He hesitated. “I’d like to keep us out of it altogether. Since she’s dead there’s nothing we can do—”
Peggy walked to the phone, dialed the operator, asked for police headquarters, and almost immediately heard a booming masculine voice answer the phone.
Peggy said, “My name is Castle. I wish to report a death. We just found a body under very odd circumstances and—”
“Where are you?”
Peggy gave the address.
“Wait there,” the voice said. “Don’t touch anything. Be on the lookout for a squad car. I’ll get in touch with the dispatcher.”
The two officers were very considerate. They listened to the sketchy story Kimberly told, the story that very carefully left out all reference to Peggy’s suspicion of poison, and recounted barely the facts that Stella Lynn was a “friend of theirs,” that they had called on her at her apartment, had found the door open, walked in, and discovered her body on the floor; they didn’t know exactly what the proper procedure was under the circumstances, but felt they should notify the police.
The police looked around a bit, nodded sagely, and then one of them called the coroner.
Peggy ventured with some hesitation, “Are you — have you any ideas of what caused death?”
“You thinking of suicide?”
She hesitated. “I can’t help wondering whether it might have been her heart.”
“Had she been despondent or anything?”
“I didn’t know her that well,” Peggy said, “but I gather she had rather a happy disposition. But... well, notice the foam on the lips, the peculiar color of her skin—”
The officer shrugged. “We aren’t thinking, not right now. We’re following rules and taking statements.”
There followed an interval of waiting. Men came and went, and eventually the Homicide Squad arrived with a photographer to take pictures of the body, and a detective to question Peggy and Kimberly in detail.
Kimberly told his story first. Since it did not occur to anyone to examine them separately, Peggy, after hearing Don’s highly generalized version of the evening’s activities, confined herself to the bare essentials. The officer seemed to take it for granted that she had been Don Kimberly’s date, and that following dinner they had dropped in at Stella Lynn’s apartment simply because they were friends and because Stella Lynn worked in the same office.
Don Kimberly drove her home. Peggy hoped he would open up with some additional explanation, but he was completely preoccupied with his thoughts and the problem of driving through the evening traffic, so it became necessary for Peggy to bring up the subject.
“You told your story first,” she said, “so I had to back your play, but I think we’ve carried it far enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“The police assumed I was your date for the evening.”
“Well, what’s wrong with that? We can’t help what they assume.”
“Then I’ll draw you a diagram,” Peggy said impatiently. “I think Stella Lynn was murdered. I think it was carefully planned, cold-blooded, deliberate murder, cunningly conceived and ruthlessly carried out. I think the police are going to investigate enough to find that out. Then they’re going to ask you to tell your story in greater detail.”
He slowed the car until it was barely crawling. “All right,” he said, “what’s wrong with my story? You and I were at the Royal Pheasant. We got to talking about Stella Lynn. We decided to run and see her. We—”
“Everything is wrong with that story,” she interrupted. “In the first place, someone knew you were going to the Royal Pheasant to meet Stella. That someone sent me an anonymous letter. Moreover, if the police check with the headwaiter, they’ll learn that I came in alone, using my press card, and that you came in later.”
Abruptly he swung the car to the curb and shut off the motor.
“What time did you get that anonymous letter?”
“In the afternoon mail.”
“What became of it?”
“I tore it into small bits and dumped it into the wastebasket.”
He said, “Stella didn’t work today. She rang up and told the personnel manager she wouldn’t be at the office. About ten thirty she rang me up and asked me what, our policy would be on paying out a reward for the recovery of all the gems in the Garrison job.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her it made a great deal of difference with whom we were dealing. You know how those things are. It’s our policy never to reward a thief. If we did, we’d be in the position of fencing property that had first been stolen from our own clients. But if a man gives us a legitimate tip and that tip leads to the recovery of insured property, we are, of course, willing to pay, and pay generously.”
“You told her that?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“She told me she thought she had some information on the Garrison case that would interest me. I told her that on a big job like that hundreds of false leads were floating around. She told me that she could show me evidence that would prove she was dealing with people who knew what they were talking about.”
“That,” Peggy said, “would account for the jeweled butterfly.”
“You mean that was to be my assurance I was dealing with the right people?”
“That was the start of it, but I think it has an added significance now.”
“What?”
“You are thinking Stella ran into danger because she was going to tell you something about the Garrison jewels. Now, let’s suppose you are right, and she was killed by the jewel thieves. They’d never have left that jeweled butterfly on her stocking. All those rubies, emeralds, and diamonds! It must be worth a small fortune.”
He thought that over.
“And,” Peggy went on, “if she’d been killed by an intruder or a burglar he’d naturally have taken the butterfly. So it adds up to the fact that her death must have been unrelated to that Garrison job and must have been caused by someone who was so anxious to have her out of the way the opportunity to steal the butterfly meant nothing.”
He looked at her with sudden respect. “Say, you’re a logical little cuss.”
She said, “That’s not what women want. When men praise their brains it’s almost a slam. A woman would far rather be known as a glamor puss than as a thinker. Let’s check on our story a little further. Stella telephoned you this morning, and it was you who suggested the Royal Pheasant?”
“That’s right. Surely you don’t doubt my statement.”
“I don’t doubt your statement. I doubt your conclusions.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you told me that two and three added up to ten,” she said, “I wouldn’t be doubting your statement, I’d be doubting your conclusions. You might actually have ten as an answer, and know that the figures you had in mind consisted of two and three, but the total of those figures wouldn’t be ten.”
“Apparently you want to point out that there’s a factor I’ve missed somewhere, that there’s an extra five I don’t know about.”
“Exactly,” she said.
“And what makes you think there’s this extra five? What have I missed?”
“The anonymous letter I received in the afternoon mail had been postmarked at five thirty P.M. yesterday. If you are the one who suggested the Royal Pheasant, how did someone know yesterday that you and Stella were to have a date there tonight?”
“All right, let’s go,” he told her. “There’s a possibility the janitor hasn’t cleaned up in your office. We’re going to have to find that letter, put the tom pieces together, and reconstruct the postmark on that envelope. There’s also the possibility that your totals are all wrong and the postmark was a clever forgery. How come you noticed it?”