Inspector Queen’s Own Case (10 page)

“Oh, nothing like that. You're entirely welcome to stay on for a few days. The staff isn't leaving until next week some time.”

“I'm a restless sort, Mr. Humffrey. It's kind of you, but I think I'll go tomorrow morning.”

“As you wish.”

He blotted the check carefully and reached over to lay it on the desk near her.

“Oh, but Mr. Humffrey,” Jessie protested. “This is far too much. You're paid up through last week——”

“I see no reason why you should be penalized by my sudden decision about Mrs. Humffrey,” he said, smiling. “So I've paid you for a full week, and I've added a little something in appreciation of all you've done for Mrs. Humffrey and Michael.”

“A little something.” Jessie shook her head. The bonus was five hundred dollars. “You're awfully kind, Mr. Humffrey, but I really can't accept this.”

“Heavens, Miss Sherwood. Why not?” He seemed genuinely surprised.

“Well …” Her hands felt clammy. But she looked straight at him. “Frankly, Mr. Humffrey, I'd rather not be under obligation to you.”

“I don't understand.” Now his tone was icy.

“If I felt differently about little Michael, I could take this. As it is, I'd rather not.”

He made it easy for her. “You mean if you felt differently about the cause of his death?”

“Yes, Mr. Humffrey.”

The four whole fingers drummed on the desk, their maimed companion curled tightly. Then he leaned back in his leather chair.

“You still don't agree it was an accident, Miss Sherwood.”

“It was murder,” Jessie said. “That baby was deliberately and wickedly smothered to death with the pillow in the pillowcase that's disappeared.”

“But no pillowcase has disappeared.”

“Oh, yes, it has. They just haven't found it.”

“My dear Miss Sherwood.” His tone was patient. “The coroner's jury are satisfied it was an accident. So are the police. So am I. How can you set yourself up as the sole dissenting judge?”

“I saw the pillow with the handprint, Mr. Humffrey,” Jessie said quietly. “No one else did.”

“Obviously you were mistaken.”

“I was not mistaken.”

“There's not a scintilla of evidence—I believe that's the approved phrase—to back your opinion up.”

“It's not an opinion, Mr. Humffrey. It's a fact. I know what I saw.”

“Show me one competent person who agrees with you——”

“Richard Queen.”

Humffrey arched his sparse brows. “Who?”

“Chief Pearl's friend. He used to be an inspector in the New York police department. He believes me.”

The millionaire shrugged. “These old fellows have nothing to do but poke their noses into other people's affairs. He was probably retired for senility.”

“He's only sixty-three, and he's in complete possession of his faculties, I assure you!” Jessie bit her lip; Humffrey was regarding her with amusement. “Anyway, Inspector Queen agrees with me it was murder, and we're going to——”

Jessie stopped.

“Yes?” Alton Humffrey no longer looked amused. “You and this man are going to what, Miss Sherwood?”

“Nothing.” Jessie jumped up nervously. “I'll have to be getting back to Mrs. Humffrey——”

“Miss Sherwood.” He had his hands flat on the desk. For a moment Jessie had the queerest feeling that he was going to spring at her. She remembered having had the same feeling about him once before. “Do you suppose for an instant that if I thought the child was murdered I'd let the case drop?”

“I'm sure I can't answer that, Mr. Humffrey.” She was actually backing away. When she realized it, she stopped herself. “Please, I must go to Mrs. Humffrey. But I do wish you'd tear up this check and make out another simply for the amount you owe me.”

But his eyes kept bulging and burning. “Don't you know what that baby meant to me, Miss Sherwood?”

“I'm sure he meant everything to you,” Jessie said desperately. “But … you force me to say this … now that little Michael's dead you want the whole thing buried, along with his remains. You'd rather see the case written off as an accidental death than involve your family name in a murder case. I don't understand people like you, Mr. Humffrey. There are some things in this world a lot worse than getting your name bandied about by the common people. Letting a baby killer get off scot free is one of them.”

“Are you finished?” Alton Humffrey said.

“Yes,” Jessie whispered.

“No, wait, Miss Sherwood. Before you go.”

Jessie turned at the door, praying for escape.

“You know my wife's condition.” The nasal tones dripped venom. “I don't know what it is you and this man Queen are up to, but if through any act of yours my wife gets worse or my name is exposed to further public humiliation, you will account to me. To
me
. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly.” Jessie's throat was dry. “May I go now, Mr. Humffrey?”

“By all means.”

She fled those unwinking pop-eyes, fixed on her like something in a museum.

Ten minutes later Jessie was on the phone, crying. “Richard, please ask Mrs. Pearl if I can come over tonight. I don't care where I stay. I'll sleep in my car or bed down on the floor. Anywhere! But I won't stay in this house another night.”

Inspector Queen was waiting for her on the other side of the causeway in Beck Pearl's Plymouth. He got out, waving wildly, as Jessie pulled up.

“Jessie! You all right?”

“Oh, Richard, I'm so glad to see you.”

“But what happened?”

“Nothing, really. Mr. Humffrey's sent his wife to a sanitarium and discharged me, and I'm afraid I let on that you and I weren't going to let the case drop, and he sort of threatened me——”

“He did, did he?” the old man said grimly.

“I don't know what you're thinking of me. I've never acted this way before in my life. Mrs. Pearl must be having visions of some hysterical female throwing fits all over her rug——”

“You don't know Beck Pearl.”

“I'd go back home—I have a little house in Rowayton—but I rented it to some summer people till after Labor Day. I'm so ashamed, Richard. I'll go to a motel or some place for the night——”

“Becky says if I don't bring you right over I don't have to come back myself. You follow me, Jessie!” …

In the plain sanity of the Pearls' little beach cottage Jessie felt safe for the first time in weeks. Mrs. Pearl looked into her eyes and smiled approvingly at Richard Queen, and Chief Pearl blundered about making her feel as if she were an honored guest.

“You're not really an ogre after all, Mr. Pearl,” Jessie told him. “Do you know I was afraid of you?”

The big man glanced guiltily at his wife.

“Did he bully you?” Beck Pearl looked at her husband.

“I'll get your bag out of your car, Miss Sherwood.” Abe Pearl went out hurriedly.

“Put it up in Richard's room, Abe!”

“Mrs. Pearl, I won't hear of it——”

“You'll have Richard's room, Abe and Richard will sleep in our room, and I'll take the daybed down here. It's the most comfortable bed in the house.”

“Oh, no——”

“That's the way it's going to be,” Mrs. Pearl said firmly. “Now I'm going to fix you and Richard some supper. Then Abe and I are going to the movies …”

When the Pearls were gone, Jessie said softly, “You're lucky to have such friends, Richard.”

“You like them.”

“They're absolute darlings.”

“I'm glad,” he said simply. “Now you tackle this casserole, or Becky will feel terrible. Abe says she can do more things with clams than a Siwash Indian.”

Afterward, Jessie washed the dishes in Beck Pearl's tiny kitchen and Richard Queen dried them and put them away, while he told her about his summer with the Pearls and never once referred to what had brought her flying to him. Jessie listened mistily. I mustn't feel so happy about this, she kept thinking. I'll just build myself up to another letdown, the way I did with Clem … It was hard to keep from comparing them, hard and unfair. It had been so many years ago. Clem had been so much younger—tall and self-sufficient, with quick surgeon's fingers and his eyes always tired-looking. Thinking about him even now, when he had been dead such a long time, Jessie felt her pulse quicken … This, this was so different. Working over a kitchen sink and drainboard side by side. She couldn't visualize herself doing that with Clem. Clem had meant excitement, a life of high spots and crises, and long stretches of loneliness. This quiet man, with his fine-boned face and gray brush of mustache, his reserve of strength and knowledge about ordinary people—it was hard to think of anything they couldn't do together, the everyday little things that made up a life. And she could be very proud of him, she knew that instinctively. Proud and complete … I
mustn't
let myself run on this way! Jessie thought despairingly.

“You're tired,” Richard Queen said, looking at her. “I think, Jessie, I'm going to send you to bed.”

“Oh, no,” Jessie cried. “I'm enjoying this so much. I want to tell you everything that's happened in the past few days, Richard. Please.”

“All right. But just for a few minutes. Then up you go.”

He put the dish towel over the towel bar to dry, and they went into the little living room. He sat her down in the most comfortable chair, lit her cigaret for her, and listened noncommittally while she told him about Sarah Humffrey's suicide attempt and the substance of her conversation with Alton Humffrey. He made no comment beyond, “He's a queer duck, all right,” and then he said, “Time's up, Miss Sherwood.”

“But aren't we going to talk about your plans?”

“Not tonight.”

“Then how about mine?”

He laughed. “I've made six-foot police sergeants shake in my time, but I guess I'll never learn how to handle a woman. All right, Jessie, shoot.”

“I'm coming with you.”

“I know that.”

“You don't!” Jessie said, piqued.

“I'm not flattered,” he said dryly. “I didn't do it. It's Alton Humffrey who's made up your mind.”

“Well, it's true I don't like to be threatened,” Jessie said, pinching her skirt down, “but that's not the only reason.”

“The baby.”

“
And
other reasons.”

The old man looked at her searchingly. “It might not be a picnic, Jessie.” He got up suddenly and began to walk about. “In fact, I'm wondering if I haven't let you in for something risky out of plain selfishness. This is a very peculiar case.
Why
was the baby murdered? While Frost was a suspect, with his inheritance motive, it made some sort of crazy sense. With Frost eliminated, the Humffrey fortune doesn't seem to be involved. So the motive must lie in a different direction. Do you see a lead, Jessie?”

“I've thought about it, too,” Jessie said quietly. “The only thing I can think of is that it must be connected with Michael's adoption.”

“Ah,” the Inspector said, and he sat down again, eagerly. “You saw that. Where does it take you, Jessie?”

“It may have something to do with the real parents. You know, Richard, neither side knows who the other side is. The whole adoption was handled by a lawyer acting for
both
sides.”

He nodded. “A lawyer named A. Burt Finner. That was his name, wasn't it?”

“Yes. Do you know him?”

“I know of him. He's a clever shyster who specializes in black-marketing babies for people who either can't swing a legitimate adoption or for some reason would rather handle it under the counter. If Humffrey's had dealings with him, it's probably because Finner guarantees no trouble and no publicity. The important thing, Jessie, is that Finner knows the real parentage of that baby. So that's where we start.”

“With Finner?”

“With Finner.”

“But if the real parents don't know who got Michael——”

“One step at a time,” Richard Queen said. “We'll go into the city in the morning. Meanwhile, you're going to bed.”

He got up and took her hand.

Jessie giggled. “You make me feel like a little girl. Don't I have any say about things like where I'm going to stay?”

“Not a word,” he said firmly. “You're staying at my apartment in town.”

“
Inspector
Queen,” Jessie murmured. “I'm going to do no such thing.”

Even his neck reddened. “I mean I'll go to the Y or some place. Ellery isn't due back from abroad for a long time yet——”

“Silly. I'm hardly at the age when I'm worried about my reputation.” Jessie giggled again, enjoying his embarrassment. “But I wouldn't dream of putting you out of your own home.”

“I'd come up every morning and have breakfast with you——”

“No, Richard,” Jessie said softly. “I have loads of friends in New York, nurses who live alone in little apartments and don't particularly like it. But … thank you. So much.”

He looked so forlorn that Jessie impulsively squeezed his hand. Then she ran upstairs.

For some reason he felt very good suddenly. He walked about the cottage with long strides, smiling at his thoughts and occasionally glancing at the ceiling, until the Pearls came home.

Jessie spent nearly an hour Thursday morning on the telephone, running up New York City toll calls.

“I'm in luck,” she told Richard Queen. “Belle Berman, she's a supervisor I know, wants me to move right in with her. And Gloria Sardella, a nurse I took my training with, is leaving tomorrow on her vacation. She's going on a six-week cruise, and she's offered me her apartment.”

“Where are the two places?”