No Business of Mine

I finished my whisky, felt better for it.

“No question of foul play?” I asked.

His eyes probed me. “No. Why should there be?”

“Your people are quite happy about that?”

“They’re never happy about anything, but they’re quite satisfied that there’s no question of foul play. Suicide happens every day. It may interest you to know an individual’s occupation tends to influence the likelihood of suicide,” Corridan went on, closing his eyes and settling farther into his chair. “Occupations involving strain, responsibility or very late hours provide the greatest numbers of suicides. Chemists, doctors, solicitors, publicans, night club workers, butchers and soldiers are to be found high up in the list of occupations, whilst gardeners, fishermen, clergymen, school teachers and civil servants are at the foot of the list.”

I groaned. “I guess I stuck my neck out that time,” I said. “Okay, okay, don’t let’s have any more of that. Then I take it because night club workers rank high on the list of likely suicides, Netta killed herself, is that it?”

He nodded. “Something like that. Anyway, it helps us to make up our minds. If she were a school teacher, for instance, we might look at the business more closely. See what I mean?”

“And you think a girl like Netta would choose a gas oven? You don’t think she’d jump out of a window or use poison?”

“Women hesitate to make a mess of themselves even in death,” Corridan returned, lifting his shoulders. “Especially girls as pretty as Netta. Jumping out of windows can be very messy... I’ve seen some. Owing to a little thing called the Dangerous Drugs Act suicides by poison are on the decrease. I believe over six hundred women committed suicide by coal-gas last year. I’ll get you the exact figures if you’re interested.”

“That’s good enough for me,” I said. “And why do you think she killed herself?”

Corridan finished his whisky, put the glass on the table, shrugged. “It’s interesting to consider the reasons which impel individual conduct,” he said, crossing his legs and sinking lower in his chair. “A knowledge of the causes of suicide is also of help in determining the question of accident, suicide or murder. The four main reasons why people commit suicide are, in order of their importance, mental conditions, drink, financial worries and love. There are other causes, of course, but these are the four important ones. As far as we know the girl didn’t owe money, she didn’t drink to excess, and she appeared mentally normal from what Cole and the landlady tell us. Therefore it’s reasonable to suppose she had an unhappy love affair.”

“The way you coppers get everything down to a rule of thumb kills me,” I said, as the waiter wheeled in a table ladened with good things to eat. “Come on, let’s get at it.”

“Another of those excellent whiskies mightn’t be a bad idea,” Corridan said, getting to his feet and pulling up a straight-backed chair to the table.

“Make it two,” I said to the waiter, “and then leave us to look after ourselves.”

We sat down and began on the cold consommé.

“What makes you think she wasn’t murdered?” I asked casually.

He shook his head. “What a chap you are,” he said. “I’ve just told you...” He glanced up sharply, frowned. “But perhaps you know more about this than I do. Perhaps I’d better hear what you have to say before I commit myself too deeply.” His lips curled slightly at the corners which was his idea of a smile. “Do you think she was murdered?”

“I’m willing to bet five hundred pounds that she was,” I said.

His eyebrows shot up. “And you have five hundred pounds?”

“I have. Like to take me on?”

He shook his head. “I never bet with Yanks; they’re far too smart.” He pushed his plate away, dabbed his thin lips with his napkin. “Hmm, now I wonder what makes you so sure?”

“I’ve been to her flat and had a look around,” I said. “I found some interesting items which I’ll show you in a moment. First tell me, did any of your men take anything from the flat?”

“No. Is there anything missing?”

“A number of pairs of silk stockings, most of her clothes, and a diamond bracelet and scarf-pin.”

“Valuable?”

“The bracelet cost two hundred pounds three years ago. It’ll be worth double that now. I don’t know about the pin.”

“How do you know they’re missing? Couldn’t she have sold t hem?”

I hadn’t thought of that, and said so. “All the same I don’t think she did. She was fond of those pieces and nothing would persuade her to get rid of her stockings. No, I don’t believe she did sell the stuff.”

Corridan eyed me. “Now you’re being obstinate,” he said quietly. “I should say it was most likely. She may have been pressed for money at one time.”

The waiter interrupted us with the whiskies. We paused before we started on the vol au vent, finished the whiskies while we talked.

“But she wasn’t the type to kill herself,” I said. “I remember once she said she’d never take that way out of trouble. If you’d have heard her you’d know she wasn’t the type.”

“How long ago was that?”