was. “Where did you get it?”

  “She gave it to me day before yesterday afternoon. She telephoned and asked me to drop by. Before I left she asked me not to mention having been here.”

  “What was her idea?”

  Bayless spoke softly, carefully. “I don’t know,” he said. “When she gave me the package, it was wrapped just about like you saw it—in that piece of chamois. She didn’t say it was jewelry, and I didn’t know positively that it was until tonight, when I thought I’d better look at it.”

  He looked at us and shook his head. “Looking back,” he said, “I see things that couldn’t have meant anything when they happened. What Dorothy did, what she told me, had no significance then. Now it’s different.”

  “What’s different about it?”

  “When she gave that stuff to me she seemed worried. She said she was going somewhere and didn’t want to take it with her. She said I was to keep it for at least a week, and not to give it back to her sooner than that even if she asked me for it. I didn’t even ask what ‘it’ was. I did ask why she was worried and whether there was anything I could do. She said there was nothing anyone could do. I know now that she was afraid. And obviously, gentlemen, she had something to be afraid of.”

  Chapter Eleven

  It was the sort of jewelry that looks like nothing. It was handsome enough, but you’d have to know precious stones to appreciate that. On a quick estimate, I’d have said ten to fifteen thousand for the lot, and a later check of the floater policy showed the latter figure was pretty close.

  There was one other thing: a purple velvet case that looked as though it might contain a ring. I opened it.

  It was a tiny gold thimble. Depending on where you bought it, the value was anywhere from ten to fifteen dollars. I must have looked surprised to find it mixed up with real stuff, because Bayless stepped in with an explanation.

  “The most valuable thing there,” he said.

  “How come?”

  “It was Iris’ first thimble. I’ve seen it and heard about it. Dorothy taught her to sew when she was just a kid. Bought her this thimble then. It has a terrific sentimental value.”

  Marty didn’t seem too interested in the jewelry. When murder is the crux of the case, everything else pales into insignificance except as it may help to supply motive. He said, “Iris told us you hadn’t been here for several days previous to Mrs. Halliday’s death.”

  Bayless smiled. It was a nice, warm smile. He said, “I wasn’t, actually. On the telephone, Dorothy told me I’d only be a few minutes. I drove down from my little real-estate office in Brentwood and I parked at the curb. Dorothy must have been on the lookout, because she came out of the house and got in the car with me. That’s where we talked. After we’d finished, she returned to the house and I drove back to work. I put the stuff in my brief case and didn’t take it out until after I heard the news tonight.”

  “Weren’t you curious?”

  “Naturally. But not so curious as to pry into her affairs.”

  Marty said, “You said she seemed worried. What gave you that impression?”

  “The careful way she chose her words. The way she avoided telling m
e what it was all about. You see, Iris and I are virtually engaged.” He spread his hands apologetically. “It’d be difficult to make you understand that. We are and we aren’t. We’re totally dissimilar, yet there’s a closeness that I’m sure Iris doesn’t feel for any other man. Dorothy always said she hoped Iris would settle down and marry me. I hope so, too.”

  “Hmm …” I could see that Marty wanted to say something, but didn’t want to hurt Bayless’ feelings. “That brings up an unusual point, Bayless. I—er— ah …”

  “Don’t feel any embarrassment, Lieutenant.” Bayless spoke with quiet dignity. “I know exactly what you want to ask, and I’ll answer it for you. Yes, Iris has been wild. She’s been a thrill girl. She’s gone with a lot of the wrong men and she’s gone with them the wrong way. She’s told me all about it. But it happens—no matter how odd it might seem to you—that I love her.”

  I wanted to say, “Attaboy!” but I restrained myself. Marty kept going, however.

  “You asked her whether there was anything you could do and she said there was nothing anybody could do. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “Who was she worried about—herself or her sister?”

  “I don’t know. In the light of what’s happened, I could easily say that she was worried about herself, but that would be reaching. I didn’t get any special idea at the time.”

  “Didn’t the whole procedure strike you as unusual?”

  “Perhaps. There’s been a lot of tension around this house for a long time.”

  “Dean Halliday?”

  “Yes. He and Dorothy didn’t seem to be too happy. Iris and Dean have always disliked each other. The most cordial they ever got was an armed truce.”

  “Do you know what the Hallidays quarreled about?”

  “Only what Iris told me. She said Dean was usually trying to get money out of his wife.”

  “Dorothy was very wealthy?”

  Bayless looked at the handsomely furnished room, made a gesture that included the whole house, the grounds, the swimming pool, the tennis court, the three-car garage, the jewelry on the coffee table. “What do you think?” he asked.

  “So,” probed Marty. “We have a worthless but handsome husband who wants more money than his rich wife will give him. He’s keeping a woman and we believe his wife knows it—certainly Iris knows. He’s bound to get pretty sore at Dorothy eventually. If he’s really in love with his mistress, and was afraid he’d lose her unless he got more money, he could plan to kill his wife… “

  Robert Bayless stopped smiling. He said, “Listen, Lieutenant. Detecting is your business. You’ve got a right to build up any theory that sounds valid to you. But you’re way off on that sort of thinking. Dean would never have killed his wife.”

  “Meaning he was the egg that laid the golden goose?” Bayless flushed and Marty hastened to apologize. “Sorry,” he said. “I get those corny jokes in my mind. They pop out of me when I’m with the boys, and they think I’m funny as hell. My timing on that one was pretty sour.”

  “Forget it.” Robert Bayless had shown a quick flash of resentment, but he was back in line again. “You said it rather embarrassingly, but you expressed the idea. This marriage was a good thing for Dean. Whether or not Dorothy was giving him as much as he wanted doesn’t matter. She was still giving him more money and more luxury than he could get any other way.”

  “Wouldn’t he inherit on her death?”

  “Once more you’re asking me to guess, Lieutenant. That doesn’t seem fair.”

  “You’re almost a member of this family, Bayless. Your guess might be pretty good.”

  “Then I’ll say I wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn that Iris would be the sole heir. Or almost. I seriously doubt that much of the estate will be found to have been left to Dean. So you see, that would take away the financial motive for Dean’s killing her, and money was the most important thing in his life.”

  “You’d check him out as a suspect?”

  “Yes.” Bayless’ answer was immediate and unequivocal. “Unless there was some other element in their relationship that I know nothing about.”

  “Do you like or dislike Halliday?”

  “I dislike him. If I had to choose someone to be convicted of this murder, I’d pick Halliday. Except that I don’t believe he did it. It doesn’t fit in any way, or have you figured that, too?”

  “Let’s have your reasons.”

  “One, he would have known that he’d lose rather than gain on the deal. Two, if she had planned to meet someone away from the house on a deal that worried her, it wouldn’t have been her husband. They’ve got plenty of privacy right here. Three, giving me her personal jewelry to keep is also out of line if Halliday is to be considered. Halliday had access to that jewelry all the time. Four, I’m sure she knew about the woman he was keeping and that she tolerated it without openly approving.” He shook his head. “I could go on indefinitely, Lieutenant. The more I think, the less it comes out Dean Halliday.”

  “How about this Laverne woman? The one he was keeping. Suppose she thought he would inherit? That might give her a motive.”

  “I don’t know anything about that angle. I don’t even know the lady, although Iris pointed her out to me a couple of times. I haven’t any idea how she’d figure.”

  “There are a couple of other angles.” Marty sounded like he was talking to himself. “Laverne had a boy friend of her own, a shrewd little guy named Montero. Ever hear of him?”

  “No, but I’d say it was a little far-fetched to suspect him simply because he’s Miss Laverne’s friend.”

  “I’ll ask you a straight question, Bayless. Can you figure what this begins to trim down to?”

  Bayless’ face flushed. He said, “I know what you’re driving at. Iris.”

  “Exactly. Chances are a thousand to one that she would gain the most financially by this deal. She drove off in the car with her sister. She was the last one to see Dorothy.”

  “Except the murderer.”

  “Neatly put. But I’m presuming for a moment that Iris might be guilty. Not that I really think so. I’m just exploring.”

  “You’re not a very good explorer, Lieutenant. Dorothy would have given her sister anything in the world she wanted.”

  “Iris herself has admitted that she plays around. Suppose she was in trouble?”

  I liked the way Bayless refused to duck any question. “You mean pregnant?”

  “Something like that.”

  “There’s no ‘something like that.’ Either a girl is pregnant or she isn’t. If she is, that’d be easy to find out. But it wouldn’t mean anything. Dorothy’s one thought would have been to protect her. And, even if you consider me a quixotic damn fool, you can take my word that I’d have been proud to marry her, even under those circumstances.”

  “In other words,” sighed Marty wearily, “nobody killed Dorothy Halliday. She ain’t even dead. She’s just undergoing a post-mortem for the fun of the thing.”

  Once again Bayless flushed with resentment, once again Marty apologized. He explained that, being a cop, and having a bunch of good suspects, he hated to see them cut from under him. If there were somebody we didn’t even know about, some angle in the dead woman’s life that had been a secret, it meant we’d have to start all over from the beginning. Bayless said he was sorry, but he’d done the best he could. He found it impossible to suspect Iris or Dean Halliday, and he didn’t know anything about Dolores Laverne or Vince Montero.

  We thanked him and then Marty opened the den door and asked Iris to come back for a moment. He showed her the jewelry spread out on the coffee table and told her about Dorothy’s giving them to Robert Bayless the afternoon of her murder. He asked Iris to identify them.

  But Iris didn’t do that. Not right then, she didn’t. She paid no attention to the valuable rings, earrings, and clip. Instead she picked up the little gold thimble.

  She looked at it for a long time. I could see her beginning to choke
up, as though this hit her harder than anything else had done; as though there might be a personal message—a silent accusation, even—in that almost valueless thing.

  Iris started to cry. She started quietly, but her crack-up gained momentum. It grew into real hysteria, and the first thing we knew she was having a pretty tough time of it. And in her new realization, she turned to Robert Bayless. She put her arms about him and clung to him while the storm broke.

  He held her gently, stroking her head, murmuring to her. He looked at us reproachfully. I felt sorry for the girl, but at that moment I felt a hell of a lot sorrier for Robert Bayless.

  Chapter Twelve

  We got rid of Iris and her boy friend. Then we called Dean Halliday.

  He walked in jauntily, looking too assured, too handsome, too everything. We were sitting down, but he pointedly ignored our invitation to do the same. He regarded us as though we were some species of exceptionally obnoxious vermin, and then he started to talk.

  “I’ll make it easy for you,” he said. “I know just what you’re thinking and just what you want.”

  He made a production of selecting a cigarette from a gold case and lighting it with a gold lighter.

  “To answer the most important question first,” he said acidly, “I did not murder my wife. We didn’t get along very well, and she wasn’t fond of the idea that I enjoyed elsewhere an enthusiastic co-operation that I couldn’t get at home.

  “I know nothing about her will. If I come in for more than a ham sandwich, I’ll be very much surprised. I have no alibi, except my unsupported word, for the time the murder occurred. I was with a delectable young lady by the name of Dolores Laverne until about ten o’clock. After that, believe it or not, I went for a walk. I drifted up Hollywood Boulevard and stopped in at a couple of bars where I am not known. I did not get drunk. I can’t tell you at precisely what hour I got home, but I’d figure it about two o’clock, which could have put me at the spot Dorothy was killed at the time she was killed.

  “You’re going to ask me whether I was surprised that she was patronizing a motel as the wife of another man. The answer is yes. Not that I considered her too moral, but because I never thought the idea of sex interested her. It certainly hasn’t in her relationship with me. If, as now appears, she was cheating, more power to her. It would seem, though, that she picked the wrong man to cheat with. Had I known what was going on, I would have been amused, not jealous.”