THE WOMAN IN THE TAXI
From the Gresham home, David Carroll went straight to headquarters.
Developments had been tumbling over each other so fast that he found
himself unable to sort them properly. He wanted to talk the thing over
with someone, to place each new lead in the investigation under the
microscope in an attempt to discern its true value in relation to the
killing of Roland Warren.
Eric Leverage was the one man to whom he could talk. And, locked in the
Chief's office, he told all that he knew about the case, detailing
conversations, explaining the situation as he understood it, reserving
his suspicions and watching keenly for the reaction on the stolid mind of
the plodding, practical Chief.
Carroll placed an exceedingly high valuation on Leverage's opinion--even
though the minds of the two men were as far apart as the poles. But
Leverage was a magnificent man for the office he held: competent,
methodical, intensely orthodox--but typical of the modern police in
contradistinction to the modern detective.
Carroll knew that modern police methods have received a great deal more
than their share of unjust criticism. He knew that the entire theory of
national policing is based on an exhaustive system of records and
statistics. It operates by brute force and all-pervading power rather
than by any attempt at sublety or keen deduction. The former is so much
safer as a method. And the combination of the two--keen analysis, logical
deduction and plodding investigation--can perform wonders, which explains
why Carroll and Leverage worked hand-in-hand with implicit confidence in
one another.
Leverage listened with rapt attention to the report of his friend.
Occasionally the corners of his large humorous mouth twitched as Carroll
touched on one or two of the lighter phases of his investigation--and
once Leverage even twitted him about becoming "one of these here
butterfly investigators"--but Carroll knew that no word of his escaped
the retentive brain of the chief of the city's police force, and that
each was being carefully catalogued with truer knowledge of its proper
importance than Carroll had yet been able to determine.
"And so," finished Carroll, "there you are. The thing is in as pretty a
mess as I care to encounter. Frankly, I don't know which way to turn
next--which is why I wanted to talk things over. Perhaps, between us,
we can arrive at some solution of the affair--determine upon some
course of action."
"Yes," responded Leverage slowly, "perhaps we can. Only trouble is--there
are so many different ways of spillin' the beans that we're takin' a
chance no matter what we do. Answer me this, David: if you had to point
out one person right now as the guilty one--which'd you choose?"
Carroll shook his head. "You know I don't like to answer questions of
that sort."
"But you can tell me--"
"No-o. It might start your mind working along lines parallel to mine--and
I prefer to have you buck me. But, in perfect honesty, I'll tell you that
I'm all at sea. I couldn't conscientiously make an arrest now."
"Well--I'm willing to air my opinions," volunteered the Chief. "And I'm
telling you that if it was up to me to make an arrest to-day I'd nab Mr.
Gerald Lawrence--and haul in William Barker for good measure."
"M-m-m!" Carroll nodded approvingly. "Sounds reasonable. How about
the woman?"
"That's what's got me puzzled. I've worked on that end of it, and I've
had several of my best men circulating around trying to gather dope from
the gossip shops--but there doesn't seem to be a clue from this end.
Anyway--I don't believe Warren was killed by the woman in the taxi!"
Carroll was genuinely impressed. "You don't?"
"No. Don't believe any woman--I don't care who--would have killed him
under those circumstances."
"You mean you believe the woman in the taxi had nothing to do with it?"
"I don't mean anything of the kind. I know darn well she had something to
do with it--but I don't believe she did the actual killing. That's why
I'd arrest this bird Lawrence and also William Barker. They either killed
the man or they know all about it."
"But," suggested Carroll slowly, "suppose we admit that your theory is
correct--and I've thought of it myself: how and where was that body put
into the taxicab?"
Leverage shrugged: "That's where you come in, Carroll. I ain't the sort
of thinker who can puzzle out something like that. Of course I'd say the
only place the shift could have been made was when the taxi stopped at
the R. L. & T. railroad crossing--and every time I think that it strikes
me I must be wrong. Because any birds working a case like that couldn't
have counted on such a break in luck."
"It might have been," suggested Carroll, "that two men entered the cab
at that crossing: Warren and another--both alive, and the killing might
have occurred between then and the time the cab reached number 981 East
End Avenue."
"Might have--yes. But something tells me it didn't. It's asking
too much--"
"Then what _do_ you think happened?"
"I don't think. There just simply isn't anything you can think about an
affair like that. You either know everything or you don't know a thing!"
"I think you're about right, Leverage. And now--let's run over the list
we have in front of us. Spike Walters--the taxi driver--comes first.
What about him?"
Leverage rubbed his chin. "Funny about Spike, Carroll--I think the kid's
story is true."
"So do I."
"But unless there's some other answer to this affair--it's damned hard to
believe that the body could have been dumped into that cab, or that the
killing could have occurred there, without Spike knowing about it. Ain't
that a fact?"
"It is."
"And if he knows anything he hasn't told, the odds are on him to know a
whale of a sight more. And if he knows a whole heap--then the chances are
he knows enough to justify us in keeping him in jail."
"You're right, Leverage. If Spike is innocent he's not undergoing any
enormous hardship. But if his story is untrue in any particular--then it
is probably entirely false. And since we cannot understand how that body
got into the cab or where the murderer went--we've got to hold on to
Spike. Meanwhile, we both believe him."
"You said it, David. Now, next on the list we have Barker. What
about him?"
"I don't like Barker particularly," said Carroll frankly. "He hasn't
what you would call an engaging personality. Not only that, but we are
agreed that he knows a great deal about the case which he hasn't
told--and doesn't intend to tell unless we force him to it. But we'll go
back to him later: he's too important a link in the chain to pass over
casually when we're trying to hit on a definite course of action.
Remembering, of course, that his visits to the Lawrence home have a
certain degree of significance."
Leverage chuckled grimly. "You're coming around to my way of thinking,
David Carroll. Remember, I wanted to stick that bird behind the bars the
first day we talked to him--when we first knew he was lying to us."
"Yes--but we wouldn't have gained anything--then. Perhaps now the time
is ripe to try some of that third degree stuff. But let's take up the
others. My little friend, Miss Evelyn Rogers, for instance."
Leverage chuckled. "Go to it, David. You know more about that kid than I
ever will--or want to. Ain't suspecting her of being the woman in the
taxi, are you?"
"Good Lord! no! She hasn't that much on her mind. And if we manage to
solve this case, we can thank her. That little tongue of hers wags at
both ends--and out of the welter of words that drip from her lips--I've
managed to extract more information than from every other source we've
tapped. I've been awfully lucky there--"
"Don't talk like a simp, David--'tain't luck. That's your way of
working. And because there isn't anything flashy about it--you call it
luck. Why, you poor fish--there isn't any other man in the country who'd
have had the common sense to do what you did--to know that it would be a
sensible move."
"Some day, Eric," grinned Carroll, "I'm going to throw you down--I'm
going to flunk on a case. And then you'll say to my face what you must
often have thought--that I'm a lucky, old-maidish detective."
"G'wan wid ye! Fishing for compliments--that's what you are."
Carroll grew serious again. "I think we're safe in eliminating Evelyn
Rogers from our calculations except as a gold mine of information. Which
takes us to her friend--Hazel Gresham."
"And Garry Gresham. You say he didn't want you to discuss the case with
his sister."
"They both acted mighty peculiarly," agreed Carroll. "One of them, I'm
sure, knows something about that case--has some inside dope on it. And
the one who knew has told the other one--the affection between them is
something pretty to look at, Leverage."
"You think one of them is in on the know?"
"Yes, I think so. And I think that their information touches someone
pretty close to them. That's obviously why they pleaded so hard with me
to call off the investigation."
"M-m-m--They're pretty good friends to the Lawrences, aren't they!"
"Yes--with Naomi Lawrence, anyway. I don't believe Gerald Lawrence is
especially friendly with anyone. But the Greshams and Mrs. Lawrence are
pretty intimate."
"And you believe that the alibi Miss Rogers established for Hazel
Gresham is good?"
Carroll hesitated a moment before replying. When he did speak it was with
obvious reluctance: "I hate to say so, Leverage--because I like Evelyn
Rogers and I took an instant liking to both Hazel Gresham and her
brother. But there seems to be something wrong about it. I do think that
Evelyn Rogers believed she was telling the truth--but I'm not so sure
that her dope was accurate. Just where the inaccuracy comes--I haven't
the least idea--but I'm not letting my likes and dislikes stand in the
way of a sane outlook on the case. I am convinced that both the young
Greshams know something more than they have told. As a matter of fact,
there isn't a doubt of it--they showed it clearly when they begged me to
call off the investigation. We know further that they are intimate with
Naomi Lawrence--and we know that either Naomi or her husband--or
both--are mixed up in this case. Events dovetail too perfectly for us to
ignore the fact that however right Evelyn Rogers may believe she is--she
may be wrong!"
"And I'm not forgetting, either--" said Leverage grimly, "that Hazel
Gresham was engaged to marry Warren!"
"No. Nor am I. It's a puzzling combination of circumstances, Leverage: a
perfectly knit thing--if we don't--and so now we come to Gerald Lawrence
and his wife."
Leverage did not take his cue immediately. He sat drumming a heavy tattoo
on the tabletop, forehead corrugated in a frown of intensive thought.
When he did speak it was in a manner well-nigh abstract--
"Gerald Lawrence probably lied when he said he didn't leave Nashville
until the two a.m. train."
"He may have. One thing which impressed me about Lawrence was this,
Leverage--when the man started bucking me he thought he had a perfect
alibi. He was supremely confident that I was going to be completely
nonplussed. It was only after I had questioned him closely that he
realized his alibi was no alibi at all. He realized he couldn't prove
where he was at the time the murder was committed--that for all the
evidence he could adduce he might have been right here in this city."
"Yes--?"
"The significant fact is this," explained Carroll--"when he made the
discovery that his alibi was no good--_he_ was the most surprised person
in the room!"
"And you're thinking," suggested the Chief, "that if he had actually had
a hand in the murder of Warren he would have had an alibi that would have
been an alibi?"
"Just about that. Get me straight, Chief--I would rather believe Lawrence
guilty than any other person--except perhaps Barker--with whom I have
come in contact since this investigation began. He has one of the most
unpleasant personalities I have ever known. He is a congenital grouch.
But he told his Nashville story so frankly--and then became so panicky
with surprise when my questioning showed him that his alibi was
rotten--that we must not fasten definitely upon him--"
"--Except to be pretty darn sure that he knows more about it than he
has told."
"Yes. Perhaps."
"Perhaps. Ain't you sure he does?"
"I'm not sure of anything. I haven't one single item of information save
that regarding the one person whom I would prefer to see left clear."
"And that is?"
"Mrs. Naomi Lawrence."
Leverage nodded agreement. "Things do look pretty tough for her."
"More so than you think, Eric." Carroll designated on his fingers, "Count
the facts against her as we know them: irrespective of their weight or
significance.
"First, she is a beautiful woman, twelve years younger than her husband
and very unhappy in her domestic life. Second, she was very friendly with
Roland Warren. Of course, Miss Rogers' fatuous belief that Warren was
crazy about her is pure rot: he called at that house to see either
Gerald or Naomi Lawrence. We must admit that the chances are the woman
was the person in whom he was interested. Third, in substantiation of
that belief we know that he frequently gave her presents. It doesn't
matter how valuable the presents were--he gave them. That proves a
certain amount of interest."
Carroll paused for a brief explanation. "Mind you, Leverage--I'm not
trying to make out a case against Naomi Lawrence--I'm only being honest.
To continue--fourth, we know that in spite of the fact that she is
afraid to remain in a house alone at night, she suggested that her
sister visit at the home of Hazel Gresham on the night Warren was
killed. Her husband was supposed--according to his story--to be in
Nashville. It is absurd to presume that when she let Evelyn go out for
the night she expected to remain alone until morning. Therefore, for the
sake of argument, we will assume that she knew her husband would be back
that night. If that is the case--we are also forced to believe that
there was something sinister about it.
"Fifth--we are fairly positive that she packed a suit-case the morning
before the murder, that the suit-case left the house that morning and
that two days later it mysteriously reappeared--"
"Yes," interrupted Leverage, "and we know that Warren was planning to
make a trip with someone else!"
"Exactly!"
"Which makes it pretty clear," finished Leverage positively, "that Mrs.
Lawrence was the woman in the taxicab!"