Paul came in an hour later. There were two people with him, a tall heavy-set blonde woman of about fifty and a small, wispy little guy with an almost completely bald head and eyes the color of faded blue denim. It took me a few moments to realize he was probably not much older than the woman. Of the two, the man seemed much the more upset.
“This is Mr. and Mrs. Carpenter, Jim,” Paul aid. “Folks, this is Detective Coren.”
We all nodded to one another and I pushed two chairs close to my desk and asked them to sit down. Mrs. Carpenter frowned at the chair, rook a large, flowered handkerchief from her purse and dusted it thoroughly, and finally sat down. Mr. Carpenter watched her closely, biting his lip. He didn’t sit down until she had settled herself. Paul Brader leaned a hip against my desk and lit a cigarette. He extended the package to the Carpenters, but both shook their heads.
I could sense that there was no point in condolences, and I was relieved. I knew Paul hadn’t got anything on the trip to Bellevue or he would have taken me aside and briefed me. Mrs. Carpenter was obviously the dominant member of the family, and I addressed my remarks to her.
“We’ll make this just as short as we can,” I said. “The first question, of course, is whether you know anyone who might have killed your niece.”
She sat very straight, almost rigid, staring at me unblinkingly. “I’m sure I couldn’t say.”
“You reported her missing as of eight P.M. last Monday, and the time of your report was ten a.m. Tuesday. Was it unusual for Lucille to stay out all night?”
“It was the first time she’d ever done that. She would never have had the opportunity for a second time, I assure you.”
“We’ll want to notify her parents.” I picked up a pencil. “What’s their address?”
“They’re dead. Lucille has been living with Mr. Carpenter and me ever since then. Almost a year now.”
“Did she go on a date Monday night, Mrs. Carpenter?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. We’d had very little to say to one another the last few weeks.”
“You have no idea at all where she was going? No idea whom she might have planned to meet?”
“None at all.”
“Was she wearing a coat or jacket when she left?”
“I told them what she was wearing when I called to report her missing. If she’d been wearing a coat, I would have said so.”
“It’s been very chilly the last week or so. I thought you might have forgotten—”
“I forgot nothing.”
I looked at Mr. Carpenter. “How about you, sir? Do you have any idea of whom Lucille planned to see that night?”
“He knows nothing about it,” Mrs. Carpenter said crisply.
Mr. Carpenter glanced furtively at her, then dropped his eyes and shook his head. “She didn’t mention,” he said.
I turned back to Mrs. Carpenter. “You said she was wearing a diamond engagement ring when she left. There was no such ring on her hand when we found her.”
“She was wearing it when she left the house. I’m quite certain of it.”
“Whose was it?”
“Why, her own, of course.”
“I mean, who gave it to her? Who was the man?”
Mrs. Carpenter had very thin lips, and when she pursed them, as she did now, she gave the impression of having no lips at all. “I’m afraid I don’t know,” she said finally.
Paul Brader leaned forward. “Mrs. Carpenter, do you mean to tell us that your niece was engaged to a guy, wearing his ring, and you don’t know who he was?”
Mrs. Carpenter took a deep breath, staring at Paul fixedly. “I don’t like your tone, young man,” she said. “I—”
“I’m sorry,” Paul said. “It’s just a little hard to understand, that’s all.”
“She began wearing the ring about a month ago. It was shortly after the time Lucille and I — well, you might say we stopped confiding in one another.”
“And why was that?” Paul asked.
“Because I discovered certain things about her. At first I was of a mind to ask her to leave my house.” She turned her head slightly to glare at her husband.
“You mind telling us a bit more about it?” I asked.
“Not at all. Why should I pretend to protect the reputation of a girl like Lucille? She was an extremely pretty girl... she liked to flaunt herself. Especially around Mr. Carpenter.”
“Now, Cora...” Mr. Carpenter began.
“Please be still, Mr. Carpenter,” she said coldly. “You’ve defended that disgraceful person often enough already.”
“It just don’t seem right somehow,” he said. “Her being dead and all, and—”
“That’ll do,” Mrs. Carpenter said. She looked at me. “As I said, she flaunted herself. She thought nothing of going through the house in her slip, or parading from the bathroom with just a towel wrapped around her. Why, once she even—”
“We’re interested only in finding the one who killed her, Mrs. Carpenter,” I said. “Now, can you tell us anything else that might help? For instance, do you know whether she was in fear of anyone? Had she ever said anything at all that might give us a lead?”
“No, she never did. It seems quite plain to me that she was robbed.”
“Why so?”
“Because she wore the ring when she left the house, and yet it was not on her finger when her body was found.”
“A lot of things could have happened,” I said. “Robbery’s a possibility, of course.”
A knowing look came into her eyes, and when she spoke there was a subtle suggestiveness to her voice. “Unless something else happened, that is. Unless, let us say, one of the people who found her took a fancy to the ring. It would be quite simple for him to appropriate it.” She smiled faintly. “Such things have been known to happen, have they not?”
“Just a minute,” Paul said sharply. “If you’re trying to say that we—”
“Hold it, Paul,” I said. “Mrs. Carpenter is just upset, that’s all.”
“I’m not in the least upset. I never permit myself to become up-set.”
“About this man she was engaged to,” I said. “We’ll want to talk to him. Can you tell us anyone who might know who he is? Any girl friends Lucille had who might know?”
“She had few friends. Naturally, the way she twisted herself around, showing off all the time, she’d be lucky if decent girls even spoke to her.”
“Did she have a job?”
“Yes. She worked for a photographer.”
I lifted the pencil again. “Where?”
“His name is Schuyler. The studio is somewhere on Fifty-seventh Street.”
“You know the address?”
“No, I don’t. You’ll have to look it up.”
I studied her a moment. “Can you think of anything else that might help us, Mrs. Carpenter? Surely she mentioned friends or acquaintances. A young girl would have some social life. How about church groups, or clubs, or night courses at one of the colleges?”
“I’ve told you all I can,” she said. “It was only during the last two or three months that she began going out much. Before that, she went out only now and then. And if she ever told me the names of any of her men friends, I’ve long since forgotten them.”
“One more thing,” I said. “She was nineteen, and she had a job. If things were strained between you two, why did she continue to stay with you?”
Again Mrs. Carpenter glared at her husband. “She didn’t realize the full extent of my dislike, I’m quite sure. Mr. Carpenter prevailed on me not to ask her to leave. Then, too, we charged her considerably less for her board and room than she would have paid elsewhere. Even so, things were coming to a head. I had almost determined to give her notice.”