“Nonsense,” Ronald Goodcart said. “Paula was quite cheerful. Vibrant. Besides, she would have left a note.”
Marianne regarded him with disdain. “Suicides do not necessarily leave notes. Besides, it could have been a sudden impulse and she discovered too late that she didn’t have a pencil and paper with her.”
“Ah, yes,” I said. “Actually the most interesting aspect of this entire case is the fact that the victim did not leave a note or any other communication behind. It is the very crux of this matter.”
Ralph was impressed. “You’ve gotten to the crux already, Henry?”
I nodded. “The body of Paula Washburn was examined by us, was it not, Ralph? And what did we find in the pocket of her dressing gown?”
“Just a small handkerchief.”
“Exactly.” I turned back to the suspects. “Let us suppose that Paula Washburn came downstairs to put away her jewelry. She opened the vault door by dialing the combination. And then what? Where, inside the vault, did she intend to put this jewelry?”
Washburn volunteered. “She stored her jewelry in one of the safety-deposit boxes.”
I nodded encouragement. “And how did she intend to get into that safety-deposit box?”
“With her key, of course.”
“Ah, but we found no key on her person, or on the floor, or anywhere else in the vault. And all the safety-deposit boxes and the filing cabinets are locked. So where did she intend to put this jewelry if she had no key with her?”
Marianne was still trying to sell suicide. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? She simply forgot the key. It was the last straw, so to speak. Everything had been going wrong all day and she had a headache too. So in one mad moment of frustration and despair, she pulled the vault door shut after her and said goodbye to the world.”
I did not buy. “No, Paula Washburn did not forget her key. Someone else did. And that was the person who closed the vault door behind her.”
I had been expecting a gasp or two, but they restrained themselves.
“Ralph,” I said, “were there any marks of violence on the victim’s body? Anything to suggest that she had been shot, stabbed, bludgeoned, strangled? Any discoloration or suspicious odor which might suggest poisoning?”
“Nothing. The coroner won’t get around to the autopsy until after he’s had supper, but he says that asphyxiation is a good bet.”
I agreed. “And now we come to the poser, the conundrum, the puzzle. Why did Paula Washburn leave no note, no message, no communication of any kind?”
I smiled about. “Suppose that you had just been locked in a vault and knew it had been no accident. Wouldn’t you at least have tried to tell the world who locked you in there?”
“Maybe she didn’t know,” Ralph said.
“A possibility, Ralph. However, even if she didn’t know who had locked her in, wouldn’t she at least have left some kind of information behind indicating that she had been locked in and that it hadn’t been accidental?”
“She lost her head and panicked,” Ralph said. “And it just didn’t come to her mind.”
“No, Ralph. While panic might be the first and natural reaction, I find it impossible to believe that she could have sustained that panic for three, four, five, or whatever hours it would have taken her to collapse. At some point during that time she would surely have recovered enough aplomb to at least leave a message about her suspicions or certainties. And yet she left none. Why not?”
Ralph speculated. “Maybe she did leave a message, Henry. A note. But the murderer waited a few hours until he was certain she was dead. And then he opened the vault, pocketed the note, and closed the vault again.”
“Possible, Ralph. However, that flimsy theory depends on the victim just happening to have a writing implement and paper in her pocket. Hardly likely, I should think.”
I allowed a pause. “However, in such an emergency couldn’t she have found some other instrument to write with or a surface to put it on?”
I smiled. “The diamond rings. Surely it would have occurred to her to use her diamond rings as writing implements and she could have used any plain surface — the sides or the tops of the filing cabinets, for instance — as her slate? She could very easily have scratched the name of her murderer, or simply indicated that someone unknown had locked her in there. And yet she didn’t do this. Why not?”
There was silence.
Ralph frowned. “She was unconscious? The murderer knocked her out before he put her in there?”
“But we found no cranial bruises or injury sufficient to produce such unconsciousness. Besides, even if she were unconscious before being put in there, what guarantee did the murderer have that she would remain unconscious until she died by asphyxiation.”
Ralph tried again. “She was drugged. That would have held her until she suffocated.”
“But surely the murderer must have known that, under the mysterious circumstances of her death, an autopsy would be performed and the presence of drugs discovered in her body.” I shook my head. “No, Ralph, the murderer was not the least bit worried about her leaving a message or drugs being found in her system because Paula Washburn was already dead when she was locked in the vault.”
There were moments of awed silence at my relentless reasoning and then Ralph said, “She didn’t die of asphyxiation?”
“Ah, Ralph, but she did die of asphyxiation. That was the whole point in putting her body into the vault.”
I assumed a grim expression. “She was asphyxiated, but not in the vault. And she was put into the vault to cover up the fact that she was asphyxiated, but somewhere else. And considering what she was wearing at the time of her death — that is, pajamas and a dressing gown — would not that lead us back to one particular room in the house?”
I turned to stare at James Washburn. “Perhaps a plastic bag slipped over her head? But more likely the old-fashioned pillow?”
James Washburn sighed heavily, looked utterly resigned, and opened his mouth to speak.
Marianne spoke first. “I see it all so clearly now. At eleven thirty last night Paula left father’s bedroom, telling him she was going downstairs to put away her jewelry. But instead she slipped down the hall to Ronald’s bedroom for a tryst, an assignation, a rendezvous.”
Goodcart blinked. “She did not.”
Marianne ignored him. “The two of them had a lover’s quarrel. Harsh, bitter words were exchanged. She told him their affair was finished.”
Ronald protested. “It never began.”
Marianne swept on. “In his moment of rage he seized a pillow and smothered Paula. Then, realizing he had to cover up the crime, he carried her body down to the vault, hoping to make it appear that she had died there accidentally.”
Ronald had begun to perspire. “But I don’t even know the combination of the vault.”
She smiled insincerely in his direction. “We have only your untrustworthy word for that. Everybody knows that Paula was a complete witch — if I pronounced that word correctly. She continually flittered from hither to yon and last night you were the nearest hither.”
I shook my head. “A noble effort, Miss Washburn, but sheer logic indicates that a woman would not blatantly tell her husband she was going to put her jewelry into the vault and then instead sashay down the hall to an assignation. Her husband might not innocently fall asleep at her departure. After a time he might even come looking for her. No, it is much more logical to assume that if she intended any such action, she would first wait until she was certain her husband had fallen asleep before she ventured out of the bedroom.”