Laura (Femmes Fatales) by Vera Caspary

actually considered reporting it to the Department. I stared hard at real things, the steel tubes of the chairs and writing desk, the brown curtains at the windows, the chimneys across the street. Then I saw, on the bureau with my wallet and keys, a spot of red. This brought me out of bed with a leap. It was the stain of lip rouge on my handkerchief which she had used. So I knew she was alive.
    As I reached for the telephone, I remembered that I had told her not to answer it. She was probably sleeping anyway, and wouldn’t have been pleased if a thoughtless mug called her at that hour.
    I went down to the office, wrote out my report on the typewriter, sealed and filed all copies. Then I went in to see Deputy Commissioner Preble.
    Every morning I had gone into his office to report on the Laura Hunt case and every day he had said the same thing.
    “Stick to the case a little longer, my boy, and maybe you’ll find that murder’s big enough for your talents.”
    His cheeks were like purple plums. I wanted to squash them with my fists. We represented opposing interests, I being one of the Commissioner’s inside men, and more active than anyone in the Department on the progressive angle. Deputy Commissioner Preble was his party’s front. Now that they were out of power, his was strictly an appeasement job.
    As I walked into his office, he gave me the usual razzberry. Before I could say a word he started: “Do you know what this case is costing the Department? I’ve had a memo sent to your office. You’d better step on it or I’ll have to assign someone to the case who knows how to handle homicide.”
    “You might have thought of that in the beginning,” I said, because I wasn’t going to let him know that I hadn’t been on to his tactics. He had been waiting all along to show me up by letting me work until I’d hit a dead end and then handing the case to one of his favorites.
    “What have you to say? Another of those minute-and-a-half reports, huh?”
    “You needn’t worry about our not getting Laura Hunt’s murderer,” I said. “That part of the case is completed.”
    “What do you mean? You’ve got him?” He looked disappointed.
    “Laura Hunt isn’t dead.”
    His eyes popped like golf balls. “She’s in her apartment now. I had Ryan on guard until eight this morning, then Behrens came on. No one knows of this yet.”
    He pointed at his head. “Perhaps I ought to get in touch with Bellevue, McPherson. Psychopathic Ward.”
    I told him briefly what had happened. Although the heat wave was over and there was a chill in the air, he fanned himself with both hands.
    “Who murdered the other girl?”
    “I don’t know yet.”
    “What does Miss Hunt say about it?”
    “I’ve reported everything that she told me.”
    “Do you think she knows anything she hasn’t told you?”
    I said: “Miss Hunt was suffering from shock after she heard that her friend had been killed. She wasn’t able to talk a lot.”
    He snorted. “Is she pretty, McPherson?”
    I said: “I’m going to question her this morning. I also intend to surprise several people who think she is dead. It would be better if this were kept out of the newspapers until I’ve had time to work out my plans.”
    It was strictly Front Page even for the Times, and a coast-to-coast hook-up on the news broadcasts. I could tell by his face that he was working out an angle that would immortalize the name of Preble.
    He said: “This changes the case, you know. There is no corpus delicti . We’ll have to investigate the death of the other girl. I’m wondering, McPherson . . .”
    “I wondered, too,” I said. “You’ll find it all in my report. A sealed copy has been sent to the Commissioner’s office and you’ll find yours on your secretary’s desk. And I don’t want to be relieved. You assigned me to the case in the beginning and I’m sticking until it’s finished.” I shouted and pounded on the desk, knowing that a man is most easily