Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 12, No. 6, May 1963

Kimball’s house was near the Stacys’ on the outskirts of the city. The house faced the state highway at the top of a little hill. It was a solid, red-brick building with a white porte-cochere at one side. Norton dismissed the taxi at the bottom of the hill and made his way up the starlit drive.

The front of the house was dark but there was an oblong of light shining on the snow from an unshaded French window on the right side. Norton noticed he had to pass the window on his way to the front door.

He came to the window and looked inside. The room beyond was a library. Lamplight shining on wine red damask chairs and curtains looked warm and inviting to Norton as he stood outside in the windy winter night. Kimball was relaxing in an armchair with a book in one hand and a highball on the table beside him.

Mrs. Kimball had just come in from the street. She was casting her wraps aside on the sofa. As Norton watched she sank into a chair and lit a cigarette. They were talking but he could not hear what they said. It was like a scene from an old silent film.

Norton went on toward the front of the house and rang the bell. Kimball himself came to open the door.

“My dear Norton, what on earth are you doing here? You should have called. You’re lucky to find me home this evening. Come right in! You look as if you could use a drink.”

“I’ve had a busy and a tough time of it all day,” said Norton. “And I just had to see you immediately.”

Inside the comfortable living room Kimball turned to the reporter and said, “Mr. Norton — my wife.”

Norton shook hands with Mrs. Kimball. She smiled and said, “I was just going to my room. I can see that you want to talk to Mr. Kimball. I’ll leave you two together but I hope you can stay for dinner, Mr. Norton.”

“Thanks—”

She left the room and they heard her go upstairs.

Kimball gestured Norton to a large wing-chair and then walked across the room and unlocked an old-fashioned tantalus and brought out a cut glass whiskey decanter. Norton took a long pull at the drink Kimball handed him.

Kimball sat down behind his writing table and looked at Norton. “Well?”

“As I’ve just said, I’ve had a busy time,” Norton said. “But I believe I’ve got the murderer.”

Kimball was startled. “Are you sure? Suspicion is one thing and legal evidence another.”

“Here’s the evidence. You’re a lawyer and you can tell me if I’m right or wrong.” Norton produced the black disc. As he outlined its history Kimball grew more and more perturbed.

“Marie Chester has testified there was no black disc behind the radiator the morning before Diana Clark was murdered,” said Norton. “Diana Clark didn’t drop the button fastener herself because she didn’t have a fur coat with her. I saw all her belongings at the district attorney’s office. Her only coat was velveteen. The disc couldn’t have been dropped by a man. Men don’t wear fur coats. Or so rarely it can practically be ruled out.

“That eliminates two chief suspects — Daniel Forbes and Martin Stacy. It also rules out Max and Benda and the hotel men, bellboys, detectives, policemen and reporters who visited the scene of the crime after the murder. There were no women detectives or women reporters working on the case — that was one of Marie Chester’s grievances. The only women who have visited the scene of the crime were the hotel maids and Jean Stacy. Maids don’t wear fur coats when they’re cleaning a room. Jean was wearing a tweed coat.

“Therefore, the button fastener must’ve been dropped at the scene of the crime by some other woman who had no legitimate business there and everything suggests that this woman was the murderer. Diana Clark was shot with a woman’s gun — a twenty-two. Marie Chester saw a woman leave the Clark suite the night of the murder. She went down the corridor to the fire stairs and she was wearing a long, brown coat. It was doubtless a fur coat, though Marie didn’t recognize it as fur in the dim light of the hotel corridor.”

“It’s quite plausible as far as it goes,” said Kimball. “But there are so many women in Pearson City who own long, brown fur coats and this button fastener could have come from any one of them.”

“Oh, no, it couldn’t!” A gleam rekindled in Norton’s tired eyes. “That’s where I got a lucky break. That’s why I’m here now. This particular button fastener is made of bindersboard instead of the usual pasteboard or leather. Only one retail furrier in Pearson City has been using button fasteners of bindersboard — Newton and Brill. They’ve only been in use the last six weeks. It’s a cinch Newton and Brill have sold only one fur coat in six weeks to a woman who knew Diana Clark.

“As soon as we see Newton and Brill in the morning we’ll have the murderer’s name in black and white. This little disc of bindersboard is going to send her to the chair. I might be sorry, if I hadn’t seen Marie Chester after Leo Benda’s gang got through with her.”

“What did they do to her?” demanded Kimball.