Softly in the Night, page 2
“But,” I said, “I thought that both bodies were almost completely destroyed?”
“They were,” he said. “The woman wasn’t Mrs. Cantwell. She was up at their place in the mountains for several days. No radio, no television, and no newspapers, so she didn't know anything about it until she came back to the city late yesterday. She was quite broken up about it.”
“I’ll bet,” I said. “She's worth at least eight hundred thousand more than she was when she went up to the mountains. Was she up there alone?”
He made a clucking sound with his tongue. “That's the trouble with you insurance fellows; you’re suspicious of everybody. No, she wasn’t alone. She had a friend with her. A female friend.”
“How jolly,” I said. I was feeling irritable because the picture had suddenly changed. I always reacted that way for a few seconds until I had a chance to adjust to the new picture. “What were they doing up there, holding hands?”
“You do get nasty, don’t you?” he said with a smile. He was still enjoying himself. “We’ve already talked to Mrs. Cantwell and her friend and double-checked their story. It stands up.”
“Okay,” I said. “So Mrs. Cantwell is alive. Then who’s the woman in the fire?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “There wasn’t much to go on. We weren’t sure at the time that it was Mrs. Cantwell. It was a woman of about her age and size. She had perfect teeth—as does Mrs. Cantwell—so we couldn’t get a dental identification. We were guessing in the beginning. Now we don’t have any guesses.”
“Were you guessing on Cantwell, too?”
“Not so much. There wasn’t any more to go on except that the teeth checked out with Cantwell s dental records.”
“All right,” I said. “Where does this leave us? You say that somebody set the fire. So the same somebody must have wanted to get Cantwell and the unnamed woman, not to mention a few hundred thousand dollars. Who? Mrs. Cantwell? She does the collecting. Or is Cantwell’s body a ringer, and he’s waiting in the wings for her to get the check?”
“There are several possibilities,” he agreed. “We’ve thought of all of them, I guess. It might be Mrs. Cantwell even though she was away when it happened. It could be Cantwell himself who found a ringer as you suggest. It’s also possible that someone with a grudge against Cantwell decided to bum down his house, and Cantwell and his friend were accidentally trapped in the fire. Your company won’t like that version; but it’s possible.”
“It’s possible,” I said, “but I’ll tell you something. It’s very seldom that a man insured for that much really dies accidentally. I’ll believe it when I see one.”
“We’ll work oh all the possibilities,” he said.
“I’m sure you will. Could you tell where the two bodies were when the fire got them?”
“The bedroom.”
“Any signs that they’d been knocked out before the fire?”
"No.”
“Any evidence that they’d been trying to get out of the building?”
He shook his head. “They could have been overcome by smoke while still asleep. It happened at two in the morning.”
“What does Mrs. Cantwell say about the possible identity of the woman in the fire?”
“She doesn’t. I gather that she knew that he played around whenever he had the chance, but she had never bothered to find out who any of the women were.” “How are you doing on that score?”
“Not so good,” he admittejd. “Oh, we’ve dug up the names of some of the girls he went out with, but none of them are missing. If the girl in the fire was a date, she must have been a new one.”
“Whoever she is,” I said, “she is certainly missing, and you’d think somebody would connect her with Cantwell.”
“If they do we’ll find out about it,” he said.
I began to get an idea about him. He was going tp go on being friendly, answering all my questions, but he wasn’t going to give me very much. There’d never be anything I could complain about, and that’s the way it would go with him until the case was over.
“Well,” I said, “I don’t want to sit around wasting the taxpayers’ money. You probably have a lot of things to do and I wouldn’t want to interfere.”
“Of course not,” he said amiably. “I suppose you’ll be around for a while, reading all the reports and that sort of thing?”
I returned his smile. “I expect so. I may even write a few reports myself.”
“Good. I always like to see civic-minded citizens who like to help the police. I’ll be looking forward to seeing any ideas that you have, March.”
“Speaking of reports,” I said, “I don’t suppose I could see the complete reports you have on the case so far?” “I’m afraid not.” He sounded as if he really regretted it. “Department rules, you know. But I’ll be glad to tell you anything you want to know. I told you I always like to co-operate.”
“I’ve noticed,” I said evenly. “Well, some other time, Lieutenant.” I headed for the door.
“Any time, March. Where you headed for now?” He tried to make the question sound casual, but it didn’t quite come off.
“With the company losing so much money,” I said solemnly, “I may just go back to the hotel and have a good cry. After that I may think of something. Goodbye, Lieutenant.” I closed the door gently behind me and went on out of the station house.
One thing was clear. I was going to have to do all my own digging, which was about par for the course. I figured I had at least one good place to start. I took a taxi to Hollywood and rented a car. Since Martin Raymond was being so generous with expense money, I made it a Cadillac. There was no point in feeling underprivileged while I was trying to save his million dollars.
I drove out to Beverly Hills and found the Cantwell home without any trouble. It was a big, imposing-look-ing house with enough land around it to start a housing project. I parked in the driveway and went up to the front door. A maid answered when I rang the bell.
“Mrs. Cantwell,” I said.
“I’m sorry,” the maid said, “Mrs. Cantwell isn’t seeing anyone today. There’s been a terrible tragedy in the family and she’s in mourning.”
“I know,” I said. “You run along and tell her that it’s Mr. March from the insurance company, and I think perhaps she’ll see me.”
She looked doubtful, as she closed the door and left me waiting. She was back in a few minutes and this time she looked surprised.
“She’ll see you for a few minutes,” she said. “Please follow me.”
That wasn’t difficult to do. Her uniform was tight and she had a nice walk, especially going up the stairs. We reached the second floor and she led the way to the back of the house. She opened the door and stood to one side.
“Mr. March is here, Mrs. Cantwell,” she said.
I stepped inside the room and got my first look at the widow. It was quite a sight. She was tall and blonde with hair that fell down over her shoulders like spilled wheat. On the record she was thirty years old, but she didn’t look a bit more than twenty-five. She wore a red dress that clung to her body with loving care—and I didn’t blame it. When my gaze finally lifted to meet hers there was a knowing smile on her face.
“Mr. March?” she said. “I understand that you wanted to see me.” There was just a slight emphasis on the word “see.” It might have been an accident, but I thought otherwise.
“I had some thoughts about it,” I said. “That is if you’re Mrs. Cantwell.”
“I’m Pamela Cantwell,” she said. “You look as if you doubted it, Mr. March.”
“I don’t doubt it,” I said. “I’m just a little surprised. I was expecting something more along the lines of a conventional widow. You know, the mourning clothes, the weeping eyes—that sort of thing.”
She laughed softly. “Are you always so naive, Mr. March?”
“Maybe. But I understood that you only learned about your husband’s death yesterday.”
“That is quite true. I was married to Richard Cantwell, Mr. March. I suppose I was in love with him when I married him, but a lot of things have happened since then. For the past five years we had what might be called an arrangement. Richard went his way and I went mine. It pleased both of us. I am sorry that Richard was killed—as sorry as I would be to learn that any human was killed—but that is all. For me to put on widow’s weeds would be nothing but a mockery. Does that explain my red dress, Mr. March?,,
“I suppose so,” I said. “Give me a little time; I’ll probably get used to it. In the meantime, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Why?”
“Eight hundred thousand reasons. Each one of them a dollar. That is how much my company is supposed to pay for the death of your husband and the burning of your house. Insurance companies are very peculiar, Mrs. Cantwell. They don’t like it when somebody puts a match to property they’ve insured and in the process also accidentally kills a man who carries a double-indemnity policy.”
“But I would think they would be delighted,” she said. “I understand that everyone originally believed that I had died in the fire with Richard. That would have cost your company one million, three hundred thousand dollars. So you see, you have already saved five hundred thousand dollars.”
“We appreciate every dollar of it,” I said drily, “but we still have a certain amount of interest in the rest of it.”
“I don’t see how you can possibly contest the claims,” she said. “I’ve already spoken to my attorney. He says there’s no question about it. The house did bum down and it was insured against fire. My husband did die accidentally in the fire. His life was also insured. So there’s nothing to contest, is there, Mr. March?”
“I don’t remember saying anything about contesting the claims, Mrs. Cantwell. I only mentioned asking a few questions.”
She stared at me for a minute, then her face softened and she laughed. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m more on edge than I realized. Too much has happened too quickly. I came back just yesterday ^nd learned about Richard. Then I answered all the questions for the police. I’m afraid I’ve been rude, Mr. March. Please forgive me.
I’ll answer all of your questions, of course. Won’t you sit down?”
“Thank you,” I said. I took the nearest chair.
“May I get you a drink?” she asked.
“Why not? When I was very young, my father told me never to say no to a drink or a beautiful woman.” She smiled. "What will you have, Mr. March?”
“V.O., if you have it. On the rocks.”
She went over to a small portable bar and made two drinks. She came across the room and handed one to me. “Go ahead, Mr. March. What would you like to know?”
“I won’t give you too much trouble, Mrs. Cantwell,” I said. “Tell me, do you think that was really your husband who died in that fire?”
She looked surprised. “The police said it was. They said they had managed to identify the—the body.” “They also identified the other body as being yours.” “Yes, but they said the identification of Richard was more certain. What are you trying to say, Mr. March?” “It is just barely possible,” I said gently, “that your husband planned the whole thing and thoughtfully provided a substitute corpse for himself.”
“But the money comes to me.”
“True. Which opens up two possibilities. You and your husband might have agreed upon a plan that gives the money to you and then you join him later, when it seems safe. Or maybe he didn’t tell you about it, and intends to surprise you later by showing up and demanding his share.”
“Why should my husband do anything like that? He was a wealthy man.”
“Maybe. He used to be, but maybe he wasn’t so wealthy recently. Was he?”
“So far as I know. We certainly hadn’t changed our way of living.” She looked at me curiously. “Doesn’t it even occur to you that my husband’s death might have been the accident that it appears to have been?”
“It’s occurred to me—but it still was arson. There is no question that the fire was deliberately set.”
“Couldn’t that have been arranged by someone who was an enemy of Richard’s? Maybe by someone who didn’t know he was in the house, but just wanted to destroy our property out of spite?”
“It’s possible,” I admitted, “but it’s not the only possibility. Did you have any particular enemy in mind when you mentioned that?”
“Richard made many enemies. He was not a very friendly man.”
“Do you mean in business?”
“Both in business and socially.”
“Who are those enemies?”
“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug. “I only know that Richard was always fighting with someone. Perhaps they could tell you at the office.”
“I intend to check with them,” I said. “You know, there is something that I’m very curious about. The woman whose body was found with your husband’s. Any idea who she was?”
“No. Richard was interested in many women. I don’t suppose any of them lasted very long. I didn’t bother trying to keep up with who was current.”
“You didn’t care?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Could it have been a jealous husband out to get his wife and her lover?”
“I suppose it could have been. I imagine there were jealous husbands in Richard’s life.”
“Who would have known about the women in his fife?”
“I haven’t the vaguest idea. Richard had no friends, if that’s what you had in mind. Perhaps someone at the office might know. Or try the headwaiters in the various restaurants and clubs. But, whatever you find, it should prove one thing to you.”
‘What?”
“That it was Richard in the fire. If he'd been planning it, there wouldn’t have been any point to killing the woman.”
“There might have been,” I said. “I can think of two ways where there might have been a point to it. You were out of town. Maybe he picked someone who would be mistaken for you, with the idea of also killing you while you were still in the mountains and disposing of your body. It would have been neater that way than if he was supposedly found dead in one place and you in another.”
“Then why didn’t he kill me?”
“I don’t know—yet. Maybe something came up that made him think it was safer to take eight hundred thousand than to take a greater risk for the one million, three hundred thousand.”
“It seems to me there is one flaw in your thinking, Mr. March,” she said carefully. “If Richard planned and did what you suspect, how would he get the money? In the present case, your company will have to pay the money to me. As I’ve pointed out, Richard and I were not on the best of terms, so he couldn’t plan arson and murder, and then think that I’d just turn all the money over to him.”
“You might,” I said. “He could always claim that you and he had planned the crime together, and you’d have trouble proving that it wasn’t true. In a case like that, you might turn the money over to him, as long as there was enough left for you, rather than run the risk of being tried for arson and murder.”
“And what if he killed me? The money would then have gone to a foundation. How would he have gotten it?” -
“I don’t know yet, but it’s always possible that he set up the foundation himself with just this in mind, and had a plan that would enable him to get the money later.”
“I see,” she said. She got up and came over to where I sat. She took my glass and went over to the bar. She filled it and brought it back to me. “You mentioned two situations in which there might have been a point to killing the woman.”
“So I did,” I agreed. “It’s always possible that you weren’t as calm about your husband’s girl friends as you say. You might have seen the chance to get rid of him and his current woman and make a handsome profit at the same time.”
She laughed. “After all, I was up in the mountains when all this happened.”
“And the fire was set by professional arsonists. They could have been hired by you before you went off to establish your alibi.”
“And I suppose you want to check what you call my alibi?”
"I’d like to talk to the woman who was with you. I could get her name and address from the police, but I thought I could get it from you just as easily.”
“Of course,” she said. “Her name is Debby Vance. She lives in the Montecito in Hollywood.”
Her name sounded familiar. Then I remembered why. “The actress?” I asked.
“Yes. Debby’s been my friend for ten years. In the last five years she’s become quite successful. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer person.”
“You don’t mind if I talk to her?”
“Would it make any difference if I did?”
“No.”
“Then I don’t mind,” she said with a smile. “I don’t suppose you’ll believe her anyway. After all, she is my friend.”
“I’ll talk to others,” I said. “What about your husband’s business, Mrs. Cantwell? What kind of shape was it in?”
“I have no idea. Richard didn’t approve of his wife knowing about business. But I presume it was doing very well. Richard never seemed to lack for money.” “That doesn’t always mean that the business is doing well,” I observed. “Tell me one more thing, Mrs. Cantwell, and then I won’t bother you any more today. If both of you had died, the insurance money would have gone to a foundation. What about the rest of the estate?”
“I haven’t seen Richard’s will yet,” she said, “but he did tell me once that if we both died, everything would go to the foundation.”
“Why?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Why the foundation? If he were the sort of man you say he was, he doesn’t sound like a man who would leave his money to a cultural foundation.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that,” she said. “First, we had no children and neither of us had any near relatives. Richard was disgusted with all political groups and he didn’t approve of charity. Since the last war Richard made most of his money on imports from Japan. He admired the Japanese—as businessmen, that is. So he started financing the foundation, not for cultural reasons but as something that he said was good business. I think it proved to be that for him, and therefore he changed his will and the insurance papers so that the foundation would get everything in the event both of us died.”
