Dagger of Flesh (11 page)

I lit another cigarette. It looked as if I were going to have a nice motive laid out for me in the next few minutes, and I was thinking about Gladys and her amorous inclinations. Jay, fifty-eight years old; Gladys, a good thirty and claiming twenty-nine. A lush, bright-lights gal, and a pipe-and-slippers guy. I thought how Gladys had told me she remembered almost nothing about the party—and how Ann had told me Gladys was lying.

Hannibal said, "I suppose you know Mr. Weather married about two years ago?"

I nodded.

"After the marriage, Jay had me draw up his will. I handle all his legal matters, you know. He wasn't as well-to-do then as he is—was—more recently, but the entire estate totaled approximately two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Roughly, it was left to Mrs. Weather and to his daughter, Ann. In the event of his death, twenty-five thousand dollars was to be Ann's when she reached twenty-one. All the rest went to Mrs. Weather."

I flicked ash off my cigarette into a brass ashtray. That meant about two hundred and twenty-five thousand clams for Gladys, plus whatever Jay had piled up since then.

Hannibal went on. "Then, for reasons of his own, Mr. Weather made a new will about two weeks ago. He left everything to Ann."

"What?"

"I should amend that. Ten thousand dollars is bequeathed to Mrs. Weather. Everything else goes to his daughter."

A bunch of questions jammed up in my mind all at once. Why? Why two weeks ago? Did Ann know about it? Why just two weeks before he was murdered? I stubbed out my cigarette and said, "Jay left everything to Ann?"

He nodded.

"Did Mrs. Weather and Ann both know about the new will?"

"Yes," he said. "There wasn't any secret about it. As a matter of fact, both Mrs. Weather and Ann were with him when he came here to give me his instructions."

"That was only two weeks ago?"

"A little before that. Two weeks ago the will was completed and signed. In other words, it superseded the old will from that date. It's the legal document now. Except for the ten thousand dollars I mentioned, Ann is the only heir."

This changed the picture. I began to think the will angle wasn't so important any more. Maybe I'd been too anxious to jump at it. But there were too many other things that didn't make sense yet—the two goons, for example. Jay's parrot. And the transfer of his business to me on the day before he died; and, most important to me right now, the fact that my gun had been used to murder him. And once again, all of a sudden, I remembered the little things out of place, the different things when I'd awakened this morning. I felt uneasiness growing in me. I had to find out more about Jay's death—and Jay's life in the days before he'd been killed.

I lit another cigarette and said, "Thanks. If you don't mind, I'd like to check something else as long as I'm here."

He sat quietly, looking at me.

"The party at Jay's last Saturday. You were a guest, I understand."

"Yes."

"I've already talked to several of the people who were there, so I have a pretty good idea of what went on. The hypnotic demonstration is what I'm particularly interested in. I'd appreciate your telling me about the lecture and demonstration Mr. Borden gave."

"Certainly. I was—wide awake all evening." He grinned. "I'm afraid I didn't cooperate at all with Mr. Borden. Wouldn't care to violate any professional confidences under hypnosis, you know."

I nodded, and he continued. His story was the same one I'd heard before. Jay aped Hitler and mixed drinks at the end of the show, Gladys stood up and sat down when Borden touched his nose. Ayla did a little dance, Hannibal said. Everything was the same, apparently.

I asked him, "Did Borden go with Jay when he mixed the drinks before the party broke up?" Hannibal nodded and I asked, "How long did that take?"

He looked puzzled, but he said, "Three or four minutes. Perhaps a little longer. Whatever time it takes to mix nine drinks. I really didn't pay any attention. Why?"

"What time was that?"

"About midnight then. We sat around and talked for perhaps half an hour, then the party ended. You seem to place strange emphasis on a number of things, Mr. Scott."

"Yeah." I got up. "I won't take any more of your time. Oh, Borden was careful to remove all suggestions, wasn't he?"

"Of course. He did that before anybody left."

"One other thing. Did Jay give you any reason for changing his will, Mr. Hannibal?"

"No. I tried to make him take time to consider such an important step, but it was no use. He was quite calm, but apparently his mind was made up. As a matter of fact, I even discussed it with him again the night of the party."

"Oh? During the demonstration?"

He smiled. "No, that was hardly the time for such a discussion. I went back to his place after I took Miss Stewart home."

"You escorted Miss Stewart to the party, didn't you?"

He nodded.

"Well, thanks again, Mr. Hannibal."

"It's quite all right, Mr. Scott."

I went out of his office and down to my car. Obviously my next move was to talk again with Ann. I hated to talk so soon after Jay's death to those who'd been close to him, but it had to be done.

I wished, though, that my reason for going to see Ann were a different one.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Ten

 

 

AFTER LUNCH I headed for Jay's house. I started to pull in to the curb, but changed my mind. Another car was in the driveway at the side of the big house, and I didn't want company when I made my call. These were the hours when Gladys and Ann were entitled to privacy, and I didn't feel happy about coming here in the first place. But murder changes a lot of things.

I drove around the block, then parked where I could watch the front of the house. Ten minutes went by; then Robert Hannibal came out carrying a briefcase and walked, looking like a cross between a basketball center and a football tackle, to his car. He backed out of the driveway and drove away from me toward town.

I sat in the Buick for another five minutes trying to make something out of that, and wishing Hannibal weren't the family lawyer so I could make more out of it. Then I drove down and parked in front of the house, walked up to the door and rang the bell.

Gladys answered my ring. She was dressed more soberly than usual, in a dark blue jersey dress. Her eyes were red, and she wore no makeup. She still looked pretty good, but a bit worn.

I said, "Gladys, you know how sorry I am. If you don't want to talk to me right now, just say so."

She sighed and bit her lip. "No, it's all right. Come in, Shell."

She led the way into the living room and slumped onto the divan. I sat down in one of the big chairs. An awkward moment passed while I mumbled again how sorry I was and she dabbed at her eyes with a small handkerchief. Even during the awkwardness and the small, heavy silences, I wondered if she knew it was my gun that had killed her husband. I couldn't have been much more uncomfortable.

Finally I said, "Is Ann here?"

"She's in her room. She's been there ever since the police came early this morning. She hasn't eaten." Her voice was dull and flat. She wasn't the same woman who had sworn at me here last night.

"I'd like to see her, if she's up to it," I said. "Incidentally, Gladys, was it the police who notified you?"

She nodded, wordlessly.

Here I was, talking to the bereaved widow only a few hours after her husband's death. But, probably because of the business I'm in, I couldn't help wondering if two or three hundred thousand dollars would have made Gladys look less bereaved. And it seemed strange to me that she'd take Jay's death so hard. She hadn't been very concerned about him when he was alive.

I asked, "Did the police go into much detail? Do you know how he died?"

"Yes. He was shot. He ..." She stopped.

"I mean the details. The gun itself."

She frowned slightly. "Well, the police did ask some peculiar questions. About you, Shell. I wasn't sure, I was so shocked and stunned." She frowned still more and her eyes widened slightly. "But now—"

I said quickly, "Gladys, I didn't know a thing about what had happened to Jay until this morning. The police came and talked to me, too. I—My gun was stolen. That's been proved to the satisfaction of the police." There were several seconds of thick silence, and then I said, "I was trying to help Jay. You might say that right now I'm trying to make up for not succeeding very well."

"I see." She looked at me, shaking her head, then her voice became sharper. "I see," she said again. "Dear Shell. Dear ex-love. This must be part of your personal investigation. Isn't it? Is that why? Of course. That's why you went to see Mr. Hannibal." She glared at me.

I got up. "Look—"

She went on, her voice nasty, "Of course it is." She laughed shrilly. "And I thought you came to sympathize with me, to console me now that—Oh, this is unbelievable! Dear, dear Shell. Mr. Hannibal was here only a few minutes ago as Jay's lawyer and as his friend! I suppose you know that, don't you? Were you spying, sneaking around spying on me again? Spying on Ann and me? Asking Mr. Hannibal who gets Jay's money now that he's—Oh! Get out!"

I said doggedly, "May I speak to Ann?"

"No, you may not speak to Ann!" she yelled, spitting out each word. She was on her feet now, her mouth writhing. "Get out!" she screamed. "Get out, get—"

"Shut up, Gladys!" Ann spoke from the doorway behind me, and as I turned she said quietly to me, "You want to see me, Shell?"

Gladys said in a tight voice, "He wants to ask you if you killed your father, Ann. He wants to ask both of us." Her voice wasn't loud, but it cracked like a whip. "It was his gun Jay was shot with, so he—" She twisted the words off suddenly and sank down on the divan. Her head dropped and she sat staring at the floor.

Ann said, "Come on, Shell." She turned and went back into the hall. I followed her. She didn't look around, but went slowly up the stairs to her room on the second floor. She shut the door behind me and sat on the edge of the bed. I stood just inside the door, wishing I'd never come into the house.

She motioned me to a low, damask-covered chair.

I sat down and said to her, "Ann, what Mrs. Weather said about my gun—"

"I knew about that."

"You knew? How—"

"The police. Oh, they didn't say so, but it wasn't difficult to draw the obvious conclusion." She was quiet for a moment, then she added flatly, "It was easy for me; I told you I'm practically a genius, didn't I? Among other things."

She didn't smile. She didn't look very different from the way she had last night, except for her lack of expression. She wore the same knitted green outfit, and she'd put on makeup, probably for something to do. But there wasn't any of her previous vivacity of expression and there wasn't any lilt or life in her voice.

Death affects people in a lot of different ways. Some go all to pieces, others seem to shrivel up within themselves and wither inside first before the pain spreads and seeps to the surface. Others will get drunk. Ann looked like the kind who go on nearly normal for days or weeks, then suddenly come apart all at once. I wondered what she'd been thinking since she learned it was my gun that had killed Jay—if she'd been thinking at all.

She looked at me steadily. "Why did you come here, Shell? I shouldn't think you would, after last night." She paused. "I heard what Gladys was saying. Did you talk to Hannibal?"

I nodded and said, "Listen to me, Ann. Just for the record. I liked, admired, and respected Jay. I wouldn't have hurt him knowingly for the world. But somebody did, and I'm going to find out who it was."

She looked at me, really at me, for the first time. "Did you learn all you wanted from Hannibal? Dad left everything to me. I'm rich now. Gladys doesn't get it, and I'm glad she doesn't. She didn't love him as I loved him." She smiled, but it was all on the outside, just a movement of her lips. "They didn't even sleep in the same room, but I'll bet that didn't deprive her of a good night's sleep. Or anything else."

"What do you mean?"

"You think about it." She looked away from me and added, seconds later, "I know she'd gone shopping all day and never bought a thing. What would you make of that?"

I didn't answer her. That was one question I couldn't answer very well. We sat quietly till I asked her, "Why did Jay change his will, Ann?"

She said quickly, "Why shouldn't he? Gladys married him only for his money. He knew it, so he changed his will."

"Are you guessing?"

"All right, I'm guessing. Dad didn't ever say so, if that's what you mean. He wouldn't have. But anyone would know she married him for his money." Her jaw got hard for a moment and she said, "She won't get it now. She won't." Then she paused and said softly, "Oh, God, how I hate her." Several seconds passed. Then Ann sighed deeply through her open mouth and said, "You'd better go."

"Ann," I said, "I'm sorry. If there's anything—"

"You'd better go. This isn't like last night, Shell. I can't even talk to you today. I can't think, can't feel anything."

Suddenly the wooden appearance of her face melted and she turned and threw herself facedown on the bed. Sobs burst from her mouth, their shrillness muffled by the bedclothes. Her body shook uncontrollably. I walked over to her and put my hand gently on her shoulder.

She twisted around and looked up at me, mascara smudged around her eyes, lipstick smeared redly along the side of her mouth. With her lips pressed tightly together she shook her head and waved past me to the door.

I turned and went out.

I walked down the stairs and to the front door. I didn't see Gladys anywhere and I couldn't hear Ann crying. I heard nothing except my footsteps, and they sounded abnormally loud, as if I were walking alone in a tomb.

I got into my car and sat quietly for a few minutes, just thinking. I'd learned a little, maybe, but whether it was any good, or even true, I didn't know. I still wondered why Jay had been killed so soon after leaving everything to Ann, but I'd convinced myself of one thing: even if Ann did inherit Jay's estate, it was foolish to think she might have killed him.