Postmark Murder (25 page)

Lieutenant Peabody leaned back and gave her a long, weary look. His pale eyes were red-rimmed with fatigue. He said, however, crisply enough, “Why not?” ·

“I can’t say—I don’t know—but I—I don’t believe him.”

He said nothing for a moment, yet it was as if invisible tentacles caught at her with questioning fingers, and at last nudged her into further speech. “I can’t tell you why. I don’t know why. Lieutenant Peabody, what do you think of Maria Brown? Who is she?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“But—what are you doing to find her?”

“Many things. It’s all routine.”

“What about Catherine Miller?”

He rubbed his eyes again. “It’s been a long day, Miss March. I’ll probably not get much sleep tonight. We’re trying every lead we can find. So far there’s nothing we’ve uncovered to account for Catherine Miller’s murder except the fact that she was wearing a brown coat and a black beret—and was murdered here.”

“Could there be—”  she said hesitantly. “Could there be any possible link between Maria Brown and this Catherine Miller?”

“Not so far as we’ve discovered; I doubt it very much. Robbery was not the reason for her murder; her pocketbook was in the pocket of her coat; a few bills and bus fare, nothing else. There’s nothing Mrs. Grelly could tell us, nothing anybody who knew her has so far been able to tell us which would suggest a motive for murder. She lived in a rooming house, a kind of club for working women. I told you that. She had no family, and no relatives in Chicago. She came from Springfield eight years ago; I’ve talked to the chief of police there; she had a brother in Los Angeles; I’ve talked to him. Believe me when I tell you that so far we’ve drawn a complete blank—except for—” He sighed and said flatly, “A brown coat, a black beret, her presence in an apartment house where you live. I told you, I don’t like coincidence. In the absence of any other discoverable motive we have to go on the theory that Catherine Miller was murdered because someone thought she was Maria Brown. So therefore, provided of course no contrary evidence comes out, it does seem to me very unlikely that Maria Brown killed her. However, that is by no means a conclusive statement. Circumstances can alter it. Miss March, are you sure that when you went out to the rooming house on Koska Street, when you went to the drug store, at any other time that evening, you didn’t see anybody you know?”

Somebody else had asked her that question. Oh, yes—Doris. Laura said, “No. Nobody.”

“This business of Catherine Miller’s murder has one odd likeness to that of the man who was murdered, whoever he was. There is a troublesome lack of sound alibis, among the people concerned with the Stanley money, for the time when both murders occurred. You,” he said specifically, “Stedman, Mrs. Stanley. Cosden.”

“But Matt was here—”

“He left at an hour which neither you nor he was certain of except it was between eleven and twelve. Stedman was at Mrs. Stanley’s to dinner; he left at about the same time, and came directly past this apartment. The elevator man and the doormen at Mrs. Stanley’s apartment house say she did not leave her apartment that night. But there are service elevators there, self-operated, and a service entrance which is locked by the engineer at one o’clock when he leaves. The fact is, all four of you were in the vicinity when Catherine Miller was murdered. When this first man was murdered you were admittedly at the rooming house; Cosden has no alibi for that time; he says he was Christmas shopping but there’s no way to prove it. Stedman has no alibi; he says he was at his club, resting, and then took his car and drove out to his factory. The factory is on the west side not too far from Koska Street.” He gave a tired, half-stifled yawn. “Mrs. Stanley, of course, was at the dentist’s; I’ve talked to him and his office girl. But you and Stedman—and possibly Cosden— could have been at Koska Street at the time of the murder. The same thing was true last night. You were all in this vicinity. It’s an odd likeness. Isn’t it?”

The list of suspects was too small, she thought again, with a queer kind of horror as if, for the moment, she accepted it without reservation. Charlie? Doris? Not Matt; not herself.

But there was Maria Brown. And there was the new man claiming to be Conrad Stanislowski.

As if he sensed her argument, he said, “Maria Brown was at Koska Street at the time the first man was murdered; we don’t know where she was last night. Stanislowski, he says, was on the train—a day coach, crowded; he threw away the stub of his ticket. Let’s get back to him, Miss March. Naturally your intention as trustee, and Stedman’s intention, and for that matter Mrs. Stanley’s and Cosden’s, is to check on his story. That will take considerable time. Things being as they are, with the difficulty of communicating with anybody in Poland, and a very definite difficulty in checking his story about shipping as a hand on the
Mirador,
that’s going to take a very long time. In fact, you may never be able to confirm every detail of it. There was a cargo ship called the
Mirador;
I’ve talked to the New Orleans port authority. But whether or not the skipper will willingly admit taking on a man without proper papers, is another thing. However, I understand that you intend to try to confirm his story.”

“Yes.”

“The details of it may be impossible to confirm. Have you considered that?”

She hadn’t really. She said, “I only know how I feel, Lieutenant Peabody.”

“In other words you feel that the first man was really Conrad Stanislowski.”

“I can’t explain it to you. I only know that I want to—to wait.”

“But you believe that the first man was Stanislowski. You admit that.”

“I don’t know what you mean by admit. But—yes, I did feel he was Stanislowski.”

“You believed he was Stanislowski. Therefore, you believed his claim to the Stanislowski fund. You knew also that if he died the money would go to you, to Stedman and to Mrs. Stanley.”

“No, to Jonny.”

“Maybe and maybe not. You can’t always tell what the courts will do. In any event this first man turned up. As the situation stood before his appearance the child’s inheritance was unsettled; there was a question about it; it must be taken to court. What is rather important, too, all four of you would be obliged to agree to continue the trust fund for the child. However, at this point the first man turns up; the situation changes very abruptly. He is to get all the money. But he is murdered very soon, you might even say immediately, upon presenting himself to you. He told you his address, he talked to you, he told you to tell no one of his appearance. That in itself is rather a curious circumstance, didn’t you think so?”

“Yes. But I—believed him.”

“Exactly, you believed him. And you were the only person who knew anything about him.”

“BUT I DIDN’T KILL
him, Lieutenant Peabody. You can’t believe that I killed him—”  

“Please hear me out. The father, or the man who convinces you he is the father, actually appears and then dies.” Lieutenant Peabody’s wiry figure leaned forward. “I suppose it didn’t strike you that his death would make the child’s position much more secure? That consequently there would be no problem of the trust fund? She is her father’s heir—”

“But there’s Maria Brown. If she
was
his wife—”

“Yes, yes. Cosden and I had a long talk about that. It’s a very convenient notion. But there’s not a vestige of a fact to support it. We have to go on facts, and the fact is that the death of this first claimant might be considered a short cut to the child’s eventual possession of the trust fund. If the murdered man had been really Stanislowski, as you believed him to be, there would be no question of a court’s decision. Jonny would almost automatically be considered her father’s heir. She would inherit from her father. And she would have to have a guardian, wouldn’t she?”

He waited for Laura’s assent. “Yes,” she said. “Until she is of age.”

“Exactly. And you would have been the logical choice to continue to see to her.”

“But I—”

“Please wait. In all probability it would have been in a sense a lifetime relation. The child would have been grateful to you. Your influence over her would have continued.”

“Stop! That’s not true. I never thought of that.”

He leaned back in his chair and ran his finger around his wrinkled shirt collar. “This is murder,” he said wearily. “A policeman must follow any leads he finds to follow. We’ve cleared the Pittsburgh angle; Conrad Stanley’s brother Paul died unmarried; no heirs. So far you must grant the fact that there are only four people whom we know to have had an interest in this first claimant’s life or death.”

“Maria Brown—” she began.

He said shortly, “She’s important. She may have evidence. Obviously, she’s very important to somebody; Catherine Miller was killed. Now then, Mrs. Stanley would have had a third of the money if Conrad hadn’t turned up or at least a man who claimed to be Conrad. Mrs. Stanley is already a rich woman. She didn’t need that extra third.”

But she wants it, thought Laura swiftly. She likes money, she spends money. That’s why she’s against the plan to keep the trust fund intact for Jonny. Lieutenant Peabody went on. “I’ve investigated all these people, believe me. It’s a very easy thing for a policeman to do. Stedman has a good solid business, tools and dies. He lives quietly but luxuriously. He has no family, no personal claims which might provide an urgent need for money. He is willing to accept this second claimant; he does not oppose his proofs of identity; therefore I cannot believe that he would have opposed the first claimant, if he had had sufficient proof of his claims. Certainly not to the extent of murder.”

That had not occurred to her. She said, “Do you mean that clears him of suspicion?”

“None of you is cleared until we get at the truth,” Peabody said grimly. “Don’t forget Cosden has a motive, too.”

“Matt! He’s not a suspect!”

“Oh, isn’t he? Consider this: Cosden and Mrs. Stanley were to have been married when she met Stanley; she jilted Cosden. As soon as Stanley died she went back to Cosden. She gave him her legal business. She saw him constantly. Mrs. Stanley’s interests are Cosden’s interests. She says, or implies, that he’s going to marry her. Money is a very real and compelling motive for murder.”

“Matt didn’t even know that Conrad—I mean the murdered man—had come! I didn’t tell him! He didn’t hear anything about him until I told him! He didn’t know his address! He didn’t know—”

“But you did know,” the Lieutenant said quietly, bringing her around a full circle again. He added after a moment, with again a flash of that curiously disarming frankness, as if he were putting all his cards on the table, “You were very young to be made a trustee for this fund Stanley set up.”

“He knew me. He trusted me.”

“I know all the circumstances. I know what Stanley did for you and why. I also know that of all the people who would supposedly profit by that man’s death, you were the only one who needs money.”

Anger brought her to her feet. “I can support myself!”

“But a windfall in the way of cash would help you. Wouldn’t it?”

He must be made to see the truth. She said, “Lieutenant Peabody, I didn’t kill that man. Doris didn’t kill him; she has an alibi. Charlie didn’t; he does accept the second man; he doesn’t oppose him or the settling of the estate. Matt couldn’t have killed anybody. I
know
these people. I know—”

“Nobody knows what anybody’s like really when it comes to a very strong wish for money. Or when it comes to murder,” he said in a strangely somber voice. “I know what you want me to believe. You want me to believe that Maria Brown lured that man to the address on Koska Street, killed him, phoned to you for help, then ran away. Later you say she came here and asked about the child and ran away again. You want me to believe that someone tried to murder you, got into your apartment, put some sort of sedative in that hot milk. It would be a very dangerous thing to do. Suppose you had seen this remarkably invisible person.”

“It happened,” Laura said, her lips dry and stiff. “Matt saw the kitten.”

“But you had already washed the thermos, hadn’t you?”

“Yes. And the saucer. But it did happen like that, Lieutenant. And somebody did follow us in the park that day.”

“Somebody you didn’t see closely enough to identify or describe.” There was an edge of dry skepticism in his voice.

But she must make him see the truth, she thought again desperately. “But Maria Brown did come here. She—”

“And the girl at the switchboard downstairs didn’t see her. Nobody saw her apparently except you.”

“But the girl at the switchboard doesn’t see everybody. She’s busy. It’s a big apartment house. People coming and going all the time.”

He said thoughtfully, “We’re trying to find Maria Brown. We’re doing everything we can to find her. Either she knows something or she merely went to a dying man’s aid and then got scared. We’re combing the city, inquiring at every rooming house, at every small hotel. Eventually we’ll find her unless of course”— he shrugged—“she’s got a friend somewhere who has taken her in. I feel now that that is the answer. There’s someone to whom she could go, someone who would hide her. But there we are. The landlady out at the rooming house knows nothing of any friend. We’ve inquired at the store where she worked. She worked there for a very short time. She’d been very uncommunicative. So far we’ve unearthed nobody who knew anything about her. Now, it’s not easy in a city of this size to find a woman dressed as she was dressed, nothing much to identify, nothing much in the way of description, no photograph. Her description as we have it would fit a thousand women. We did find the yellow-taxi driver. He says he took you and a child to the rooming house. He says a woman came out and spoke to you for a moment and then got into the taxi. He took her to the Union Station and there she disappeared. It’s the end of that trail so far. I’m telling you all this because I want you to see how the situation stands.”

He paused, thought for a moment as if marshaling facts, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, and his hands linked, and went on. “As to the day of the Koska Street murder, the situation was this: the landlady says that she, the landlady, was shopping during the afternoon. She says the murdered man arrived about noon and rented a room; then the landlady went out. He did not ask for Maria Brown. I asked the landlady if he had given any references; she said, no. I asked her if anybody had sent him to the rooming house; she said not to her knowledge. She had the room vacant, he looked respectable, he paid the rent she asked. The point is he did not ask for Maria Brown and we haven’t been able to find her or find any trail of her since she disappeared from the Union Station. I needn’t tell you that there are thousands of people coming and going there, all the time. It would be almost impossible to trace her from there.”