Dolls Are Deadly (16 page)

Without the touch of his eager, grimy hands, his possessions were static. They were not just waiting to be used; they lay heavily, never to be moved again. The bed was made forever, the bat would stand there until the end of time. There was no feeling that in a moment the boy would stamp into the room, hurl his coat on the bed, seize the bat and rush out to join his companions on the field.

In this room everything had ended.

On the bureau beside a comb, brush and mirror accurately lined up, were two pictures in identical frames. One was obviously a picture of Jimsey. The other was that of a young and smiling soft-haired woman.

Lucy stared silently at the pictures. The resemblance between the two was striking.

A scowl of speculation crossed Shayne’s craggy face. “Too old to be his sister,” he murmured. “Perhaps this is one of the answers. Suppose Mabel was not Jimsey’s real mother? Clarissa didn’t say.”

“Maybe that’s why the dishes are all new. Maybe Percy and Mabel haven’t been married long enough to break any.” Lucy turned. “If Jimsey were Percy’s son, not Mabel’s, does that put a new light on things?”

“At least it explains why Percy had Jimsey call only for ‘Daddy’ on tonight’s tape—
if
Percy made that tape.”

Lucy moved toward the door. “Let’s get out of here, Michael.”

When Shayne spoke, his voice was hoarse, as if it had not been used for a long while. “That room sort of gets you, doesn’t it?”

Lucy nodded.

“You see, I did need your woman’s eye.”

“Do you suppose,” Lucy asked, “you’ll ever need the rest of the woman?”

“Angel,” he said softly, “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Shayne and Lucy waited in the car for the Milfords and Thains to come home. The air was still thick with fog. It was a green and heavy night, desolate in feel and in promise, for now that Shayne was so close to the truth, now that the case had been worked through almost to its end, the final act was a sad and distasteful one.

Willfully, he thought of Clarissa: of her calm abiding beauty, of her tenacious will to keep her husband despite the fact that she had believed for a while that he had stopped loving her. He saw the knife broken off in the séance table at the place where Clarissa had been sitting and thought how delicate the line between life and death had been for her tonight.

By the time the lights of the Thains’ approaching car made a yellow haze in the fog as it turned in the driveway, Shayne’s concentration on Clarissa had served its purpose. The edge of pity had been dulled. The job before him would be easier done.

At the beginning he had sifted through many reasons why Clarissa had been threatened: because her husband needed money; because she had frightened Madame Swoboda by saying she would turn her over to the police; because what a loan-shark racketeer lends must be returned, either in legal tender or in flesh; because Percy Thain believed she had killed his son—but none of them were the right reasons. There was only one “right” one, and it should have been obvious from the start.

When the Thain car with its four passengers stopped, Shayne and Lucy walked over.

“What are you doing here?” Percy Thain asked truculently.

“I’d like to talk to you all a few minutes.”

“We were going to retire,” Mabel Thain murmured. “We’ve been through a lot tonight.”

“I know. I’ll be brief.” Shayne’s voice was gentle. “I want to ask your husband a question or two.”

“Then come in,” she said gravely. Her haunted glance included Lucy, and the Milfords.

She led them into the sterile living room. While they were still standing, Shayne turned to Percy Thain. “Did your wife know you put the timer on the electrical circuit tonight at Madame Swoboda’s?”

Thain’s eyes widened and, infinitesimally, his head lowered, as if to avoid a blow. “I did not—” he began.

“Did she also know you made the recording of Jimsey’s voice for tonight’s séance?”

Thain raised his head hostilely, but did not answer.

Shayne turned to Mabel, demanding, “Did you know?”

Mabel took two quick steps to stand tense and still beside her husband. “What horrible things are you saying?” Her sunken mouth twisted as though she were about to cry.

Shayne continued implacably, “Is it your opinion your sister was driving her car the night your son was hit by it?”

“How could I believe that about my sister?” Mabel’s voice quavered. “Everyone loves Clarissa. She has always been so beautiful, and so lucky—all her life. She would never have been unlucky enough to be the one driving the car when our son was—killed.”

“Was
he your son, Mrs. Thain?”

She looked stricken. “I—loved him as my son.”

Dan Milford, standing with one arm around Clarissa, turned brooding, savage eyes on Shayne. “Let her alone!” The words seemed to be wrenched from him. “Let Mabel alone. She’s stood enough!”

Ignoring him, Shayne looked again at Percy Thain. “Please answer my first question. You might as well because no matter how careful you were when you installed the tape and the fuse box cut-off at Swoboda’s, the police will find fingerprints.”

“All right!” Thain looked desperate and harried. “I made the tape and I installed the timer—and Mabel knew. But it wasn’t a crime,” he added defensively. “I wanted to find out who killed my son. I had a right to know. I thought I might frighten someone into the admission—”

“Someone? You mean Clarissa?”

“Yes, if she did it! Yes!” Thain shouted.

Clarissa moaned and buried her head on Dan’s shoulder.

“She didn’t,” Shayne said. “Your wife killed him.”

“No!” It was an involuntary, uncomprehending denial from Dan Milford.

Thain gasped. His head shook with a rapid palsy.

“It isn’t true,” Mabel whispered.

“It can’t be true,” Percy said.

“It is true,” Shayne said softly. “And it’s even worse than what you thought Clarissa did, because it wasn’t an accident—it was murder.”

Percy’s head kept nodding. For a moment he faced his wife with a look so fathomless and full of hatred that Shayne glanced away.

“Why?” Dan Milford asked. “Why would she want to—”

“She couldn’t stand sharing her husband with his son.”

“It’s a lie,” Mabel sobbed, “… a lie—”

Shayne stepped close to Mabel and lifted her quavering chin with his blunt fingers. “Clarissa knew, didn’t she?” he asked softly. “Clarissa knew you were driving the car that killed Jimsey. And that’s why you tried to frighten her—at first with the voodoo doll, and then, when you saw she wasn’t going to be scared out of town, you had to try to kill her. It was easier after you had killed the gangster, Henny Henlein—”

“Henny Henlein?” Dan Milford repeated incredulously. “What could Mabel have had to do with him?”

“Henlein must have found out she was driving the car that killed Jimsey. Maybe he had come out here to frighten Clarissa on orders from De Luca and he witnessed the crime. Did he try to blackmail you, Mabel?”

“So that’s what you wanted the money for!” Percy Thain shouted madly. “Liar! Murderess!” He lifted his hand as if to strike her, but midway the sobs burst, bending him double and racking his slight body.

“Henlein was killed with his own gun,” Shayne said.

“No,” Mabel said piteously, cowering from her husband. “No. I was looking in Dan’s drawer for money—I was looking everywhere—I was desperate—and I found the gun and took it.”

“I know. Dan had taken it away from Henlein. He was having trouble with him, too.”

Mabel continued in a kind of sad crooning, as if no one else had spoken. “I knew I’d never get the money to pay him off—from Percy—or anyone. So I knew I’d have to kill him. The dolls didn’t scare him off. He made me meet him. It was easy because he didn’t think a woman would do it…”

“I’ll have to take you to Police Headquarters,” Shayne said.

She seemed calmed by the sound of his voice. Her sobbing stopped. “I tried,” she said numbly. “I tried very hard with Jimsey, but I couldn’t love him. He was someone else’s child, not mine, and neither Jimsey nor Percy would ever let me forget it. He was Percy’s child, and Percy was mine, but Jimsey wasn’t mine and I wasn’t Jimsey’s. He took Percy away from me—”

“You fool!” Percy’s eyes were wild and tormented. “You never had me. I wanted a housekeeper. Only a housekeeper. And I married you to get one.”

“Percy thought Clarissa ran over Jimsey,” Mabel said, seeming not to have heard the shouted insults, seeming only tenuously related to anything that was happening now. “But Clarissa knew
I
did it, because we both knew where she hid the extra set of keys.”

“Shall we go now?” Shayne asked gently.

Mabel continued as though he hadn’t spoken: “Clarissa told the police she was here with me when it happened—to protect me, you know—but I had already told Percy she wasn’t, so that Percy would think she killed Jimsey.

“You see, it had to be either Clarissa or me, because we were the only ones who knew exactly when Jimsey would be coming home from school and which road he took. He always came a back way. Percy was at the office in the daytime and Dan was somewhere downtown and neither of them knew.”

She sighed. “The gangster doesn’t matter, but I’m sorry about Jimsey now.”

“Sorry!” Percy repeated dully.

“I’m glad I didn’t kill Clarissa, too,” Mabel said, still in the same monotone, “but I had to try because she
knew
and someday she might have told Percy and I wanted Percy to love me.”

“Love you! You fool!” Percy breathed.

Mabel seemed to hear nothing but her own voice. “I’d have missed Clarissa,” she crooned. “Pretty Clarissa. We live so close and we’re always together. But I had to try to kill her because I was afraid… and I wanted Percy to love me.”

“Get your coat now, Mabel,” Shayne said. “It’s getting chilly out. We’ll go downtown together and Clarissa will come to see you tomorrow.”

“When I was little,” she said, “I used to try to wear Clarissa’s things, because I thought they’d make me pretty, too.” She walked obediently to a closet and took out a long, black coat. “This used to be Clarissa’s, but it went out of style and she gave it to me.”

“How lucky you were,” Shayne said, “that you and Clarissa were the same type and you could wear her clothes.”

She seemed to hear him then, and for the first time since he had met her, she smiled.