Name of deceased: Unknown
Last residence: Unknown
Date and time of death: June 17, 1941. One a.m.
Date and time examiner notified: June 17, 1941. Two a.m.
Body examined: June 17, 1941. Eight a.m.
Reported by: City Hospital
Body found: At Morgue
Pronounced dead by: Dr. Cassidy
Sex: Female
Age: Approximately 40
Color: White
Notes:
Woman reported discovered in great pain in rest room of Stern & Jones department store at 4 p. m. Store physician called and gave treatment for shock. When taken to City Hospital (see police report) was in state of collapse. Reached hospital 5:10 p.m., June 16th.
The body is that of a thin but sufficiently nourished female. From condition of hands believe worked at domestic service, office cleaning, or similar occupation. Clothing revealed nothing. There was no sign of violence on body.
There was no suicide note to be found. That the deceased was not anticipating death is possible, as a small paper bag containing darning silk was found in her purse. Also the report of the maid in said rest room, who states that the deceased was conscious when found, and said that she had been poisoned.
In view of the circumstances I am of the opinion that the cause of death was:
Administration of arsenical poison by person or persons unknown: Homicide.
(Signed) S. J. Wardwell
Chief Medical Examiner
Approximate age: 40 years
Approximate weight: 115 lbs.
Height: 5’3”
Stenographer: John T. Heron
I hereby certify that on the 17th day of June, 1941, I, Richard M. Weaver, made an autopsy on this body eight hours after death, and said autopsy revealed:
No injury on body, which is that of a white female, apparently 40 years of age. Examination of viscera revealed characteristic symptoms of arsenical poisoning. Due to use of stomach pump impossible to tell time of last food taken. Possibly twelve hours before death.
Arsenic present in considerable amount in viscera.
(Signed) Richard M. Weaver
Assistant Medical Examiner
It was noon of the day after Ida disappeared before she was found at the morgue. The autopsy was over by that time, and Ida’s tired hands were resting peacefully on a cold slab in the morgue when Carlton was taken there to identify her.
He gave one look and backed away.
“It’s Ida, all right,” he said hoarsely. “For God’s sake, inspector! What’s happening to us?”
“I imagine Ida knew too much,” said the inspector, motioning the morgue master to push the body out of sight. “It’s a pity. It’s a cruel death.”
He eyed Carlton thoughtfully.
“I’ve seen the reports,” he said. “She went out yesterday without eating her lunch. At three o’clock or somewhat later she bought some darning silk at the notion counter of Stern and Jones. The saleswoman says she looked sick, and complained of cramps. The girl advised her to go to the rest room. She did. She sat in a chair at first. Then the maid got her to a couch, and called the store doctor. He says she didn’t give her name or address, and by the time she got to the hospital she wasn’t able to. It looks as though some time between the time she left the house and when she was found in the rest room she got the poison.”
With Carlton looking on, he examined the clothing Ida had worn when taken to the hospital. It revealed nothing. Her bag, however, provided a shock. It contained no lipstick or powder. The coin purse had only a dollar or two. But tucked in a pocket behind a mirror were five new one-hundred-dollar bills.
The two men stared at them incredulously.
“You don’t pay her in money like that?”
“Good heavens, no. Where did she get it?”
The notes were in series, and the inspector made a record of their numbers. Then he sealed them in an envelope and ordered them put in the safe. Carlton was still unnerved when they reached the street. He lit a cigarette with shaking hands. But he was still fighting. He drew a long breath.
“At least this murder lets us out,” he said. “None of us would kill the girl. And as for that money—”
“I suppose you were all at home yesterday afternoon after the inquest?”
Carlton flushed.
“You were there. You saw us. Except my sister. She was out shopping. But she would have no reason—You can’t suspect her of this. She—”
The inspector cut in on him.
“Where does she usually shop?”
“At—I don’t know. All over town, I imagine. What difference does it make? She was in Atlantic City when Mother died. And she was fond of Ida. You can’t go on like this,” he said, raising his voice. “You can’t suspect all of us. It’s damnable. It’s crazy.”
“We have had two murders,” said the inspector stolidly. “There’s a restaurant in Stern and Jones, isn’t there?”
“I don’t know. Marian ate her lunch after she left.”
They parted there, Carlton stiffly to hail a taxi and go home, the inspector to go back to his office and call up certain banks. He found the one Carlton Fairbanks used, and asked them to check his account. After a brief wait he got the figures.
“Balance is three hundred and forty dollars. He drew out seventy-five in cash last week. That’s all. Not suspecting him, are you, inspector?”
“No record of a withdrawal of five hundred in one-hundred-dollar bills in the last month or so?”
“No. He never has much of a balance.”
It was one o’clock when he reached the Fairbanks house again. He interviewed the servants first. They were subdued and frightened. Even Amos had lost some of his surliness, and when they learned that Ida had been poisoned with arsenic there was a stricken silence. But they had nothing to tell him. Ida had taken Mrs. Fairbanks’s death hard. She had eaten nothing in the house the day before after her breakfast, “and little enough of that.” Asked where she kept her savings they agreed that she had an account at a downtown bank.
None of them believed for a moment that she had committed suicide.
“Why would she?” said Maggie practically. “She had a steady job and good pay. She wasn’t the sort anyhow. She sent money every month to her people in the country. This will just about finish them,” she added. “They’re old, and farms don’t pay any more. I suppose they’ve been notified?”
“Not yet. I want their address.”
He took it down and asked for Hilda. William said she was in her room, and led him upstairs. She was sitting in a chair with her knitting in her lap, and he went in and closed the door behind him.
“I suppose you know?”
“Yes. There’s a family conclave going on now in Marian’s room.”
“Overhear any of it?”
“I didn’t try,” she told him primly.
They went up the back stairs to Ida’s room. Save for the preparations for lunch going on below the house was quiet, and Ida’s room was as Hilda had seen it the day before. He searched it, but he found nothing of any importance. When he had finished Hilda handed him the piece of paper she had discovered.
“‘Sorry,’” he read, “and ‘harmless.’ Part of a letter, isn’t it? What do you suppose was harmless?”
“I think,” said Hilda mildly, “that it was a snake. You see, the bats and the other things hadn’t worked, so she tried a snake.”
“Who tried a snake?”
“Ida.”
“What on earth are you talking about? If you can make a snake out of the word ‘harmless’—”
Hilda smiled.
“I didn’t. I found one in my closet last night.”
He was startled.
“Good God! How do you know it was harmless?”
“Well, there was that piece of paper, of course. And I saw it myself. Just a small garden snake. I wanted to take it out to the yard, but Carlton Fairbanks killed it. With a golf club,” she added.
He inspected her, standing there in her neat white uniform, her face sweet and tranquil, and he felt a terrific desire to shake her.
“So it’s as simple as that,” he said caustically. “Ida puts it in your closet and Carlton kills it with a golf club.” His voice rose. “What the hell has a snake got to do with two murders? And stop grinning at me.”
“I’m not grinning,” said Hilda with dignity. “I don’t think Ida put it in the closet. I think it escaped from that hole in the wall, and it nearly scared Susie to death. But I do think Ida brought it here; it and the other things.”
“Why?”
“Well, she was a country girl. She lived only thirty miles out of town, and she went there once a month or so. I was wondering,” she added, “if I could go there this afternoon. They may know of her death, but they are old. It will be hard on them.”
He gave her a suspicious look.
“That’s all, is it? You wouldn’t by any chance have something else in your mind?”
“It wouldn’t hurt to look about a little,” she said cautiously. “I think Doctor Brooke would drive me out.”
He went to the window and stood looking out.
“Why would she do it?” he asked. “She had little or nothing to gain by the will.”
“Oh, I don’t think she killed Mrs. Fairbanks,” Hilda said quickly. “She hated the house. The work was too heavy, for one thing. She may have wanted to scare her into moving.”
“But you don’t believe that?”
“I don’t believe she killed herself. No.”
Before he left he saw Carlton.
“In view of what has happened,” he said, “I’d like to keep Miss Adams here for a day or two longer. You need not pay her. I’ll attend to that.”
“So we’re to have a spy in the house,” Carlton said bitterly. “What can I do about it? Let her stay, and the hell with it.”