“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 upset.”
“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.”
I stood up. “I guess that’ll be all, Mrs. Carpenter,” I said. “Mr. Carpenter, will you come with me a moment?”
He glanced at his wife, as if for permission, and then he got slowly to his feet and followed me back through the squad commander’s office to one of the interrogation rooms.
“We’ll be only a moment,” I said. “I wondered if you had anything to add.” I grinned. “I thought maybe we could talk a bit more freely back here.”
The expression on his face told me he was genuinely surprised to find that anyone was willing to show him any consideration.
“Cora’s just plain wrong about Lucille,” he said in a voice that sounded as if it were accustomed to making apologies. “Just plain wrong. Lucille was a pretty girl, and I reckon she knew it well enough, but she sure never did anything wrong around the house. She — well, I guess she just figured I was her uncle, and that it wasn’t a heck of a lot different than if it was her father. Maybe she did run around the house half naked sometimes, but she sure never done it for my benefit. She just never thought anything about it, that’s all.”
“I can understand why she might have kept things from your wife, Mr. Carpenter,” I said, “but I thought she might have said something to you. About the man she was engaged to, I mean.”
“Nope. She never did.”
I nodded. “Can you think of anything that might help?”
“No, sir, I can’t. Not a thing.”
We went back to the squad room. I arranged for an unmarked car to take Mr. and Mrs. Carpenter home, and then I typed up the results of the interview and added them to the file on Lucille Taylor.
“That guy Carpenter bugs me a little,” Paul said. “Being in the same house all the time with a girl like Lucille could give a man a lot of ideas. Maybe he got charged up, and she nixed him, and he got mad about it.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Or maybe she didn’t nix him, and his wife found out about it, and she got mad.”
“Could be,” I said. “You feel like some coffee?”
“Always.”
“Let’s grab a cup, and then go see her boss.” I found the address in the directory, and then Paul and I signed out and left the squad room.
4.
The Schuyler Studios, Inc. was on the fourth floor, with windows opening on Fifty-seventh Street. It was apparently a good-sized outfit, judging from the number of lettered doorways we passed on our way to the reception room. The reception room itself, however, was quite small. We told the male receptionist who we were, and after he’d talked a moment on an intercom, he led us back to Schuyler’s private office.
“That’ll be all, Mr. Stacy,” he said, rising. “Won’t you gentlemen sit down?”
We sat, and I told him our business. He was a big man, about forty, with hair grown gray at the temples and a face that would have been rugged except for the eyes. The eyes were strangely soft, with that moist sheen that women’s eyes sometimes have. When I had finished, he picked up a letter opener from his desk and turned it over and over in his fingers, shaking his head slowly.
“It’s hard to believe,” he said. “She was such a young girl, and a very pretty one — and to die like that...”
“We’re trying to get a line on her friends,” I told him. “Can you help us?”
He thought a moment. “You know, that’s very strange. She was a very quiet, unassuming girl, but quite personable. And yet, now that you ask, I can’t remember her ever mentioning anyone.”
“How about other employees here? She must at least have gone to lunch with someone.”
“She was the only girl. All the rest are men. And I’m almost certain she never went to lunch with any of them. She wasn’t exactly a cold person, but she did tend to keep aloof from the men here. I’ve heard them talking about her, now and then — as men will. I gathered that none of them had ever dated her, or in fact even talked to her very much, except as pertaining to business.”
“How did you get along with her, Mr. Schuyler?”
“Quite well. I was very fond of her. She did her job, and my clients seemed to like her. Especially the women. And in this business, that’s important. We deal with a great number of account executives and art directors, and many of them are women. Lucille was quite a favorite with them.”
“You ever see her outside the office?”
His mouth tightened a little, but his eyes retained that almost feminine softness. “Just what do you mean?”
“I mean, did you ever see her socially? Did you ever take her out?”
“That’s a rather unusual question.”
“There’s nothing personal,” I said. “We have to follow a certain routine, Mr. Schuyler.”
He nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, I suppose you do. The answer to your question is no. I have had a number of young women working for me, during the fifteen years I have owned this studio. I have made it a strict personal rule never to become involved, in even the most innocent way. Sometimes girls — especially ones as young as Miss Taylor — misinterpret a friendly interest. And even so, I am quite happily married. I have a daughter fifteen and another seventeen.” He smiled, and the friendliness came back into his voice. “Does that answer your question?”