Laura

I shall never forget the weekend Laura died.

A silver sun burned through the sky like a huge magnifying glass.

It was the hottest Sunday in my recollection.

I felt as if I were the only human being left in New York.

For with Laura's horrible death, I was alone.

I, Waldo Lydecker

was the only one who really knew her

and I had just begun to write Laura's story when

another of those detectives came to see me.

I had him wait.

I could watch him through the half-open door.

I noted that his attention was fixed upon my clock.

There was only one other in existence

and that was in Laura's apartment,

in the very room where she was murdered.

Careful there. That stuff is priceless.

Come in here, please.

Mr. Lydecker?

You recognize me. How splendid.

Sit down, please.

Nice little place you have here, Mr. Lydecker.

It's lavish, but I call it home.

I suppose you're here about the Laura Hunt murder.

Yesterday morning, after Laura's body was found,

I was questioned by Sergeants McAvity and Schultz,

and I stated,

"On Friday night, Laura had a dinner engagement with me"

"after which she was ostensibly going out of town."

"She phoned and canceled our engagement at exactly 7:00."

- After that I... - You "ate a lonely dinner,"

"then got into the tub to read."

Why did you write it down?

Afraid you'd forget it?

I am the most widely misquoted man in America.

When my friends do it, I resent it.

From Sergeants McAvity and Schultz, I should find it intolerable.

Hand me that washcloth, please, Mr.

Mr.

McPherson.

McPherson. McPherson.

Mark McPherson, the siege of Babylon, Long Island.

The gangster with the machine gun. Killed three policemen.

I told the story over the air and wrote a column about it.

Are you the one with the leg full of lead,

- the man who walked right in and got him? - Yeah.

Well, well. Hand me my robe, please.

You have a pretty good memory, Mr. Lydecker.

I always liked that detective with the silver shinbone.

Thanks. I hope you won't have any reason to change your mind about me.

- Have you any more questions? - Yeah, just one.

Two years ago, in your October 17 column,

you started out to write a book review,

but at the bottom of the column,

you switched over to the Harrington murder case.

Are the processes of the creative mind now under the jurisdiction of the police?

You said Harrington was rubbed out with a shotgun loaded with buckshot,

the way Laura Hunt was murdered night before last.

- Did I? - Yeah.

But he was really killed with a sash weight.

How ordinary. My version was obviously superior.

I never bother with details, you know.

I do. Well, so long.

Mind if I go with you?

- What for? - Murder is my favorite crime.

I write about it regularly,

and I know you'll have to visit everyone on your list of suspects.

I'd like to study their reactions.

- You're on the list yourself, you know. - Good.

To have overlooked me would have been a pointed insult.

You're not the sort of man one would insult, Mr. Lydecker.

- Do you really suspect me? - Yes.

McPherson, if you know anything about faces, look at mine.

How singularly innocent I look this morning.

Have you ever seen such candid eyes?

Something you confiscated in a raid on a kindergarten?

Takes a lot of control. Would you like to try it?

No, thanks.

Were you in love with Laura Hunt, Mr. Lydecker?

Was she in love with you?

Laura considered me the wisest, the wittiest,

the most interesting man she'd ever met.

I was in complete accord with her on that point.

She thought me also the kindest,

the gentlest,

the most sympathetic man in the world.

Did you agree with her there too?

McPherson, you won't understand this,

but I tried to become the kindest, the gentlest,

the most sympathetic man in the world.

Have any luck?

Let me put it this way.

I should be sincerely sorry to see my neighbors' children devoured by wolves.

Shall we go?

- Good morning, Lieutenant. - Good morning, Mrs. Treadwell.

- Waldo. - Good morning, Ann.

- I've just taken over the Laura Hunt case. - Won't you sit down?

Thanks. I have all the reports,

but there are a few more questions I'd like to ask.

Certainly. I'll do anything I can to help.

You were fond of your niece, Mrs. Treadwell?

Why, I adored her. Cigarette?

No, thanks. You collapsed when you identified the body.

I can quite understand that. A shotgun loaded with buckshot, close range.

- It's not very nice to look at. - It was horrible.

Her maid Bessie, I suppose she was devoted to Miss Hunt?

She worshipped her. Laura had had her for years.

I'll never forget her scream when she saw Laura lying there.

Did you approve of Miss Hunt's coming marriage to Mr. Carpenter?

Why? Shouldn't I approve?

I don't know. What is your relationship with Mr. Carpenter?

What do you mean?

What I mean is, he's been a frequent guest in your home.

Is he an acquaintance? Friend? Are you in love with him?

This is beginning to assume fabulous aspects.

Oh, shut up, Waldo! What are you driving at?

The truth, Mrs. Treadwell. Are you in love with him?

Why, no. I'm very fond of Mr. Carpenter, of course.

- Everybody is. - I'm not. I'll be hanged if I am.

Oh, don't be so annoying, Waldo!

Did you give Mr. Carpenter money?

What do you mean?

A couple of checks went through your account endorsed by him.

One on May 15 for $250. One on May 22 for $400.

That. I...

I asked him to do some shopping for me. That's all.

Shelby's a very obliging fellow.

For some time, also, you've been withdrawing various amounts in cash.

Sometimes 1,500.

Sometimes 1,700 at a clip.

Yes. I needed that money.

The day you took out $1,500, Mr. Carpenter deposited 1,350.

When you withdrew 1,700, he deposited 1,550.

Maybe they were shooting crap.

Must I be insulted like this?

I'm sorry, Mrs. Treadwell, but I have to find out about these things.

Shelby needed some money, and I lent it to him.

That's all. After all, it is my money.

- I suppose I can do as I please with it. - Sure. Of course.

Now, on Friday night, Mrs. Treadwell, you stayed home alone all evening?

Yes.

Why didn't you go to the concert with Shelby?

Because he didn't ask me.

We were just talking about you, Carpenter.

- What a coincidence to find you here. - This is Lieutenant McPherson.

How do you do, Lieutenant?

I didn't know you were here, Mr. Carpenter.

As a matter of fact, I was just lying down here.

My hotel room was so hot, and then all the people and reporters and telephone.

You know how it is, Lieutenant.

I've hardly slept a wink since it happened.

Is that a sign of guilt or innocence, McPherson?

I'm at your disposal, Lieutenant. I'm as eager to find the murderer as you are.

But what possible motive could I have for killing Laura?

Miss Hunt and I were going to be married this week, you know.

No, he doesn't know, and neither do I,

- or you or anyone else alive. - What do you mean by that?

Laura had not definitely made up her mind to marry him.

She told me so herself last Friday when she called up to cancel our dinner engagement.

As a matter of fact, she was going to the country to think it over.

She was extremely kind, but I was always sure

she would never have thrown her life away on a male beauty in distress.

I suppose you've heard losers whine before,

especially in your profession?

Would you like a bite of lunch, Lieutenant?

That's very thoughtful, the perfect host.

- Waldo. - You'd almost think

he was in his own home.

Shelby knows how distracted I am. Would you, Lieutenant?

Thank you, Mrs. Treadwell, but I've got to be going.

But, Lieutenant. Well, I rather thought you'd want to ask me some questions.

Yes. What did they play at the concert Friday night?

Brahms's First and Beethoven's Ninth.

Have you got a key to Miss Hunt's house up in the country?

No, but I think there's one up in her apartment.

- Okay, I'll have a look. - Perhaps I could help you?

All right. Come along.

I'll be seeing you, Mrs. Treadwell.

Extra! Extra! Girl victim in brutal slaying!

Extra! Girl victim in brutal slaying!

Read all about it! Girl victim in brutal slaying!

Girl victim in brutal slaying! Read all about it!

All right. Break it up. Break it up.

Ice-cold drinks!

- The doorbell rang. - What?

As she opened the door, the shot was fired.

And how do you deduce that?

She fell backward. The body was there.

I thought you hadn't been up here before.

I saw the police photos.

I guess I better try and find that key.

McPherson, tell me, why did they have to photograph her in that horrible condition?

When a dame gets killed, she doesn't worry about how she looks.

Will you stop calling her a dame? Look around.

Is this the home of a dame?

Look at her.

Not bad.

Jacoby was in love with her when he painted it,

but he never captured her vibrance, her warmth.

Have you ever been in love?

A doll in Washington Heights once got a fox fur out of me.