Tenth Commandment (7 page)

'Would you say there was anything unusual in his behaviour at dinner that night?'

This time daughter looked to mother.

'Nooo,' Mrs Stonehouse said slowly. 'He didn't say much at the table, but then he never said much.'

'So you'd say this behaviour that evening was entirely normal? For Professor Stonehouse,' I added hastily.

They both nodded.

'All right,' I said. 'There are a few things I'd like to come back to, but first I'd like to hear what happened after the Professor left.'

At my request Mrs Stonehouse took up her story again.

She and her son, Powell, stayed in the living room, watched a Beckett play on Channel 13, had a few drinks.

Mrs Dark came in about 10.30 to say goodnight and went to her room at the far end of the apartment.

They did not begin to become concerned about the Professor's whereabouts until 11.00 p.m. They called the deskman in the lobby, who could only report that Stonehouse had left the building at 8.45 and hadn't returned.

They awoke Mrs Dark to ask if the Professor had men-57

tioned anything to her about where he was going. She said he hadn't, but she shared their concern and joined them in the living room, wearing a robe over her nightgown. They then called some of the Professor's professional associates, apologizing for the lateness of the hour. No one had seen him or heard from him. He had no friends other than professional associates.

By 11.30 they all were worried and uncertain what they should do. They were hesitant about calling the police. If they called and he walked in a few minutes later, he'd be furious.

'He had a violent temper,' Glynis said.

Glynis returned from the theatre a little after midnight and was told of her father's absence. She suggested they call the garage to see if Stonehouse had taken out his car.

Powell called and was informed that the car was still parked there.

The four of them waited until 2.00 a.m. and then called the local precinct. The officer they spoke to told them that it would not be a matter for the Missing Persons Bureau until the Professor was absent for 24 hours, but meanwhile he would check accident reports and hospital emergency rooms. He said he'd call them back.

They waited, awake and drinking coffee, until 3.20

when the police officer called and told them there were no reports of accidents involving Professor Stonehouse or anyone answering his description.

There seemed to be nothing more they could do. The next day they made more phone calls, and Powell rang the bells of neighbours and even walked around the neighbourhood streets, asking at newsstands and all-night restaurants. No one had seen his father or anyone like him.

After twenty-four hours had passed, they reported the Professor as a missing person to the New York Police Department, and that was that.

I took a deep breath.

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'I don't like to take so much of your time on this first meeting,' I said. 'I hope you'll allow me to come back again, or call as questions occur to me.'

'Of course,' Glynis Stonehouse said. 'And take as much time as you like. We're anxious to do anything we can to help.'

'Just a few questions then,' I said, looking at her. 'Did your father have any enemies? Anyone who might harbour sufficient ill-will t o . . . '

I let that trail off, but she didn't flinch. Then again, she didn't look like the flinching type.

Glynis Stonehouse was taller than her mother. A compact body, curved with brio. Tawny hair hung sleekly to her shoulders. She had a triangular face with dark eyes of denim blue. Wide, sculpted lips with a minimum of rouge.

She was wearing a simple shift, thin stuff that touched breast, hip, thigh. No jewellery.

I had the impression of a lot of passion there, kept under disciplined control. The dark eyes gave nothing away, and she rarely smiled or frowned. She had the habit of pausing, very briefly, before answering a question. Just a half-beat, but enough to convince me she was giving her replies extra thought.

'No, Mr Bigg,' she said evenly. 'I don't believe my father had enemies who hated him enough to do him harm.'

'But he did have enemies?' I persisted.

'There are a lot of people who disliked him. He was not an easy man to like.'

'Oh, Glynis,' her mother said sorrowfully.

'Mr Bigg might as well know the truth, Mother; it may help his investigation. My father was — is a tyrant, Mr Bigg. Opinionated, stubborn, dictatorial, with a very low boiling point. Constantly suing people for the most ridiculous reasons. Of course he had enemies, at the University and everywhere else he went. But I know of no one who 59

disliked him enough to — to do him injury.'

I nodded and looked at my notes.

'Mrs Stonehouse, you said that just before leaving the apartment, Professor Stonehouse went into his study?'

'Yes, that's right.'

'Do you know what he did in there?'

'No. The study is his private room.'

'Off-limits to all,' Glynis said. 'He rarely let us in.'

'He let you in, Glynis,' her mother said.

'He even cleaned the room himself,' Glynis went on. 'He was working on a book and didn't want his papers disturbed.'

'A book? What kind of a book?'

'A history of the Prince Royal, a famous British battleship of the seventeenth century.'

'Has your father published anything before?'

'A few monographs and articles in scholarly journals.

He's also an habitual writer of letters to the newspapers.

Would you care for more sherry, Mr Bigg?'

'No, thank you. That was delicious. Mrs Stonehouse, your son is not here tonight?'

'No,' she said. 'He's...'

She didn't finish that, but leaned forward to fill her glass.

'My brother doesn't live here,' Glynis said evenly.

'Powell has his own place in the Village. He stayed over the night Father disappeared because we were all so upset.'

'Your brother and father didn't get along?' I asked.

'Well enough,' she said. 'Powell comes to dinner two or three times a week. In any event, the relations between my father and brother have nothing to do with your investigation.'

'Powell tried so hard,' her mother mourned.

Glynis leaned far across the couch to put a hand on her mother's arm. Her body was stretched out, almost 60

reclining. I saw the bold rhythm of thigh, hip, waist, bosom, shoulder...

'We all tried hard, Mother,' she said softly.

I closed my notebook, put it away. 'I think I've asked you ladies enough questions for one evening. But before I leave, if I may, I'd like to see Professor Stonehouse's study, and I'd like to talk to your housekeeper for a few minutes.'

'Of course,' Glynis said, rising. I followed her over to a door on the far side of the room. It opened into a dining room, cold and austere, lit dimly.

There were two doors in the opposite wall, one the swinging type used in kitchens.

'That one to the kitchen?' I asked.

'Yes.'

'And the other one to your father's study?'

'That's correct.'

'Your mother told me that your father went into his study before he went out. But they couldn't have seen where he went. He might have gone into the kitchen.'

'You're very sharp, Mr Bigg,' she said. 'Mrs Dark was still cleaning up in here after dinner, and she saw him go into his study.'

Glynis opened the study door, reached in to turn on the light, then stood aside. I stepped forward to look in. For a moment I was close to her. I was conscious of her scent. It wasn't cologne or perfume; it was her. Warm, womanly, stirring. I walked forward into the study.

'I won't disturb anything,' I said.

'I'm afraid we already have,' she said. 'Looking for Father's will.'

'You didn't find it?' I said.

She shook her head, shiny hair swinging. 'We found his passbook and cheque book, but no will.'

'Did your father have a safe deposit box?'

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'Not at either of the banks where he has his savings and cheque accounts.'

'Miss Stonehouse, are you sure a will exists?'

'Oh, it exists,' she said. 'Or did. I saw it. I don't mean I read it. I just saw it on his desk one night. It was four or five pages and had a light blue backing. When Daddy saw me looking at it, he folded it up and put it in a long envelope. "My will," he said. So I know it did exist.'

'Does your mother know what's in it?'

'No. Father never discussed money matters with her. He just gave her an allowance and that was that.'

'Did your father give you an allowance, Miss Stonehouse?'

She looked at me levelly.

'Yes,' she said, 'he did.'

'And your brother?'

'No,' she said. 'Not since he moved out.' Then she added irritably, 'What has all this to do with my father's disappearance?'

'I don't know,' I said truthfully, and turned back to the study.

It was a squarish chamber with a high-beamed ceiling.

There was another tiled fireplace, built-in bookcases, large cabinets for oversized books, magazines, journals, rolled-up maps.

There was a club chair upholstered in maroon leather, with a hassock to match. Alongside it was a drum table with a leather top chased with gold leaf. A silver tray on the drum table, bearing a new bottle of Rémy Martin cognac, sealed, and two brandy snifters. A green-shaded floor lamp stood in back of the chair.

In the centre of the study was a big desk with leather top and brass fittings, littered with papers, charts, maps, books, pencils and pens in several colours. Also, a magnifying glass, a pair of dividers, and a device that looked like an antique compass.

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But it was the far wall that caught my eye. It was covered, from chair rail to ceiling, with model hull forms. I don't know whether you've ever seen hull models. They're made of hardwood, the hull sliced longitudinally. The flat side is fixed to the plaque. Each plaque bore a brass plate with the ship's name and date of construction. I stepped closer to examine them. I had never seen so many in one place, and never any as lovely.

Glynis had noted my interest. 'Father had them made by a man in Mystic, Connecticut. When he dies, there won't be anyone left in the country who can carve hull models from the plans of naval architects.'

'They're handsome,' I said.

'And expensive.'

But if that room had something to tell me, I couldn't hear it. I turned towards the door.

'Your father didn't have a safe?' I asked.

'No,' she said. 'And the drawers of his desk were unlocked.'

'Did he usually leave them unlocked?'

'I really don't know. Mrs Dark might.'

I was wondering if she'd want to be present while I questioned Mrs Dark, but I needn't have worried. She led me into the brightly lighted kitchen and said to the woman there: 'Effie, this is Mr Bigg. He's looking into Father's disappearance for the lawyers. Please answer his questions and tell him whatever he wants to know. Mr Bigg, this is Mrs Effie Dark. When you're finished here, I'm sure you can find your way back to the living room.' Then she turned and left.

Mrs Dark was a tub of a woman with three chins and a bosom that encircled her like a pneumatic tube. She had sausage arms, and ankles that lopped over nurse's shoes.

Stuck in that roly-poly face were bright little eyes, shiny as blueberries in a pie. Her hips were so wide, I knew she had to go through doors sideways.

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'Mrs Dark,' I said, 'I hope I'm not disturbing you?'

'Why no,' she said. 'I'm just waiting for the water to boil, and then I'm going to have a nice cup of tea. Would you like one?'

'I'd love a cup of tea,' I lied.

She heaved herself to her feet and went to the counter.

While the tea was steeping, she set out cups, saucers, and spoons for us. I held my saucer up to the light and admired its translucence.

'Beautiful,' I said.

'Nothing but the best,' she said. 'When it came to his own comfort, he didn't stint.'

'How long have you been with the Stonehouse family, Mrs Dark?'

'Since the Year One,' she said. 'I was the Professor's cook and housekeeper whilst I was married and before he was. Then my mister got took, and the Professor got married, so I moved in with him and his family.'

I watched her pour us cups of russet-coloured tea. She held her cup in both hands and savoured the aroma before she took a sip. I did the same.

'Mrs Stonehouse and Glynis told me what happened the night the Professor disappeared,' I started. 'They said they noted nothing unusual in his behaviour that night. Did you?'

She thought a moment.

'Nooo,' she said, drawling it out. 'He was about the same as usual. He was a devil.' She tasted the word on her plump lips, seemed to like it, and repeated it forcefully: 'A devil! But I wouldn't take any guff from him, and he knew it. He liked my cooking, and I kept the place nice for him.

He knew his wife couldn't run this menagerie, and his daughter wasn't interested. That's why he was as nice as pie as far as I was concerned. And he paid a good dollar, I'll say that.'

'All this on a professor's salary?'

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'Oh no. No no no. He comes from old money. His grandfather and father were in shipping. He inherited a pile.'

'What was he so sore about?' I asked her. 'He seems to have hated the world.'

She shrugged her thick shoulders.

'Who can tell a thing like that? I know he had some disappointments in his life, but who hasn't? I know he got passed over for promotion at the University — that's why he resigned — and once, when he was younger, he got jilted.

But nothing important enough that I know of that would turn him into the kind of man he was. To tell you the truth, I think he just enjoyed being mean. More tea?'

'Please.'

I watched her pour and dilute with hot water. 'They've been looking for the Professor's will,' I said. 'It's missing.

Did you know that?'

'Did I? They tore my kitchen apart looking for it. Even the flour bin. Took me hours to get it tidy again.'

'Glynis told me her father cleaned his study himself.