"The person we have arrested in this case said he thought Janus looked wobbly, as if he'd had too much to drink. Would that be consistent with symptoms of taxine poisoning?"
"It would. But for a man such as Janus, with acute coronary artery disease, taxine would kill rather quickly."
"If there was no evidence of these substances in the food he ate, how were they administered? In a drink?"
"Absolutely not. Both substances have distinct and powerful flavors and aromas that would be noticed immediately—unless they were masked by something equally strong in both flavoring and aroma."
"Such as?"
"Do you have at hand the photos of the crime scene?" Hurriedly, Bogdanovic opened a drawer, withdrew a slim sheaf of photographs, fanned them on the desktop like a winning hand of cards, studied them, and exclaimed exultantly, "His cigar."
"To be certain, I had the butt analyzed. It contained large concentrations of both substances. And it contained an amount of nicotine that far exceeded what one would expect even in a strong cigar. This suggests that a highly concentrated dose of nicotine had been added."
Dane asked, "Were you able to determine how all these deadly additives got into the cigar?"
"They were liquefied and injected."
"Pardon my ignorance, Hassan," Bogdanovic said, still gazing at the photos. "How the hell would you turn the leaves, bark, and needles of plants into a liquid?"
"In the same manner in which whiskey is made. You chop up the plant, cook it in alcohol, and distill it. You could do it in a coffee percolator."
"Then what?"
"You put the distillate in a syringe and inject it into the cigar. Naturally, I examined the cigar butt under a microscope, and, to my surprise, found no such a hole. Then I got what I can only call a brainstorm. I observed that the band was in place."
Dane said, "Theo never removed the band."
"When I took the band off," Awini continued, "I discovered a small puncture in the wrapper leaf consistent with a syringe. As the cigar was being smoked, the toxins were drawn into the mouth and absorbed through mucous membranes and saliva in the same manner, and as rapidly as the nitroglycerin in the tablets taken by a person suffering an episode of angina pectoris."
Bogdanovic's voice quivered. "This is absolutely unique."
"I concede that it is unusual," Awini said, "but you might recall that the Central Intelligence Agency was alleged to have planned to eliminate Fidel Castro by either poisoning his cigars or planting an explosive in them. Years ago, when I was a child, you could go into a novelty store and buy explosive devices to insert in cigars as a joke."
"An exploding cigar may have been funny, Hassan," Bogdanovic said, "but murder is no joke."
"Indeed not. As I said, Harvey can expect a detailed written report by messenger."
"He's the only one who gets it, right? This report is just between us?"
With a little cackle of a laugh, Awini asked, "What report?"
HANGING SLIGHTLY ASKEW against the background of a green window shade, the sign advised:
HOURS: NOON TO MIDNIGHT
IF CLOSED AND YOU MUST HAVE A BOOK
THIS MINUTE. KNOCK VERY LOUDLY
Below, a smaller placard read:
THANK YOU FOR NOT ASKING
THE PROPRIETOR NOT TO SMOKE
WIGGINS
Three thumps resulted in the door's being opened a crack by a young man who seemed to have been routed from bed. Rubbing bleary eyes, he asked, "Yes?"
"Tell Wiggins it's Sergeant Bogdanovic."
From deep within in store, Wiggins's voice was a blast from a foghorn. "It's all right. He is not here to make a pinch. The sergeant isn't with the vice squad. You may admit him."
The youth shouted, "There's a lady with him."
Wiggins's voice was closer now. "It's still all right."
As the door swung wide, the youth reached to his right and threw a switch that first produced a stuttering of fluorescent tubes above a milky white ceiling and then total illumination of the bookstore and its gigandc owner. A figure in a long scarlet robe, he resembled and moved with the deliberate gait of a cardinal advancing toward the altar, except that the center aisle of this cathedral was formed by cases of books exalting the sixth of the Ten Commandments.
"Congratulations, Sergeant B.," Wiggins boomed as he neared, "on your quick success in the Janus case." The huge head turned toward Dane. "It must be a great relief to you, Maggie."
"It's very satisfying."
Wiggins flashed a smile and returned his attention to Bogdanovic. "So, Sergeant B., what brings you tap, tap, tapping at my door, like Mr. Poe's pesky raven?"
"You know me. I'm just looking for any loose ends."
Deep in the fleshy folds of his smiling face, Wiggins's black eyes sparkled. "As the hangman said to the condemned prisoner, I do know you, Sergeant. I know you so well that I recognize when a game of detection is still afoot. May I presume, this morning's newspapers notwithstanding, that the case against the young man you have locked up is not as airtight as it seems? Are you harboring a doubt about his being the culprit? Are you worried that you might not have nabbed the right suspect?"
"I assure you that there is no doubt in my mind that the guy we have in custody fired a bullet into Janus's head."
"I take your point. I should mind my own business! However, I can not suppress my fascination with the fact that, in spite of the young man's being detained, you have paid a call on me. Surely it is not to purchase for Goldstein a book for Hanukkah. Why, then, are you in my humble emporium?"
"Have you forgotten that you are a material witness?"
"Ah, yes! The errant bullet. Have you matched that slug with the one that killed Theo?"
"The ballistics tests aren't in yet, and there's no guarantee there will be a match. That's why you are a material witness. You are the only one who can testify that Janus was being stalked. I need to get a deposition."
"Really, Sergeant B., you are a tease. This stuff about your being here because I am a crucial witness is, to quote Mr. Nero Wolfe, flummery. All that was needed to obtain my deposition was a phone call to tell me when and where. Yet here you are with Maggie at your side when I was about to enjoy a leisurely breakfast in my office. There's more than enough for three. Join me, please. Perhaps a taste of a scrumptious raisin scone with clotted cream will entice you to divulge the true purpose of your surprising but welcome visit."
As they sat at a long table, the young man who had opened the door served the food.
"I'm sorry to bring this up while we are eating, Sergeant B.,"
Wiggins said, "but I need to know when the M.E. will release the body."
"You'll have to ask him. Why?"
"To my astonishment," Wiggins said, lathering a scone with a giant glob of cream, "I have been asked by Theo's attorney to assist in making the arrangements for the funeral, as well as deliver the eulogy at a memorial service, the date and place to be announced presently."
Dane asked, "Why were you astonished?"
"Perhaps that's the wrong word. I should have said that I was shocked and saddened to realize he could think of no else."
"That doesn't shock me," Bogdanovic said. "Judging by what was said about Janus by the guests at my table during the dinner, Janus was not exactly drowning in a sea of friendships. Except for Maggie, everyone at my table seemed to see Janus as some kind of demon. Do you know why?"
"In spite of my deserved reputation as a notorious gossip and disher of dirt, I hesitate to relate unpleasantries regarding Theo in Maggie's presence."
"It's all right, Wiggy," Dane said, patting him tenderly on his massive shoulder. "I can handle it."
"Very well, I shall begin with the Greek shipping tycoon."
"That would be Nick Stamos," said Bogdanovic.
"Nee, Niarchos Aristode Stamopolous."
"What about him?"
"The story I got is that this latter-day demigod of Athens found himself the prime target of a very-much-under-wraps federal probe into drug trafficking. The dope originated in the poppy fields of Turkey and made its way to the Bekaa Valley of Lebanon. There it was transformed into heroin. The product then made its way across the Mediterranean Sea to the port of Athens."
"On Nick's ships."
"Via his private yacht, Ariadne, named after you know who. Then the goods proceeded via Nicky's cargo fleet to the streets and back alleys of the New World. When all this appeared to be headed to a federal grand jury, Nicky sought out Janus for legal assistance. The retainer was millions of dollars in bearer bonds, which were placed in a safe-deposit box in Theo's bank in the Cayman Islands."
"That's what Stamos meant at the dinner when he called Janus the three-million-dollar man."
"In the event Theo succeeded in plucking Nicky off the hook, he was to keep one-third of the bonds. Theo got Nicky off, but he refused to give back the other two million. Nicky was, shall we say, disgruntled? But what could he do?"
"A civil suit would have exposed the drug smuggling," Dane said, "perhaps giving the federal government an opportunity for a second bite of the apple."
"I presume the Internal Revenue Service might also step in," Bogdanovic said.
"Yes, so taking Theo to court was out of the question," said Wiggins. "All Nicky could do was quietly fume. But the funny part is that the person who was most distressed was Ariadne."
"I can see why," Bogdanovic said. "Those millions could have bought several ropes of perfect pearls at Cartier to adorn Ariadne's lovely, swanlike throat."
"True, but Ariadne is the type of woman who would have preferred to tighten a real rope around Theo's bull-moose neck. When Ariadne feels wronged, watch out!"
"Dangerous, huh?"
"In the extreme. When I saw Theo's photo in the newspaper I immediately thought of Ariadne, but I just as soon dismissed that interesting notion."
"Why?"
"She would never chance spattering her dress with blood, unless the dress was red. The one she wore at the dinner was pale blue."
Dane asked, "How come you didn't suspect her husband?"
"Nicky would never kill anybody himself. He'd hire someone."
"Having eliminated them from your list of suspects," Dane said, "did you consider others who were at the dinner?"
"My dear, I considered most of them, starting with that old reprobate Judge Simmons. He has never forgiven Theo for winning a reversal of the verdict in the Victoria Davis trial. I do not expect to see Reggie's countenance among the mourning faces at the forthcoming memorial service. Nor do I anticipate attendance by those on the Wolfe Pack steering committee who objected to Theo's receiving the Nero Wolfe Award. James Hamilton will stay away, just as he shunned the dinner."
Bogdanovic asked, "Who else would you not expect to see?"
"I'd be surprised to look out from the pulpit and find Oscar Pendelton weeping in a front pew."
"Surely Theo's publisher will go," Dane said.
"You are out of touch, Maggie! The Janus-Pendelton author-publisher relationship was severed months ago."
Dane exclaimed, "How did that happen?"
"It was at Theo's initiative. He found a publisher with the deeper pockets required to meet Theo's demands for the advance on his book on the trial in which you played a starring role."
"Theo never told me he was planning a book about the trial."
"The irony is that the book was Oscar's idea. Unfortunately for him, Theo promptly took the idea elsewhere. Oscar was irate. That's why I wondered, fleetingly, if he might have decided to prevent Theo from writing the book for anyone."
"I can't imagine Oscar turning to murder," Bogdanovic said.
Wiggins dipped a scone into a mug of coffee. "No? I seem to recall that Oscar ranked high on your list of initial suspects in the Mystery Writers murder case."
"I didn't know Oscar at that time."
The scone went into Wiggins's mouth, delaying his reply.
"Oscar was quite thrilled at being suspected, as was I," he said, dabbing a napkin to his lips. "But in this instance, Oscar got his revenge as only a book publisher can. He got his book by signing up Marian Pickering Henry."
"Marian has never been known for nonfiction," Dane said. "She built her reputation grinding out thrillers."
"Think about it! A book about the trial of the century with Marian Pickering Henry's name on the jacket! Oscar is looking at sales numbers that Theo's tome could never have matched. The man was a legal nonpareil, but his books read like the
Harvard Law Review
. Marian's work will bring in millions of dollars from readers who automatically buy any Henry tide. Oscar is a publishing genius. So, unless there is a definitive book on the trial forthcoming from Maggie Dane, or the man who got away with murder decides to tell all, Mysterious Doings Books faces no serious competition."
"Hooray for Oscar," Bogdanovic said.
"Quite so," Wiggins said as another chunk of scone dipped into the coffee. "What all this talk has to do with loose ends escapes me, Sergeant B. Is there more here than meets the eye?"
"There is one loose end you may be able to tie up for me," Bogdanovic said. "Did you observe Janus as he left the hotel?"
"I accompanied him to the door."
"How did he seem to you?"
"What do you mean?"
"He'd been drinking a good deal. Did he look as if he were in his cups?"
After thinking a moment, Wiggins smiled, then broke into a laugh that traveled through his huge body as though it had been racked by an earthquake. "Excuse the black humor, Sergeant B., but he was as sober as a judge!"
"Count on you to come up with a witticism," Bogdanovic said through a forced smile.
Dane asked, "Do you recall if Theo was smoking a cigar?"
Still quaking, Wiggins asked, "Wasn't he always?"
"Try to remember," Bogdanovic said, forcefully. "It could be important to the case."
The slits of Wiggins's eyes narrowed to the point of disappearing. When they popped open, he said, "He had just lit up one of those odious black Havanas. He took it out of a pocket case, silver, with his initials on it. The cutter was small scissors. He lit it with a long wooden match. Then he went through the revolving door and stood awhile under the marquee, smoking like a chimney and chatting with a few of the Wolfies. That was the last I saw of him, until I found that horrible picture in the Graphic. I immediately brought that mutilated bullet to you. I hope it gets that young punk of a killer strapped into the electric chair."
"Evidently you are not one of Janus's detractors."
"Oh, I share the view that he was a devil. But I happen to like such people. They make great characters in books. Without them, how could I possibly earn a living? Despite what you have heard, crime pays."
"One other loose end, if I may, Wiggy?"
"Of course."
"Since you know so much about Janus, would you happen to know which of the people he regarded as friends might have been guests at his ranch?"
"Except for my recent visit, I had never been to the place. However, may I offer a suggestion?"
"When Wiggins talks, Bogdanovic listens!"
"As Maggie can aver, Theo was a man who believed in keeping detailed records. That's why his autobiography made such fascinating reading. He obviously discarded nothing. He must have kept a diary or other such aide-memoire. Have you looked for a calendar, appointment book, or other such daily record that might contain references to visitors to his upstate Valhalla?"
"I have his appointment book. That's how I knew of your unusual visit to the ranch, even before you informed me of how extraordinary it was. Thanks for your help. Sorry for interrupting your breakfast. We'll leave you to finish it in peace."
As they rose to leave, Wiggins said, "I do hope I will see both of you at Marian Pickering Henry's annual holiday fete."
Bogdanovic halted in the doorway. "How the hell did you find out that we were invited to that party?"
"It's elementary. Marian phoned and asked how to go about reaching you. I found it very amusing that the leading light of crime writing did not know the address of the most famous police headquarters this side of Scotland Yard."
"Would you happen to know who else has been invited?"
"Sergeant B., you've known me long enough to appreciate that I go to only three kinds of parties-those which I give, those at which I am the guest of honor, and those given by others who give me veto power regarding the guest list. Marian not only allows me to approve the invitations each year, but honors me by insisting that I emulate none other than Nero Wolfe in the story "Christmas Party" by dressing up as Santa Claus. If you cross your heart that you've been a good boy, I'll see that you get a swell present."
"You can give me mine now," Bogdanovic said, tracing an X on his chest. "I'll take the list of Henry's guests."
With the list tucked into an inside pocket, Bogdanovic said, "I'll see you at the party, Wiggy."
"Why do I have a feeling, Sergeant B., that Santa Claus will not be the only one there with a surprise in his pack?"
Unanswered, he returned to his breakfast.
"EVEN THOUGH I'VE never read a Nero Wolfe story," Bogdanovic said as he and Dane left the store, "I cannot picture a man of Nero Wolfe's apparent dignity getting into a Santa Claus outfit."
"The situation was dire. Archie had tricked Wolfe into believing that Archie was about to get married. He even showed him a marriage license."
Opening the car door for her, Bogdanovic said, "What business was it of Wolfe's?"
"Everything about Archie was Wolfe's business," she said, getting into the car, "especially if it involved the peace and quiet of a certain brownstone on West Thirty-fifth Street."
When Bogdanovic got behind the wheel, she continued, "You see, Archie carried his joke further by telling Wolfe he planned to settle down with the wife in Archie's quarters in the house. To get a glimpse of the bride-to-be, Wolfe managed to attend a Christmas party by persuading the host, a recent client by the name of Kurt Bottswell, to let him play the jolly old elf from the North Pole."
Bogdanovic started the engine, "I presume these yuletide festivities were marred when someone was found murdered."
"Yes. Poor Kurt. But he was not found murdered. He was poisoned before the eyes of the guests. The deadly stuff had been put into the Pernot he preferred to champagne. It's a wonderful yarn. I've made reading it a part of my Christmas rituals, along with a rereading of Sherlock Holmes's Christmas story, 'The Blue Carbuncle.' "
"You can celebrate Christmas with Holmes and Wolfe all you like," Bogdanovic said as he made a U-turn. "I'll stick to ' 'Twas the Night Before Christmas.' "
"If you attend Marian's party, you're going to be stuck with Wolfe. It is a tradition of Marian's get-together that 'Christmas Party' be passed among guests round-robin style, with each reading one page aloud until the story is finished. Of course, everyone tries to outdo one another in hamming it up. It's a lot of fun."
Stopping at a red light at First Avenue, Bogdanovic said, "I'll pass on that, thank you."
"I see. Participating in party games is not Sgt. Johnny Bogdanovic's style. There's too much danger of doing damage to the dignity and demeanor of the dedicated detective."
"You get an A-plus in alliteration."
"And you get a D-minus for deviousness."
Bogdanovic looked at her askance. "I have no idea what you are talking about."
"You all but came right out and told Wiggins that you suspect one of Marian's guests of murdering Theo."
"Really? When and how did I do that?"
"Why else would you ask for a list of people invited to her Christmas party?"
"It was a routine security measure. I always obtain a list of the people who will be at an affair that Goldstein is planning to attend. There are a lot of crazies out there who'd love to get even with him. Not to get a list of the invited guests would have been a dereliction of my duty."
When the light turned green, the car darted across First Avenue toward Second. "Since it is your policy to make a list and check it twice, maybe you should take the part of Saint Nick at Marian's shindig."
"Only if you sit on my knee and tell me what you want for Christmas, little girl."
"I can tell you now," she said, looking grim as Bogdanovic barely made the green to swing left to head downtown on Second. "I want to see Theo's murderer at the bar of justice as quickly as possible. And if it were in your power to grant it, Santa, I would ask you for the opportunity to prosecute him."
"Cornelius Vanderhoff has the power. Thanks to the Mancuso fiasco, he's got three openings on his staff. Apply for one."
"You are a superb detective, John, but you obviously do not have a clue into the workings of the mind of a district attorney. The reality of my recent courtroom joust with Theodore Janus, and all the attendant hullabaloo, is that there is no DA anywhere who would want me around. I have become too well known. My appearance in a courtroom would send a defense attorney running to the press to claim his client could not get a fair trial. And he would be right."
"You're not considering giving up the law?"
"I see no other possibility. I could never become a defense attorney. I realized that when I worked for Theo. And I certainly am not cut out for civil law. I find suing people, or defending those who are being sued, exceedingly boring. Nor am I a woman to bang my head against the glass ceiling of corporate law firms."
"What will you do? Write a book?"
"I have no desire to chase the fleeting glory of a ranking on the
New York Times
best-seller list. That would lead to disappointed expectations for a second book. I am not a writer."
"How about running for elective office?"
"I could make a joke about politicians being the only people held in lower public esteem than lawyers, with the possible exception of journalists."
"May I interpret that as an indication that you've also rejected the idea of becoming one of those legal analysts who seem to have popped up all over TV screens like mushrooms?"
"You may."
"What are your other options?"
"I might try my hand at teaching law. Since the big trial, I've had offers. Being on a law school faculty would give me an opportunity to try to make amends with my son for all the times I failed him as a mother."
"I don't believe that."
Turning away to look at storefronts and restaurants as the car sped down Second Avenue, she fell silent.
Bogdanovic smiled. "I'll bet when you were a little girl, you poked around in all the closets looking for the gifts your mom and dad had tried their best to hide."
"Didn't you?"
"Of course. And I found them. Even then I had the instincts of a snooping detective."
"I felt the stirrings of growing up to be a well-prepared lawyer, who, as you know, abhors surprises. Are you going to tell me how many people you suspect?"
"That is shockingly un-Wolfian of you, Maggie. You know that the primary number in the corpus is three."
