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. Why — 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!”
19
Jewelry-Rock
The Locklear Apartment Hotel managed to surround itself with an atmosphere of quiet luxury, an aloof reserve, well calculated to put outsiders on the defensive.
The clerk who stood behind the counter was somewhere in the early thirties — tall, slender, suave, and well groomed. He watched Bertha Cool approaching his desk, and imperceptibly his demeanour stiffened as he observed Bertha’s free-swinging stride, the manner in which she brushed aside all swank luxury of the lobby.
The clerk’s hair was brushed and oiled into sleek lustre. His eyebrows, arched and regular, managed to elevate themselves just enough to put Bertha on the defensive, had Bertha been the type to be put on the defensive by anything less than a battleship.
“Good afternoon,” the clerk said in the tone he would have used in greeting an interior decorator who had been summoned by the management. Not quite the tone he reserved for trades-men, yet definitely not the voice which he would use in addressing an honoured guest.
Bertha wasted no time being polite. “You have a Mrs. Cornish staying here — Dolly Cornish?”
“Ah, yes— Mrs. Cornish. And what was your name, please?”
“I’m Mrs. Cool.”
“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Cool, but Mrs. Cornish gave up her apartment rather suddenly.”
“Where did she go?”
“I’m sure I couldn’t tell you. I’m sorry.”
“Leave any forwarding address?”
“Her mail is being handled.”
“Where are you sending it?”
“If you care to write her a letter, Mrs. Cool, it will be handled in the regular manner.”
Bertha looked at him with exasperation. “Listen, you, I’m looking for Dolly Cornish on a matter of considerable importance. Now, if you know where she is, pass on the information. If you don’t know where she is, tell me how I can go about finding out.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Cool. I’ve given out all the information I’m permitted to.”
“When did she leave?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that. All that I’m permitted to say is that she gave up her apartment rather suddenly.”
“Anybody been on her tail?” Bertha asked.
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Cool.”
“Anyone trying to find out where she is?”
“I’m certain I couldn’t tell you that.”
The clerk looked past Bertha Cool, over her shoulder, to take in a middle-aged, broad-shouldered man wearing baggy tweeds, who carried in his left hand a sheaf of folded papers held together with an elastic.
“Good afternoon,” the clerk said in a voice that was even more distant than that he had used in greeting Bertha Cool.
The man didn’t even bother to return the salutation. He ran through the folded papers, moving them with thick, stubby fingers. Midway through the pile he folded back the top segment by clamping his thumb in position. The darkened fingernail on the index finger held down the bill. “Acme Piano Rental Company,” he said. “Dolly Cornish. Rent’s due on her piano. Want to pay the bill, or do I go up and get the dough?” The clerk, for the moment, seemed definitely embarrassed. He glanced at Bertha Cool, said to the piano man, “Mrs. Cornish will get in touch with you within the next day or two.”
“She’s moved,” Bertha said.