The Lady in the Morgue (32 page)

“Then you think it was Mrs. Paletta we found at the penthouse party?” asked Williams.

“Sure. Mike would have come to the morgue in half a minute if it wasn't.”

State's Attorney Darrow moved nearer Crane. “One more thing. How did Udoni manage to pass off his dead” wife as Miss Ross?”

“That was easy. Both Miss Courtland and Mrs. Udoni checked into the Princess Hotel early Wednesday morning. They had rooms next to one another. Both slept until late Wednesday afternoon, and therefore the hotel staff didn't have much of a chance to see them. Both were blondes, and both looked somewhat alike. Moreover, neither of them were ever together, so nobody had a chance to compare them. So, when Udoni killed his wife Wednesday night before going to work with his orchestra, it was an easy matter to move her into Miss Ross' (Miss Courtland's) room, string her up on the bathroom door and leave the unidentifiable Marshall Field's clothes in the room. Naturally, if you find a dead blonde in a room, you think it is the blonde who lived in that room.”

Mr. Darrow nodded, asked, “But why was the body wet? Why the filled bathtub?”

“Mrs. Udoni was taking a bath when her husband called on her, murdered her. He strangled her and dragged her wet body from her room through the connecting door into Miss Courtland's room. She was still wet when he hung her on the bathroom door. Then, when he got through the job of exchanging the clothes, he found that her body had made wet marks on the door and that there were water marks where he had pulled her across the carpet. I saw those marks myself, and wondered about them. So he filled the bathtub to explain them.”

Captain Grady asked, “But what was Miss Courtland doing all this time?”

Courtland had been looking at her sister. He said, “She wasn't there at all. She'd been working in the Clark-Erie so as to be near Udoni, and when they came home together that morning he told her his wife had killed herself in her room but that he had removed all the clothes so she wouldn't be involved. That's one of the things that frightened Kathryn, made her call me.”

Mr. Darrow asked, “How in the devil did you work this all out, Crane?”

“Mostly by just blundering along. But when I found that our two best suspects, Courtland and Udoni, each had perfect alibis for different parts of the business—Courtland was in New York when the murder took place, and Udoni was working when the body was stolen from the morgue, and again Courtland was with his mother when Jackson, the undertaker, was murdered—I wondered if they hadn't been helping each other.”

Mr. Darrow rested a hand on Crane's shoulder. “I guess that pretty well ties everything up. You did a remarkable job, even though you sailed pretty close to the law.”

“Pretty close.” Captain Grady snorted. “I could pinch him on a dozen counts.” Strong white teeth gleamed in his turkey-red face. “But I won't.” He shook Crane's hand, nearly shattered his knuckles.

Crane said, “I'm glad somebody realizes what a hell of a fine detective I am.”

The others were moving out of the room. Two homicide men were half supporting, half dragging Udoni. His face was yellow; his eyes wild; he started to hiss something at Crane, but one of the homicide men jerked him away. Kathryn Courtland watched him disappear through the door with no change in her expression. Crane moved over to Uncle Stuyvesant, said, “I'm sorry to get the Courtland name involved, but I think Udoni will be the only one convicted.” Uncle Stuyvesant had his arm around Kathryn's waist. He said, “To hell with the family name.”

The anger was gone from Kathryn Courtland's face. “Thank you for being so good about my brother,” she said, touching Crane's arm.

On the other side of Crane was young Courtland. “Yes,” he said, “I owe a lot to you.”

“The hell,” said Crane. “I'm sorry I was so bright.”

“I don't think you were so bright,” said Kathryn Courtland. “You might have seen that I was a blonde the first night you met me.”

“You mean—when I was in bed with you?”

“Yes.”

“Oh!” Crane pretended to be shocked. “I'm a gentleman. I didn't peek.”

Jaw gaping in amazement, Uncle Stuyvesant stared at Crane's departing back. Williams and O'Malley were discussing a plan involving a party with the airline stewardess and friends. Crane tenderly massaged his bruised knuckles, said, “Count me in.”

“I don't know as you're clean-lookin' enough,” said O'Malley.

“I can wash,” said Crane.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 1936 by Jonathan Latimer

Copyright © renewed 1964 by Jonathan Latimer

Cover design by Jason Gabbert

ISBN: 978-1-4804-8613-3

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