Inspector Queen’s Own Case

According to his notes “Mrs. Willis P. Exeter” was twenty-four years old, white, with blond hair and hazel eyes. She had been admitted to the hospital on May 26th at 9.18 a.m., the baby had been born on May 27th at 3.56 p.m., and mother and baby had been discharged on June 3rd as of 10.15 a.m. The woman had occupied a semi-private room in the Maternity wing.

“I wonder if the doctor was in on it,” Jessie said balefully. “What’s his name?”

The old man shook his head. “Finner worked through legitimate doctors who never knew he existed. He simply sent the girl during her pregnancy to this doctor under the name of Mrs. Willis P. Exeter, armed with a phony background, and the doctor took care of her in good faith. All Finner had to do was use a different doctor for each girl, and he was all right. No, this tells us nothing.” He squinted at Jessie. “Ever work this hospital?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’d probably know the floor nurses in Maternity.”

“Some of them.”

“Why don’t you go up and scout around? Maybe you’ll run into one who remembers this girl. It’s only three months back.”

“What excuse do I give?”

“You’re helping to trace Mrs. Exeter for a lawyer. She’s come into an inheritance and the lawyer can’t locate her.” He grinned. “That one never fails.”

When Jessie came back her eyes were sparkling. “Genevieve Fuller. She’ll meet us in the Coffee Shop in ten minutes.”

“I certainly do remember Mrs. Exeter, Mr. Queen,” Nurse Fuller said. Jessie’s friend was a small lively woman with gray hair and inquisitive eyes. “She was so sad all the time. Hardly said a word. The other patient in her room thought she was a drip, but I knew there was something special about her. Pretty girl in a kind of hard way. She had the sweetest baby. A little boy.”

Jessie took a gulp of coffee.

“Did she ever tell you anything about herself, Miss Fuller?” Richard Queen asked.

“No, and I didn’t press her. I knew she’d had some tragedy in her life. Do you know her husband never showed up once?”

“Really?”

“Some men! I’d drop in on her when she was in heavy labor, and she’d grab my hand and cry, she was so glad to see a sympathetic face. No one showed up. No parents, no sister, no brother, no friends — what kind of family she comes from I can’t imagine. They must be animals.”

“Didn’t she ever say anything that might give us a clue to her present whereabouts, Miss Fuller?”

“No.” The nurse looked around the Coffee Shop, lowering her voice. “But I’m practically a hundred per cent sure Exeter wasn’t her real name!”

“Is that so?” Inspector Queen said. “Well, now, that may account for it. Why did you think that?”

“Because from the second I laid eyes on her I knew I’d seen her somewhere before. Only I couldn’t place her. Then one morning she gave herself away.”

“How?” Jessie exclaimed.

“Oh, I didn’t let on that it meant anything to me. Just made an offhand remark about what a nice voice she had. You know.”

“But I don’t, Gen! What’s her voice got to do with it?”

“One morning,” Genevieve Fuller looked around again “—it was the day before she was discharged — I was passing her room when I heard somebody singing in a low, sweet, sexy voice. It really gave me a turn. I looked in, and darned if it wasn’t this Exeter girl. The screen was around her bed and they’d brought her the baby for a feeding — that’s another thing I liked about her, a girl in her line insisting on nursing her own baby, not like some of the parasite sluts we get around here who sit around Schrafft’s all day in their minks while strangers prepare their children’s formulas. They seem to think God gave them breasts for just ornaments—”

“In her line, Miss Fuller?” Richard Queen prompted.

“I started to tell you. She was nursing her baby and singing to him. Well, you can’t fool me about voices. You know, Jessie, what a bug I am on pop singers. Well, I’d have recognized that voice anywhere. You can have your Rosemary Clooneys and Dinah Shores and Jo Staffords and Patti Pages and Doris Days — oh, they’re very good, of course, and they’re a thousand times better known than this girl, she’s only made a few recordings, but she’ll hit the top one of these days, you mark my words, she’ll be the biggest seller of them all instead of just somebody a few people rave about.”

“And her real name is—?”

“I’m not sure it’s her real name, Mr. Queen. Her professional name is Connie Coy.” And Nurse Fuller leaned back, narrowing her eyes to get the full effect of her revelation. She seemed disappointed. “Anyway, I figured she was incognito, and I wouldn’t have let on for the world. Besides, as I say, I knew she was in some kind of trouble. But I’ll swear on a stack of Bibles that was Connie Coy, the nightclub singer. And you say she’s come into money! I think that’s wonderful. God bless her. Too many people with real talent wither away on the desert air unseen. When you find her, Mr. Queen, will you tell her I’m her absolute number one fan? And what a darling baby she has!...”