“She never changed any detail in her story?”
“Not as far as I could read in the transcripts of the pretrial and the trial. Her statement to Neustadt was almost word for word what she said on the witness stand. I talked to the matron at the jail, Mrs. Strippe, and she saw her from the first night they brought her in right up to the moment she said goodbye. She said that her story never changed. McStu talked to all of the warders, and, apart from little human stories, there was nothing new. Unless she unburdened herself to the hangman, she went through the trap with her secret untold.”
“Did you or McStu talk to him?”
“When the book was being researched, Mr. McCarthy was in the old country, somewhere in the Aran Islands. We tried, but we couldn’t reach him. I heard that he had come back to Ontario and was living in a house in Grimsby. I doubt if he would have anything to add to her story. They say he works fast. You can’t say a lot in thirty or forty seconds, can you?”
“Is that how long it takes?”
“So I’ve read, Benny. There are no speeches, you know. The sheriff doesn’t read the death warrant. Nothing like that. Strictly business. Why I remember reading in the famous Palmer case-”
I interrupted Duncan’s extensive store of gallows lore by telling him that my other line was flashing. I have often wished I had a second line, but the excuse of having to answer the imaginary one works almost as well.
At the appointed hour, I was waiting in The Snug for Julie Long. I hoped that she’d come alone. I didn’t think I could cope with the entourage again. And if it ever came time for me to buy a round, I’d be wiped out. Dave Rogers hadn’t said a word about expenses.
The waiter brought me one of those Campari things and I sipped it for about twenty minutes, when the waiter returned with a note:
Benny,
Will you please come up to Room 614 when you get this right away. I’m in a lot of trouble.
Julie
I paid for my drink, pocketed the rest of the peanuts against the unknown situation in Room 614 and walked through the darkened lounge to the door connected to the hotel lobby. I pushed the button and waited for the elevator.
The ride up to the sixth floor was in itself uneventful, but it reminded me that there was such a thing as an “elevator feeling.” I can’t describe it, but it happens all the time. Room 614 was on the side of the narrow corridor facing and looking down on St. Andrew Street. Julie opened the door. It was a big room, placed a few floors above the rooms set aside for salesmen showing their lines. The place was a mess with clothes strewn everywhere. I couldn’t help thinking that the pantyhose on the chair and the three or four blouses on the bed and hanging on doorknobs was a glimpse into an untidy mind. Then I remembered my own room and swallowed the thought.
“Oh Benny, I’m so glad you could come!” She carefully closed, bolted and chained the door. She was wearing a sheer something-or-other covered by another semi-see-through wrap. They were both the colour of milky coffee. She may have sounded distraught, but her make-up was intact, which is always a good sign. I moved a few peanuts to my mouth, while she turned to clear a space for me to sit down. In the end, I shared a love-seat with an intimate garment, which she hadn’t thought enough of to move out of sight. Across the room near the bathroom door was a room-service trolley with the remains of a meal on it. I was thinking that “at least her appetite is healthy,” when it hit me that she might have been planning on me for dessert.
“I was sorry to hear about your father,” I said, by way of opening. She couldn’t pounce on me after that.
“He’s to blame for this!” she said. “Daddy, Daddy. It’s always been Daddy!”
“Why don’t you tell me the whole story from the beginning?”
“Would you like a drink? I can get anything you want from the bar.” I accepted a Coke and watched her pour Scotch into a glass and smother it with soda. “There’s a whole basket of fruit if you want something to eat, Benny. Cashews the size of kittens.”
“No thanks, Julie. What you can do is tell me what this is all about. Is it your father’s death?”
“It’s Didier!” she said. “He’s gone off! Just like that. He checked out of his hotel and left no forwarding number. I can’t believe it! Could he have been kidnapped?”
“Anything is possible. When did you see him last? And have you talked with his regular cronies? What about that model, Morna McGuire? He’s not likely to go very far from her, is he?”
“Didier and Morna? What are you talking about? Morna’s got a boyfriend in Hollywood. The actor Byron Aslin, you know? You didn’t think …? No, it’s been Didier and me. And now I can’t find him!”
“Where does he edit this magazine of his?”
“Why in Paris! What’s that got to do with it?”
“Well, how much work can he do on the banks of the Welland Canal? He had to go back to work eventually, hadn’t he?”
“But why not tell me? Why just … just … vanish?”
“You said that your father was behind this. How?”
“He didn’t like Didier. He never liked any of my friends. He jinxed it. He always does!”
“Did,” I corrected, not meaning to hurt, but not wanting to shut out the real world either from this room with its imitation French furniture and luxurious cashews, which I had found and had been working my way through.
Julie, sitting on the edge of the bed, leaned towards me. “Benny, I need to find him.” She was crying now, and the make-up around her eyes was being put to the test. Her outer wrap had fallen open and it left a good deal of Julie on display through the diaphanous other thing. Usually, I’m a pushover for a cheap thrill, but there was something about Julie that made me feel detached and reserved. The hand of the stage manager was all but tangible. She was faintly comic and consequently what was bothering her was comic as well. She was an attractive woman; I had to give her that, but it wasn’t working on me. It was a note too high for me to hear, or, maybe, too low. Anyway, what I’m saying is that all these see-through layers, the tears and the pleading voice had the emotional appeal of a block of orange Cheddar. Anna would have been proud of me. But this didn’t have anything to do with my feelings for Anna. I was totally committed to Anna, but I recognized that my maleness was not totally under my control. I remembered Pia Morley and Helen Blackwood from a few years ago. And I mustn’t forget the beautiful Cath Bracken. No, Julie was never in their class.
“Tell me about your last meeting with your father,” I said.
“What has that got to do with anything?” She seemed shocked at the change of subject.
“I need to know. How did you get to the house?”
“Didier,” she said.
“A red Le Baron with one headlight broken?”
“I did that near Stowe. We were driving back from skiing in Vermont. He was awfully nice about it.”
“So, he waited for you in the car?”
“I think so. I guess he could have followed me. The back door was open.”
“What happened next?”
“I talked to Daddy and then I left. That’s all.”
“Not so fast. You came in the door. Who did you see?”
“I remember now. I could smell baking in the kitchen, so I went in to talk to Victoria, who had been making pies. Her husband, that Mickey, was there, but he went out as soon as he had tugged the old forelock. Mickey is always very deferential. Victoria and I don’t have a lot to say to one another. I don’t think she approves of me. She’s very judgmental, I think, although she hardly opens her mouth.”
“Did you see your brother?”
“My half-brother, you mean. No.”
“Okay, go on. You went from the kitchen into the big office to see your father?”
“That’s right. Then we talked. He gave me a lecture, not one of his better ones, and then he gave me some money to take away the bad taste and I left the same way I came in.”