18

“What’s in It for Me?”

Elsie Brand glanced up from her typewriter as Bertha opened the door. “Good morning, Mrs. Cool.”

“Hello,” Bertha said, and walked across to drop down in a chair across from Elsie’s desk. “I look like the wrath of God — how do I feel?”

Elsie smiled. “I read in the paper that the body was discovered by a female private detective who had been working on the case. I suppose it was quite a strain. Could you sleep?”

“Not a wink.”

“Was it that bad?”

Bertha started to say something, checked herself, took a cigarette instead. “I’d give anything if Donald were only back.”

“Yes. I can imagine you miss him. But you aren’t working on this case, are you?”

Bertha lit the cigarette, didn’t say anything.

Elsie went on, “I understand Everett Belder had taken things out of your hands.”

Bertha said, “Elsie, if I don’t have somebody to talk to, I’m going nuts. Not that you can tell me a damn thing,” she added hastily, “but the thing has been going round and round in my mind all night — like a dog chasing its own tail. I’m in so deep I can’t back out, and I’m afraid to go ahead.”

“I don’t understand,” Elsie said. “You mean you’re in deep with Everett Belder?”

“On this damn murder case.”

“The police think it’s murder? I thought the way the newspaper explained it that it was just carelessness. She left her motor running—”

“The police think it’s murder. I think it’s murder. What’s more, it is murder. And I tried to cut corners and be smart, and now I’m mixed up in it.”

“I don’t see how it could be murder,” Elsie said. “Are the police certain of their facts?”

“They’re certain of their facts. What’s more, they know who did it. There’s no doubt who did it. This isn’t like one of those murder cases where you wonder who the guilty party is. This is a case where you know who it is — and he’s sitting back and laughing up his sleeve. And there’s only one weak link in the whole damned business — and I just happen to hold that weak link. I should go to Sergeant Sellers and put my cards on the table, but I’m afraid to. I held out on the police and that’s bad business.”

Elsie’s face showed sympathy. “Why did you hold out on the police?”

“I’ll be damned if I know,” Bertha admitted. “It started, of course, when Sergeant Sellers grabbed that third letter out of my hands and wouldn’t tell me what was in it. Damn him, he never has told me. I thought at the time, ‘Well, the hell with you, buddy. The next time I try to help you out on anything, you’ll know it!’ ”

“I can understand exactly how you feel, Mrs. Cool,” and there was a half-smile in Elsie Brand’s eyes. “I thought at the time that Sergeant Sellers was starting something.”

“I was sore,” Bertha admitted. “Good and sore. I made up my mind I’d see him in hell before I even gave him so much as a pleasant thought in the future. Then something happened, and I put two and two together and got this clue. I suppose I could blame Donald for that if I really tried good and hard.”

“Why blame him because you got a clue?”

“Not that,” Bertha said, “but the way I got it. The way I went about the whole thing. I used to run just a simple detective agency. I never thought of holding out on the police. Hell, I never had any reason to hold out on them. I never had anything to hold. I tagged along with a little detective agency, doing odd jobs here and there, picking up a little money, pinching every penny until the Indian head yelled for mercy. Then, along comes Donald.”

Bertha stopped long enough for a deep draw at the cigarette. “A brainy little devil if ever there was one,” she went on. “Money just didn’t mean a damn thing to him. He spent it like water and damned if he didn’t have the knack of making it run like water coming through a leaky roof. I never saw so much money in my life. And he never played anything the way he was supposed to, or the way it looked as though he was playing it. He was always two or three jumps ahead of everybody, playing the cards close to his chest, getting all ready for that final big blow-off when Donald would bob up with the right answer that he’d had all along, and a fistful of money that came to us because he had known the right answer long before anyone else had even guessed it.”

“Well, I hated to admit that Donald was better at it than I was. So when I had a chance to play them close to my chest in this case, I just kept quiet. I should have talked. Now, it’s too late to talk. I’ve got a bear by the tail. I can’t let go, and I don’t know what to do.”

“If it’s going to make you feel any better, tell me about it,” Elsie said.

Bertha said, “Her husband killed her, there’s no mystery about that. The point is, he did it in such a clever way they can never convict him of murder. Even if they get the goods on him, they probably can’t convict him of anything — but he had a woman accomplice. Now then, who was this woman accomplice?”

Elsie Brand smiled. “I’m not guessing. You want to talk, go ahead and talk.”

“Talking makes me feel better,” Bertha admitted, “and gets the thing more clear in my mind. He had a female accomplice. Who? I thought for a while it was Carlotta’s mother, but it couldn’t have been, because they must be working at cross purposes.”

“She was the one who was in here yesterday?”

“Yes. She wanted to find out who did Belder’s barber work. I found out. I got fifty dollars for finding out. After that, all I had to do was to telephone a certain number. When someone answered the phone, I was to mention the name of the barber’s shop and then hang up.”

“You have that phone number?” Elsie asked.

“I have it — I checked it. It’s a pay station in a downtown drug-store. Someone was waiting there to pick up the information. Perhaps Carlotta’s mother.”

Elsie’s nod was sympathetic.

“But,” Bertha said, “I did a little thinking. I tried to figure it the way Donald Lam would. I said to myself, ‘Now why does she want to know Belder’s barber? What does Belder’s barber have to do with it?’ So I thought back about Belder, trying to place the last time I’d noticed him being all slicked up as though he had been to a barber’s shop, and I remembered it was Wednesday morning.”

“I went down to the barber shop and asked a few questions. The barber who ran the place remembered Belder had been in there, had been wearing an overcoat, and had forgotten and left it there when he walked out. It occurred to me Carlotta’s mother knew about that and wanted to search the overcoat. I beat her to it. I found something in the overcoat pocket that’s a clue.”

“What?” Elsie asked.

“I’m not saying,” Bertha said. “I’m not telling even you that, Elsie. Not that Bertha doesn’t think she can trust you, but it’s something she doesn’t dare tell anyone.”

“I understand,” Elsie said sympathetically.

“It might help Sergeant Sellers convict Belder of murder — it might not. I don’t know. I do know that Carlotta’s mother wanted this thing. I snatched it right out from under her hand. S he couldn’t have been Belder’s accomplice, or she wouldn’t have needed to have come to me in the first place.”

“Unless it suited Belder’s purpose to have you get this thing, and you were just walking into a trap,” Elsie said.

“That possibility occurred to me about two o’clock this morning,” Bertha admitted. “That’s why I didn’t get any sleep.”

“Why don’t you go to Sergeant Sellers, put all your cards on the table and—”

“Because that’s the logical thing to do,” Bertha said. “That’s what I should do. That’s what the average detective agency would do, and if I do, I’ll wind up behind the eight ball with the fee that an average detective agency would make.”

“To hell with that stuff. I’m pinch-hitting for Donald. He’s over there in the Navy pushing Japs around, and being pushed around. When he comes back, he’s going to need dough. What’s more, he’s going to need a business that will give him some earning capacity. Damn me, I’m going to have both all ready for him.”

“I can understand just how you feel.”

“If I tell Sergeant Sellers about this, the sergeant will take over. That will be all there is to it. He’ll bawl hell out of me because I didn’t tell him sooner; then I’ll be a witness in a murder trial and the lawyers will start picking me to pieces, asking me why I didn’t do something about this as soon as I got it, intimating that I was first planning blackmail, that I have it in for Belder and am trying to get him convicted of murder on the strength of it— The whole damn line of stuff that lawyers hand out.”

“I know,” Elsie said. “I was a witness once.”

Bertha thought things over for nearly a minute. “Well,” she said, “I’ve started out and I’ve got to paddle my own canoe. Carlotta’s mother knows that I beat her to it, and have the thing she was looking for. I can count on her trying to get it. If Everett Belder knows I’ve got it, he’ll — well, he’ll probably try to kill me. S omewhere along the line I’ve got to play both ends against the middle and come out on top. And from where I’m sitting right now, it looks like a hopeless job.”

“If there’s anything I can do,” Elsie said, “you can count on me.”

Bertha couldn’t keep the surprise from her face. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Elsie Brand’s eyes misted. “I keep thinking of Donald out there on the firing-line and — and—”

Bertha’s eyes suddenly became intent. “My God, don’t tell me you’re in love with him, too! All the other women he’s met fall—”

“No, it’s not that. It’s — well, if there’s anything I can do—”

Bertha heaved herself wearily to her feet, “Well,” she announced, “there’s Dolly Cornish. She’s the forgotten woman in this whole business, and somehow I have a hunch—”

“Somebody coming. Damn it, every time I sit down out here somebody catches me before I can—”

The door opened. Mrs. Goldring, her face swollen from weeping, accompanied by a solicitous Carlotta, entered the office.

Mrs. Goldring’s face brightened just a bit at sight of Bertha. Carlotta’s nod and smile were cheerful greetings. “Good morning, Mrs. Cool. May we see you for a moment? Mother’s had this terrible shock, but — well, some things just can’t wait. We’d like to talk with you for a few moments.”

“Go right on into my private office,” Bertha said, “right on in and sit down. I’ll be with you in just a moment. I’m finishing some important dictation to my secretary. Just go on in and make yourselves at home. You’ll pardon me while I finish dictating.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Goldring murmured, “we appreciate this.”

“It’s so nice of you to see us right away,” Carlotta said.

Bertha watched them enter her private office, then turned to Elsie. “This,” she announced, “is it!”

“ An opportunity to let go?”

Bertha smiled. “An opportunity to cash in, dearie. Don’t ever kid yourself, Mrs. Goldring may be prostrated with grief, but through her tears of sorrow she sees everything that’s going on. That woman is no one’s damned fool, and she’s the slice of bread that has the butter.”

“I’m afraid I don’t get you.”

“Figure it out,” Bertha said in a low voice. “There’s an estate of God knows how much money. Everett Belder cashed in and put everything in his wife’s name. He kills his wife so he can have his freedom, and at the same time get all of that money back. Mrs. Goldring had just about persuaded her daughter to pull out and take the money with her. You can see what a beautiful tug-of-war that was making. And Everett Belder has made it plain that he’s finished with me, so I’m perfectly free to take employment from Mrs. Goldring.”

“But how could you change the property rights?”

“Don’t you get it?” Bertha said. “Under the law, a man can’t inherit property from any person whom he has murdered, regardless of a will or anything else. I know that’s the law, because Donald told me so once. Now, you just sit here and pound away at the typewriter so the office will look busy as hell, and Bertha’s going in and cut herself a great big slice of cake.”

Bertha straightened her sagging shoulders, got her chin up and the old look of complete self-confidence on her face. “I know what Donald would do, Elsie. He’d manipulate things around in some way so that he’d pick up this job on a percentage basis. Then he’d use this clue that no one else knows about to pin the murder on Everett Belder, dump the estate into Mrs. Goldring’s lap, and collect a percentage. Hell’s bells, Elsie, we might even get as much as ten per cent; and the estate’s probably worth seventy-five thousand dollars. That would be seventy-five hundred dollars jangling the bell in our cash register.”

“Yes,” Elsie agreed, “I think Donald probably would do something just like that and then handle it in such a way that Sergeant Sellers would be very, very grateful instead of angry.”

Determination glinted in Bertha’s eyes. “And that’s what I’m going to do.”

Elsie seemed just a little dubious.

“First rattle out of the box,” Bertha said, “I’m going to do some real salesmanship. I’ve been studying sales psychology and I’m going to go to work on that woman and get a percentage of the estate. She thinks that she can employ me on a per diem basis. I’ll be subtle about it, but determined. Watch the way I handle it, Elsie. This is where Bertha crashes into the big time.”

Bertha grabbed some letters from Elsie’s desk without even bothering to look at them. She held them in her left hand well in front of her, put on her most businesslike air of weighty importance, cleared her throat, and pounded across the reception-room, bustling into her own office, closing the door crisply, and smiling reassuringly at her visitors.

She flung herself into the squeaking swivel chair, cleared a space in front of her on the desk, put down the correspondence she had been holding, and looked past Carlotta to give Mrs. Goldring the benefit of her most sympathetic smile.

“I know how absolutely useless it is to try to assuage grief by words. All I can say is that you have my sincere sympathy.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Goldring said in the toneless voice of a woman whose perceptions are dulled by a great shock.

Carlotta, sharply businesslike, intruded upon the brief conversational pause which followed. “Mrs. Cool, something terrible has happened — something that has upset Mother so much I’m really afraid she may have a complete nervous breakdown.

Coming on top of the shock of Mabel’s death, it is almost too much for her to bear.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Mrs. Goldring said weakly.

Carlotta, as crisp as a cold lettuce leaf, went on, “Now, before we go any further, Mrs. Cool, I understand that Everett has severed any further connection with you. You’re not employed by him any longer and are not obliged to tell him anything. Is that right?”

“That’s the size of it,” Bertha said grimly. “He thought I’d bungled things up, and he washed his hands of me, and I’m glad he did.”

“Of course,” Carlotta went on, “we have to be very careful. We can’t make any certain direct accusations, not as things stand at the present time; but I think we all understand the situation. And I think we can carry on this conversation in the light of what we might call an unspoken understanding.”

Bertha merely nodded.

“After all,” Carlotta hurried to add, “we can’t afford to jeopardize our positions. You understand what I mean. Everett’s secretary is suing you over something you said.”

“I was just trying to clear up the case,” Bertha snorted, “and that damned little — estimable young lady — goes ahead and files a suit.”

“I know just how you feel, but I don’t see anything estimable about her, Mrs. Cool.”

“My lawyer says she should be an estimable young lady until after the trial.”

“Well, as far as I’m concerned,” Carlotta said positively, “she’s just a little—”

Mrs. Goldring coughed.

“Well,” Carlotta finished lamely, “I’m very glad that she’s no longer connected with Everett’s office. I always thought she had a certain air of possessive intimacy. Good heavens, one would have thought she owned the office.”

“She always seemed very conscious of her sex,” Mrs. Goldring said, in the impersonal manner of one who has been so completely detached from mundane affairs that human relationships have ceased to have any great meaning. “She was very provocative in her manner — I mean sexually provocative.”

“Mother’s terribly upset,” Carlotta said. “I’ll do the talking.”

Bertha half turned so as to face Carlotta.

Carlotta had the manner of a young woman who has been kept somewhat in the background of life, and then, in a time of great emotional stress, comes forward to prove herself capable of accepting responsibilities. She seemed to enjoy the role very much, and quite apparently had definitely accepted full and complete charge of the situation.

“A matter has arisen, Mrs. Cool, on which we will want your assistance.”

Bertha said, “Will, that might be arranged, if I could do you some good. In my business I tell all my clients that I prefer not to accept one penny from them unless I can do them some good. I’ve found that quite frequently a percentage arrangement works to advantage. You know, get a percentage of what you bring in. In that way I can afford to devote every minute of my time to their work.”

Bertha paused hopefully.

Carlotta Goldring said quickly, “Yes indeed, Mrs. Cool, I’m sure that you give your clients the very best that you have in you.”

“I do that,” Bertha agreed. “And what’s more, once I take a case for a person, I stay with it. I’m something of a bulldog. I keep tugging and worrying until I finally shake a result out of the situation — the result my clients want. T hat’s the way I work.”

“I’ve heard that you are very competent,” Carlotta acknowledged.

Mrs. Goldring lowered her handkerchief from her eyes. “Intensely loyal,” she supplemented. “You have an excellent reputation, Mrs. Cool, and I should think that your clients would want to see that you were very well compensated.”

“Some of them do. Sometimes you get hold of one you have to argue with.” Bertha beamed across at her visitors. “But do you know,” she went on, “I have found that the more intelligent my clients are, the more they appreciate that I have to be well paid.”

“Yes, I can see where that would be the case,” Carlotta said, glancing quickly at her mother and then going on, “Well, Mrs. Cool, you’re exceedingly busy, so we’ll get right down to brass tacks.”

“ I’ll tell her,” Mrs. Goldring said.

“That’s the way I like to do things,” Bertha said. “Shoot fast. Of course, in this case there are complications — but I’m a fast worker at that.”

“So I understand.”

Bertha oozed smiling approval “Suppose you explain just what it is you want, if you feel up to it.”

Carlotta looked at Mrs. Goldring expectantly.

Mrs. Goldring sighed, dabbed her handkerchief to her nose, lowered it, said, “I believe you understand that my daughter’s husband is a sales engineer. It’s a business that’s very speculative. I don’t know just what it is that he does, but occasionally he takes complete charge of the distribution of some line of merchandise on a percentage basis.”

Bertha wasted no time making comments while the preliminaries were coming in.

“Of course, recently, there haven’t been any sales problems. It’s been a problem of getting materials. Manufacturers had more market than they knew what to do with. They couldn’t get the stuff to manufacture — and Everett Belder had some rather sharp reverses.”

Bertha contented herself with a nod.

“Some time ago he placed all his property in my daughter’s name.”

Bertha did not even nod, simply sat behind her desk, her eyes watching Mrs. Goldring in glittering concentration.

“Of course,” Mrs. Goldring went on, “it would be reasonable to suppose that he simply placed the property in Mabel’s name so that he would be safe from his creditors, but he took the witness-stand and denied upon oath that such was his intention in making the transfer. I don’t understand the law very well, Mrs. Cool, but as I understand it, the intention with which the transfer is made has a lot to do with it. If a person intends to defraud his creditors, the transfer is void. If he has some other, and legitimate, intent, the transfer stands up.”

“And this stood up?” Bertha asked.

“This stood up.”

“Then upon your daughter’s death the property which she held was her sole and separate property?”

“That’s right.”

“Rather considerable?” Bertha asked, tentatively feeling the way.

“Quite considerable,” Mrs. Goldring said in a tone of cold finality which slammed the door of that particular conversational corridor in Bertha Cool’s face.

For a moment there was silence, then Carlotta Goldring said quickly, “What actually happened, Mrs. Cool, is that Mabel and Everett Belder hadn’t been getting along very well together for the past few months, and when she had reason to believe that Everett was — well, you know, was — I mean, that he was—”

“Playing around?” Bertha interjected.

“Yes.”

“All right. She thought he was stepping out, so what happened?”

“She made a will leaving all her property to my mother and myself,” Carlotta said positively.

“How do you know?”

“She told us so. That is, she told us she was making such a will. She told my mother so over the telephone. She said she was drawing it up on her own typewriter. She knew she’d require two witnesses. I feel confident that Sally Brentner was one. We don’t know who the other witness was.”

“Where’s that will now?”

“That’s just the point, Mrs. Cool,” Mrs. Goldring announced. “My son-in-law burned that will up.”

“ How do you know?”

Mrs. Goldring’s smile was triumphantly inclusive. “I think you can help us there, Mrs. Cool.”

“Perhaps I can,” Bertha admitted cautiously.

“If we could prove that the will was burned after Mabel’s death, then we could introduce other evidence to show what was in the will — Mabel’s telephone conversation for instance.”

“When was it dated?” Bertha asked.

“We have reason to believe it was made the day before her death, April sixth.”

A look of pleased anticipation made Bertha Cool seem positively cherubic. “Yes, Mrs. Goldring, I think I can help you.”

“Oh, I’m so glad,” Mrs. Goldring said.

“It will make so much difference to us,” Carlotta interjected. “You just can’t imagine what a relief this is. I told Mother you could help us. I said, ‘Mother, if there’s anyone who can help us, it will be the delightful woman with the strong personality who was there in Everett’s office when I walked in.’ ”

Bertha Cool picked up a pencil and toyed with it cautiously. “Well, now,” she said, “just what did you have in mind?”

Mrs. Goldring said, “Simply that you tell what you know, fearlessly and accurately. You can go to my lawyer and make a preliminary affidavit and then when you get on the witness-stand you can testify to what you saw when you entered the office, because we know that Everett burnt up that will just before you and Sergeant Sellers entered the office.”

Bertha struggled with sheer incredulity. “You mean that you want me as a witness, and that’s all?”

Carlotta nodded brightly. “You see, Mrs. Cool, we have found ashes in Everett’s little grate there in the office. An expert is testing those ashes, reconstructing them in some way that they have, fitting them together so that he can prove absolutely that it was my sister’s will that Everett had been burning. And those ashes were on top of all the others, showing that the will was the last thing put on the fire. We feel certain that Imogene Dearborne knows a lot more about this than she’s willing to state. I’m afraid she won’t help us voluntarily. But we feel certain that you could help us, that you’d remember papers were burning in the fireplace when you first entered the office. That’s all you need to remember, Mrs. Cool: the papers were burning at that time. I came in later, you’ll remember, and I can testify that when I entered the room the fire was—”

“Wait a minute,” Bertha said, the smile definitely gone from her face, her eyes cold and hard. “What’s in all this for me?”

The women looked at each other, then Carlotta said, “Why, the usual witness fee, Mrs. Cool — and we’d pay you something for your time in going to our lawyer’s office.”

Bertha, struggling to keep her voice level, said, “Then you came here simply to arrange for my testimony as a witness, is that it?”

“That’s it exactly,” Carlotta said, once more turning on the full force of her personality. “We would, of course, be glad to pay you for your time in going up to the lawyer’s office and making a statement — whatever it’s worth. I suppose five or ten dollars. Of course, it couldn’t be anything unusual or it would look as though we were trying to buy your testimony, and we couldn’t either one of us afford that, could we, Mrs. Cool?”

The two women visitors smiled engagingly at Bertha for the space of a second.

Bertha’s mouth was hard. “No, we couldn’t, and for that reason, I’m not going to swear any papers were burning in any grate, I’m not going up to any lawyer, and I’m not going to be any witness.”

“Oh, Mrs. Cool! But I thought you said you could help us.”

Bertha said, “I said I could help you establish what you wanted to prove. I was referring to my ability as a detective.”

“Oh, but we don’t need a detective. That’s all cut and dried. Our lawyer says that once the testimony of the handwriting expert establishes that it was the will that was burnt, there’s nothing to it.”

“And therefore the lawyer’s willing to work for a nominal fee, I suppose,” Bertha Cool said dryly.

“Well, he gets a percentage.”

“And then in addition to that, if you get all the estate, he acts as your attorney in probating the will and gets another chunk out of it, doesn’t he?”

“Why — why, I hadn’t thought of that. He said that part of it would be handled in the usual manner.”

“I see,” Bertha said with frigid politeness. “Well, I’m very sorry that I can’t help you — unless you feel that you need someone to gather the facts.”

“But, Mrs. Cool, we have all the facts. All we need is a witness to swear to them.”

“You’ve covered a lot of ground since your daughter’s death was discovered,” Bertha said. “Lawyers, handwriting experts and all that.”

“We did most of it before Mabel’s body was discovered. I felt certain Everett had murdered her. I’ve been certain ever since yesterday morning. Therefore, I’d already started to take steps to see that Everett didn’t get away with anything or profit by his crime — and we’re really indebted to you, Mrs. Cool, for your work in discovering the body.”

“Nothing at all,” Bertha said hastily. “I might be able to uncover more facts for you if—”

“Our lawyer,” Mrs. Goldring interrupted smoothly, “says we have all the facts we need, if we can just get the witnesses to swear to them.”

“Well, he should know.”

“But, Mrs. Cool, can’t you testify there was a fire—”

“I’m afraid not. I make a terrible witness and I’m allergic to lawyers.”

“Our attorney said we could serve a subpoena on you and then you’d have to come to court. He thought it would be better to have a friendly chat with you first.”

“My memory,” Bertha apologized, “is terrible. Right now, I can’t remember a thing about whether there was a fire in Everett Belder’s office. Of course, it may come back to me.”

Mrs. Goldring arose from her chair, distantly formal. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Cool. I had hoped that we could get your testimony without having to serve a subpoena on you.”

Bertha Cool reached for the correspondence she had placed on her desk. “Good morning.”

She watched her visitors out of the door, then when they’d had time to cross the entrance office to the corridor, Bertha Cool indulged in a sulphurous monologue which, because she lacked an audience, seemed somehow ineffective.

She jerked open the door.

Elsie Brand looked up. “They seemed a little angry when they left,” she said anxiously.

“ They seemed angry,” Bertha all but screamed. “Why, damn their mealy mouthed, two-faced, hypocritical hides! Do you know what those two chiselers wanted? Wanted me to go into court and swear that papers were burning in Everett Belder’s grate when I went in there with Sergeant Sellers Thursday morning — and they wanted to pay me witness fees. W hy — why — the—”

Bertha Cool smothered herself into silence.

Elsie Brand seemed sympathetic but curious. “I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen you at a loss for words, Mrs. Cool.”

“Loss for words,” Bertha yelled at her. “Goddamn it, I’m not at a loss for words! I just can’t decide which ones to use first!”