A Fine and Private Place (10 page)

“Why don't you sit down, Mr. Importuna?” Ellery asked. Distant as the man was, it was hard not to feel compassion for him. “We're not insensitive to what this must mean to you.”

But Nino Importunato said, not stirring a muscle, “What do you want?” with great harshness. The espresso-colored eyes, the bitter eyes of the enemy, turned full on Ellery. Their expression, and his tone of voice, testified that something had sprung up between them, something frigid and deadly that bridged the gap and now held them fast to each other. Perhaps, Ellery thought, it's been there all the time. Perhaps he recognized me as the adversary from the beginning.

“Who inherits your brother Julio's estate, Mr. Importuna? And Marco's? Since neither of them was married.”

“No one.”

“No one?”

“The conglomerate.”

“Of which you're now sole owner?”

“Of course. I'm the last of the brothers. The last of our entire family.”

“I thought Tebaldo is a fifth cousin.”

“An old joke of Marco's that by now Tebaldo half believes. On a visit to Italy Marco got Tebaldo's sister pregnant. That was years ago. Marco hired Tebaldo as his valet to shut him up, at the same time that he made a settlement with the girl. The drunken fool isn't of our blood. So if you're asking who gains by the deaths of Julio and Marco, Mr. Queen,” Nino Importuna said, “the answer is that I do. No one else.”

Their eyes locked.

“Dad,” Ellery said, without looking at the Inspector, “at what time last night did you say Dr. Prouty thought Julio had died?”

“Around 10 o'clock, give or take a half hour. From the way he talked, I don't think the M. E. thinks he'll be able to narrow it down any finer.”

“Mr. Importuna,” Ellery asked politely, “would you tell us—if you don't mind waiving your right to be silent, of course—just where you were last night between 9:30 and 10:30?”

The evenness of his voice in contrast to Importuna's harshness gave Ellery an advantage that the multimillionaire was quick to sense. When he spoke again, it was in an equally quiet tone.

“Peter.”

Ennis had long since climbed to his feet, alerted by the sounds of battle under the exchange.

“Telephone upstairs and ask Mrs. Importuna to join us here right away. In view of the trend of the questioning, gentlemen, you won't mind if I call my wife in on this.” He might have been referring to a trivial tidbit of gossip overheard at one of his clubs.

In no more than three minutes a chalky Tebaldo announced her arrival and rather waveringly vanished.

Virginia Whyte Importuna went directly to her husband and took her place by his side. Ellery noticed with sharp interest that she did not grope for his hand, or brush against him, or allow any part of her body to come in contact with his. She simply stood near, erect and attentive, like a soldier summoned into the commanding officer's presence, an invisible gulf between them. Apparently she did not want for herself, or feel the need to give him, a physical reassurance. Or was it something else?

She was a natural very-light-café-au-lait blond with intelligent violet-blue eyes of great size, high northern European cheekbones, and a little straight nose passionately flared. Really exquisite, Ellery thought. Her beauty had an ethereal patina, almost a poetry, but he was sure that it covered a rustproof undercoating resistant to assault. What other kind of woman could cope with a man like Nino Importuna?

She wore a high-fashion dress of deceiving simplicity that set off her long legs and hourglass figure. She stood taller than her husband, even though he wore built-up shoes and she was in low heels, no doubt at his direction. Ellery judged her to be in her mid-20s. She could have passed for Importuna's granddaughter.

“Virginia, this is Inspector Queen of police headquarters, and this is Inspector Queen's son, Ellery Queen. Mr. Queen is an amateur criminologist who's interested himself in our troubles. Oh, by the way, my dear, there's been no opportunity to notify you. Marco just committed suicide.”

“Marco …?” Faintly. But that was all she said. She bounced back from her husband's savage announcement with the speed of a rebound. Her only concession to shock was to sink into the nearest so-called chair, in the new pneumatic mode, a billowing transparent bladderlike creation inflated with air.

Importuna seemed proud of her fortitude. He moved toward her with a fond, bitter look.

“And now it seems,” he went on, “Mr. Queen's nose is sniffing in my direction. He just asked me, Virginia, where I was last night between 9:30 and 10:30. Will you tell him?”

Virginia Importuna said immediately, “My husband and I, with four guests, were at the opera.” Her very feminine voice was deadly in its control, a musical enigma. Ellery was enthralled. He had heard of Importuna's devotion to his wife; he was beginning to understand why. She was the fitting lady to his lordship.

“In our season box, Mr. Queen,” Importuna said. “
Parsifal
. This will shock you, no doubt, but I find
Parsifal
an interminable bore. Hard for an Italian peasant who enjoys Puccini and Rossini to sit through. But then Wagner has never been one of my enthusiasms, even ideologically, in spite of Mussolini's love for the Germans. Although Virginia adores Wagner—don't you, my dear?—naturally, being all woman. Nevertheless, I deserve a hero's medal—I endured the entire performance. Didn't I, my dear?”

“Yes, Nino.”

“So that at 10 o'clock, since that's the hour you're interested in, Mr. Queen, at 10 o'clock, give or take not a half hour but more like two hours, Mrs. Importuna and I were in the company of four other people. Constantly. None of us left the box except at intermissions, and then we left as a group. Isn't that so, Virginia?”

“Yes, Nino.”

“You'll want to know their names, of course. Senator and Mrs. Henry L. Factor—that's United States Senator Factor, Mr. Queen. Oh, and Bishop Tumelty of the New York diocese and Rabbi Winkleman of the Park Avenue Reformed Temple. I think the rabbi enjoyed the
Parsifal
as much as the bishop! Didn't you think so, too, my dear? Your father can, and I'm sure will, Mr. Queen, check up on our alibi with the senator and the two clergymen. Have I answered your question?”

“You've answered my question,” Ellery said.

“Is there anything else you'd like to ask me?”

“A great many things, Mr. Importuna, but I have the feeling I'd be wasting your time and mine.”

The squat man shrugged. “You, Inspector Queen?”

“No, sir.”

But Importuna persisted in a brittle, courteous way. “Perhaps you have a few questions for my wife, Inspector, now that she's here.”

“No,” the old man said. “No more questions tonight.”

“
Benone! Allora rivederla
.” He clucked at his wife and Ennis as if they were small children. “
Andiamo, andiamo
! We still have work tonight, Peter, on that Midwest dairy combine. And I can't keep Mr. E waiting upstairs forever.”

The Queens stood silently by as the Importunas swept archward followed at some distance with lowered eyes by Peter Ennis. The survivor of the brothers halted so unexpectedly that his wife passed entirely under the arch and out of their view, and Ennis almost ran him down.

“Oh, Mr. Queen, it occurs to me …”

“Yes?” Ellery said.

“By the way, may I call you by your Christian name?”

Ellery smiled. “You mean like, say, Peter?” He saw the neckline under Ennis's dark blond hair redden, and he said, “No offense, Mr. Ennis. I was merely exemplifying a relationship.”

“Touché, Mr. Queen.” Importuna smiled back; his teeth were very large and disconcerting. “Are you available for profitable employment? As an executive, of course. In a confidential capacity. I can use a man of your talents and temperament.”

“Thanks for the compliment, Mr. Importuna, but no, thanks. I'm the self-employed type.”

“Ah. Well. Too bad. If you should ever change your mind, Mr. Queen, you know where I am.”

“I wonder,” Ellery said on the way home in the squad car.

“Wha'?” Inspector Queen was nodding.

“Importuna's parting shot. About knowing where he is. I wonder if anyone, including his wife, knows where Nino Importuna is. Where he is or what he is. A tough man. Dangerous man! Talking about his wife, dad, did you notice something remarkable about Peter Ennis?”

“You hop around like hot fat,” the Inspector complained. “If we're talking about Mrs. Importuna—quite a knockout, by the way—why should I notice anything about Ennis? He hardly glanced at her all the time she was there.”

“To borrow from the old master, that's what's remarkable, dad. I suppose Ennis could be gay, although I don't think so, but if he's a red-blooded man how could he be in the same room with that ravishing female and not keep looking at her, reacting to her in some way?”

“You figure it out,” the old man mumbled. “Far as I'm concerned the murder of Julio Importunato was solved when his brother Marco hanged himself. And, son.”

“Yes, dad?”

“Don't tangle with Importuna. Take my advice, you'll only come to grief. He carries too much clout for you.… What? What did you say?”

“Mr. E,” Ellery muttered.

“Who?”

“Mr. E. Didn't you hear Importuna? He mustn't keep Mr. E waiting. I wonder who the devil Mr. E is.… Dad?”

But the Inspector was asleep.

Sixth Month

JUNE, 1967

The fetus takes on a leaner appearance
.

Eyelashes and eyebrows appear
.

The body grows rapidly
.

They were in his den. Ennis, his long torso hunched over his notebook and the pile of papers and cables, sat at the foot of the Florentine table. To his annoyance (a chronic one) he had had to drag a chair over and make room for himself. Although Ennis had his own workroom in the apartment, Importuna had never thought to make permanent provision for him in the den during these work sessions, which had taken place regularly for years. I'm a very modest confidential secretary, Ennis thought, except for my secret life with the boss's wife; a small desk for my personal use in his sanctum isn't too much to ask of one of America's richest men. It would hardly encroach on the privacy or prerogatives of His Majesty, since I'm never within these sacred walls except on his orders and sufferance. And why the hell doesn't he have that outside wall knocked out and a picture window put in so that the den gets some decent light? As well as having a new air conditioner installed; this one literally stinks, it does such a bad job on his eternal stogy smoke.

None of this showed on Ennis's face. He waited, a paragon among puppets.

Importuna was pacing. There was a frown on his massive face that interested Ennis. It was not the familiar frown of the
padrone
, before which presidents of companies and chairmen of boards quailed. This frown was directed toward something within himself.

Suddenly Ennis thought, Can it be fear?

The great Importuna afraid of something?

He was roused by Importuna's grating voice. “What was that last, Peter?”

“A memorandum to the sales forces of the E.I.S. offices in Zurich. Noting that the rate of redemptions over sales in the mutual funds has been running around $2-million a day. This trend must be reversed at once. Quote we must avoid at all costs a loss of confidence in the funds. All personnel are to redouble their efforts to restore a positive level of sales over redemptions as quickly as possible unquote.”

“Yes,” Importuna said. “A note to Mrs. Importuna: ‘My dear, Instruct Mrs. Longwell to have the Kashan rug in my den taken up for the summer and sent to Bazhabatyan's for cleaning and storage. I made this request two days ago and it has not yet been done.' Signed as usual.”

“With great love,” Ennis murmured, writing, “Nino.” When he looked up from the notebook he asked, “Is something wrong, Mr. Importuna?”

“What do you mean?”

It was fascinating to watch Importuna pace. He took 9 steps in one direction, 9 steps back. Never more, or less, than 9 in these pacing episodes.

Did he consciously count them, or had his obsession with his lucky number become part of his autonomic nervous system?

“Nothing, really. It's just that I thought you seem disturbed this morning.”

“I am! I had a transatlantic call from Von Slonem before you got here. The Ploesti deal has fallen through.”

“But I thought that was firm. Locked up.”

“It was! I don't know how it could have happened. Without warning—
ffft
! Up in the air. And comes down in pieces. Von Slonem was almost incoherent. Something went terribly wrong at the last moment. I wonder if my luck … Do you realize on which day?”

“Today is Friday.”

“Today is the 9th!”

“Oh,” Peter Ennis said. “Yes. Well, maybe it's good luck in disguise, Mr. Importuna. Remember what your brother Julio used to say? The sweetest-tasting deals are the ones that turn sour first. Maybe the fact that the Ploesti deal fell through on the 9th is a sign that you shouldn't have gone into it in the first place.”

Importuna's frown lightened. It was incredible. A man of his acumen. “You think so, Peter?”

“Who knows, Mr. Importuna? If you have faith in any system of belief …”

How long, O Lord?

They resumed working.

Importuna's 9th step away from Ennis took him to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on the other side of the room. Ordinarily when he reached the shelves he would turn on his heel and take the 9-step journey back. But sometimes as he dictated to Ennis he would pause to lean against a shelf in pursuit of a thought, his right hand with its four fingers raised to one of the higher shelves, his gaze directed to the Kashan rug. During one of these reflective pauses Importuna chanced to look up and about. His glance fixed on the row of books at his eye level and all thoughtfulness fled his face. It was supplanted by something very like panic.