Masters Of Noir Vol Iv Part 6

I'd noticed. It wasn't pale, the way it would have been had she drowned. The river water was cold, and cold water contracts the blood vessels and forces the blood to the inner part of the body.

"And there's no postmortem lividity in the head and neck," Paul went on. "Floaters always hang the same way in the water, with the head down. If she had been alive when she went in, she'd be a d.a.m.ned sight less pretty than she is now." He stepped close and knelt beside the girl. "How long would you say she was in the water, Jim?"

"That's always tough to figure," I said. "Taking the weather into consideration, and the fact that she's a little thin, I'd say anywhere from three to five days." I looked at the sergeant. "Any label in that dress, Ted?"

"No, sir."

"How about the underclothes?"

"Just brand names. No shop names at all."

Paul gently rolled the girl over on her left side. "Take a look at these lacerations on the back of her head," he said.

I knelt down beside him. There were two lacerations, apparently quite deep, and about three inches long. But lacerations and other mutilations of bodies found in the water are often misleading. Marine life takes its toll, and bodies frequently bob for hours against pilings and wharves and the sides of boats before they are discovered.

"We'll have to wait and see what the M.E.'s shop says about those," I said. I looked at both the girl's palms. There were no fingernail marks, such as are usually found in drownings. It's true that drowning people clutch at anything; and when there's nothing to grasp, they clench their hands anyhow, driving the nails into the flesh.

The girl had pierced ears, and the small gold rings in them appeared expensive. So did the charm bracelet, and the dress was obviously no bargain-counter item. There were four dollar bills tucked into the top of one of her stockings.

The uniformed sergeant removed the jewelry and the bills and listed them on his report sheet. "Four bucks," he murmured. "Mad money, probably."

Paul and I straightened up. "You want to wait for the doc?" he asked.

"Not much point," I said. "He won't be able to tell us anything until after he autopsies her. We don't need him to tell us we got a homicide."

"No I guess not," Paul said. He stared down at the girl a moment. "Tough, Jim. There's something about pulling a pretty girl out of cold water that gets me. Every time."

I nodded, and we turned back toward our prowl car. I knew what he meant. We handle about four hundred floaters a year in New York, most of them in the spring and summer. The majority of them are accidental drownings. A number are suicides, though there are fewer than is generally supposed. An even smaller number are homicides. And of the homicides, only about one in ten are women.

I got behind the wheel and we drove along the pier and turned downtown toward Centre Street, where the Missing Persons Bureau is located.

"You going to hit the station house first?" Paul asked.

"No. We can call in from the Bureau. I've got a hunch we'll save time if we go through the MP reports ourselves." The first thing a detective does when he has an unidentified body-provided it's a homicide and the body has been dead more than a day or so-is check the reports of missing persons. In the event of a routine drowning, the investigating officer's report is sent to the Bureau and the description matched against MP reports by MP personnel.

We found the matching MP report almost at once.

POLICE DEPARTMENT.

City of New York REPORT OF MISSING PERSON.

Surname: TAYLOR, First Name: LUCILLE, Initials: M, s.e.x: F, Age: 19 Address; Date and Time Seen: 751 W. 72nd, 10/11/54, 8 P.M.

Last seen at: LEAVING HOME ADDRESS.

Probable Destination: UNKNOWN, Cause of Absence: UNKNOWN I scanned the rest of the MP form. It was all there-a close physical description of the girl, the skirt with the lucky symbols, the pierced ears and gold earrings, the charm bracelet. There, was, however, one item of jewelry listed on the report which had not been on the girl when she'd been taken from the river. A diamond engagement ring, a.s.sumed to be about half a carat.

"You were off a year on the age, Jim," Paul said, grinning.

"All right, so fire me," I said.

"I'll take it up with the commissioner," he said. "You want me to handle the ID confirmation?"

"Might as well," I said. "No use both of us killing time with it." I glanced down at the bottom of the form. The report had been phoned in by a Mrs. Edward Carpenter, with the same address as the girl's. Mrs. Carpenter, it seemed, was the girl's aunt. I wrote down the name and address on a piece of scratch paper and handed it to Paul. "I'll make a deal with you," I said. "You get Mrs. Carpenter and take her over to Bellevue for the ID, and I'll handle the paper work on this."

"All the way through?"

"Sure. What'd you think?"

"You've got yourself a deal. You want me to take her home, after the ID?"

"Nope. Take her to the precinct ... That's if she isn't too upset. If she takes it too hard, drive her home and call me from there."

"Anything else?"

"Well, you might get her to fill you in on the girl, if you can. Don't push too hard, unless you think she can take it."

He nodded. "You going back to the station house now?"

"Uh-huh. I'll ride that far with you, and then you can go on up to Seventy-second Street and get Mrs. Carpenter."

Back in the squad room, I finished typing up some 61's in connection with other cases Paul and I were working on, completed several Wanted cards on a gang of Philadelphia hoods a stool had told me were now in New York, and then rolled a fresh 61 form into the Underwood and began the suspected homicide report on Lucille M. Taylor. I kept remembering how small she had looked there on the end of the big pier, and how angry the river had sounded as Paul and I stood there in the chill wind.

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 said. "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, took 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 a.s.sure 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 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?" 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."