Rex Stout_Nero Wolfe 07 (19 page)

She muttered, “He said she was coming home.”

“So he did. Got a key?”

She opened her bag again, and this time produced the key. She used it herself, pushed the door open, went in four paces with me on her heels, and stopped in her tracks, jerking her head up and freezing there. Over her shoulder I could see what she saw: the body
of a man sprawled on the floor in a very unlikely attitude; and the face, which was the one I had undertaken to alter with my fist two hours previously.

Before I could stop her she jerked her head up higher and yowled into space:

“Carla!”

I
said resentfully, “Will you kindly close your trap?”

She didn’t move. I got in front of her and took a look at her face. She didn’t seem to be prepared for more clamor, so I went and squatted for a quick survey of the corpus. A quick one was enough. I glanced up at her again and saw that she was breathing through her nose. I rocked on my heels for half a minute, gazing at the chinless wonder and using my brain up to capacity. Then I stood up and said:

“The first and worse thing seems to be that I’ve got that goddam paper in my pocket.”

She met my eye and said with her lips barely moving, “Give it to me.”

“Sure. That’d be swell.”

I walked around a table to get at one of the windows, which fronted on 38th Street, and opened it and poked my head out, and saw what I hoped to see. I pulled my head in and asked her, “How’s your nerve?”

“My nerve’s all right.”

“Then come over here.”

She came, nice and steady, and I told her to look out the window with me.

“See that gray and white taxicab at the curb in the middle of the block?”

“Yes.”

“Go down there and you’ll find a man inside. Ask him if his name is Fred Durkin and he’ll say it is. Tell him I want him up here quick, but no more than that because the driver will hear you. Come back up with him and use your keys. I’ll be watching from the window, and if you get an impulse to scoot off—”

“I won’t.”

“Okay. Step on it. You’re a good brave girl.”

She went. In a few seconds, from my post at the window, I saw her descend the stoop, trot to the taxi, open the door and speak to its inhabitant, and come back with Fred. Not sure of what a Montenegrin female might do under stress, I stayed at the window until they both entered the room. Fred stopped short at sight of the casualty on the floor.

“I’ll be damned,” he said, and looked at me.

“No,” I said, “not guilty this time. Nobody will ever sock him again.” I pulled the paper from my pocket. “Here’s something important. I discovered this corpse and I can’t leave it, and after certain events that happened yesterday they’re apt to frisk me to the skin when they come. Take this—hey, you little devil!”

Neya had lunged like a champion with an épée, grabbed the paper from my fingers and sprung back. She stood there clutching it.

“Jesus,” I said, “you’re like a streak of lightning! But you’re dumb. You’ve got to stay here too and I’ll see that you do. When the cops come they’ll go through this place, including us, extra special for today
considering yesterday. They would love to have that paper and they’ll have it. Hand it to Fred. Well?”

Her breast heaved.

“Don’t be dumb, damn it! The only chance of getting it out of here is for him to take it! Hand it over!”

Fred stuck out a hand. “Gimme, lady.”

“What will he do with it?”

“Take care of it.” She didn’t move. I stepped over and yanked it out of her fingers and passed it to Fred. “Go down and dismiss your taxi,” I told him, “and take the roadster and go to the office. If Wolfe’s alone, give him that paper. If he isn’t, go to the kitchen and have Fritz bring Wolfe to the kitchen and give him the paper there.”

“Do I tell him—”

“I’ll phone him. If and when you’re questioned, tell them just what happened, leaving out the paper. I’m sending you to the office because I know I’ll be held up here God knows how long, and with me absent Wolfe will need you. Okay?”

“Okay.” He turned to go.

“Hold it. Stay there by the door a minute.” I began darting around. I took a look behind a sofa and even under it, and opened a closet door for a glance inside, and had my hand on the knob of another door leading to the rear of the flat when Fred growled:

“Hey, what about prints?”

“To hell with prints. I’ve got a right to look for a murderer, haven’t I?” I went on through, and kept moving, bothering only with places big enough to hide a man or woman. It didn’t take long, since there was only a bath, a kitchenette, and two small bedrooms. I trotted back to the front and told Fred, “All right, one two three go,” and he beat it.

I looked at Neya. “You’re starting to tremble. You’d better sit down.”

She shook her head. “I’m all right. But I … I … Carla. Where is she?”

“Search me.” I had gone around the table to where the phone was and lifted it from its cradle.

“But wait—please! Why can’t we … just leave? Just go and find her?”

“Sure. Splendid.” I started dialing. “You certainly get charming ideas. Like the one yesterday, stuffing that junk in my pocket. Just lock up and go, huh? With those babies at Miltan’s knowing we started for here and Fred’s taxi driver—”

The phone told me, “This is Nero Wolfe.”

I kept my voice down. “Hullo, boss. Let’s be discreet.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Cramer there?”

“Yes.”

“Well, leave it open so that if you want to you can say it was the Salvation Army. We went to Miltan’s and Carla had been there but left for home. We came on here, 404 East 38th. Got the address?”

“Yes.”

“Old house, walk-up, two flights. Neya let us in with her key. Rudolph Faber was lying on the floor dead. Hole through his coat, left breast. Shirt soaked with blood inside. No weapon. Carla not around on quick inspection. I’m phoning from right here, this room, and Neya is standing here—”

“One moment. I was empowered with reservation—”

“That’s all right. Fred was tailing us and Neya went down for him and I gave it to him and he’s on his way with it now. He can be traced here easy and so can we. The place has been frisked by someone in a
hurry—drawers standing open, things scattered on the floor and so on. The number of this phone is Hammond 3-4505. Do you want me to keep on talking?”

“No.”

“Do you want to ring off and let your genius work and I’ll call again in three minutes?”

“No. You had better stay there, both of you. Mr. Cramer is here and I’ll tell him about it. Hold the wire.”

I heard him telling Cramer, and I heard noises which were presumably the inspector turning somersaults. Then a voice in my ear not Wolfe’s.

“Goodwin!” Cramer yapped.

“Yes, sir, speaking.”

“You stay there, hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

That was all, except the click. I hung up and walked to Neya, took her elbow and steered her to a chair, and put her in it.

“They’ll be here in five minutes. Or less. This time Inspector Cramer will get here first. And this time you’re connected up. Here in your own front room. What are you going to tell him?”

Her eyes met mine. They didn’t waver, but she was having trouble with her chin. She shook her head. “What can I tell him?”

“I don’t know. What can you?”

“Nothing.”

“Not enough. Under the circumstances. Did your friend Carla do it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you?”

“You know I didn’t!”

“I do not. Is there a lot of stuff around here about
Bosnian forests and Barrett & De Russy and secret codes—”

“No, nothing. I am very careful.”

“Yeah, this looks like it. All I’m saying, if you try telling Cramer that you know nothing about Faber and you can’t imagine why in the world he came here to get killed, you’ll find yourself out on a limb. If you tell the truth, that won’t be it, and if you decide on lies, you’ll have to do a lot better than that. One little fact is that whoever killed Faber deprived you of your alibi for the murder of Ludlow. I’m not trying to scare you, I’m only trying to make you grab hold—”

The phone rang and I went and got it.

“This is Hammond 3-45—”

“Archie. Mr. Cramer will be there shortly.”

“Goody!”

“How is Miss Tormic?”

“She’s all right. She says her mind’s a blank?”

“Shock?”

“No, just ignorance.”

“When she is questioned about anything except her movements since ten o’clock this morning—which is the time Mr. Faber left this house alive—she will decline to reply except in the presence of her attorney. That is amply justified in the circumstances.”

“I’ll tell her that.”

“Do so. I’ll arrange for Mr. Parker to represent her. What does she say about Miss Lovchen?”

“More ignorance. The first thing she did when she entered the room and looked at the floor was let out a yell for Carla.”

“I see. That’s too bad. By the way, where did you put those germination records on the oncidium hybrids? I want to check them over.”

“Christalmighty,” I said bitterly. “Here’s your
daughter sizzling on a spot, and here am I with blood on my fingers off of Faber’s shirt, and you prate—why don’t you try doing a little work for a change—”

“I can’t work with nothing to work on. Get away as soon as you can. Where did you put those records?”

I told him. He thanked me and rang off. I looked at Neya, sitting there with her jaw clamped and her fingers twisted, and observed grimly, “You certainly picked a lulu for an adopted daddy. Do you know what he’s doing? Checking up on orchid seeds he planted a year ago! Incidentally, he says you are to answer any questions the cops ask about your movements since ten o’clock this morning. All other questions, refuse to answer until you see a lawyer. He’s getting one.”

“A lawyer for me?”

“Yes.”

A police siren sounded through the window I had left open.

A
t five minutes past two Wolfe sipped the last drop of his luncheon coffee, put down his cup, and made two distinct and separate oral noises. The first was meant to express his pleasure and satisfaction in the immediate past, the hour spent at table; the second was a grunt of resigned dismay at the prospect of the immediate future, which was embodied in the bulky figure of Inspector Cramer, planted in a chair in the office. He had arrived on the stroke of two and was waiting.

Wolfe and I went in and sat down. The end of the unlighted cigar in Cramer’s mouth described a figure 8.

“I hate to hurry your meal,” he said sarcastically.

Wolfe eructed.

The inspector turned the sarcasm on me. “Have you had any new ideas about the purpose of your going there with Miss Tormic?”

I shook my head. “No, sir. As I told you, we merely went there to get Miss Lovchen.”

“And what were you going to do with her?”

“We were going to bring her to see Mr. Wolfe. To go over things.”

“Had she suddenly developed paralysis of the legs?”

“Please, Mr. Cramer,” Wolfe murmured. “That’s childish and you know it is. Flopping your arms around is no way to discuss anything. If Archie and Miss Tormic were engaged on a mysterious errand, you don’t suppose you’re going to squeeze it out of him, do you?”

With his fingers entwined, Cramer rubbed his thumb tips together, back and forth, with the cigar in his mouth aimed at the ceiling.

Finally he said, “I’ve been sitting here thinking.”

Wolfe nodded sympathetically. “It’s a good room to think in. The faint sounds from the street are just right.”

Silence.

Cramer said, “I’m not a fool.”

Wolfe nodded again. “We all feel like that occasionally. The poison of conceit. It’s all right if you keep an antidote handy.”

“Hell, I’m not conceited.” The inspector removed the cigar. “What I chiefly meant about not being a fool, I meant that I’m sitting here because I doubt very much if I’ll get a start on this case anywhere except right here in this room.”

“Well, as I say, it’s a good room to think in.”

“Yeah. I’m not talking about thinking. I’m talking about you. This case is a hush-hush and I don’t know why, and as sure as God made little apples you do know why. I don’t expect you to blurt it out, but you’ve given me a hint before and you might do it again. I wouldn’t be surprised if you know right now who killed Ludlow and who killed Faber.”

“You’re wrong. I don’t.”

“Well, you know something about it that I don’t
know. Take your client, for instance. Why is that girl your client? Can she pay the kind of fee you charge? She cannot. Then who’s going to pay you? You know that, don’t you? You’re damn right you do. You go in for fancy tricks only when someone makes it well worth your while. For example, that Durkin that works for you that was there in the taxi. And Goodwin admits he called him up to that room and then sent him away in his car. Your car. I’m betting the Lovchen girl went with him.”

“Nonsense. Fred came directly here alone.”

“You say.”

“Well, ask Fritz, who opened the door—”

“Nuts. What good does it do to ask questions of anybody who works for you? But we’ll find Lovchen, and we’ll find Zorka too, don’t think we won’t.”

“You’ve found no trace of them?”

“Not yet. We will. We had a tail on Lovchen, but he hasn’t reported and we don’t know where he is. Another thing, you had Zorka right here in this house, on the grill—”

“She was drunk.”

“She wasn’t too drunk to climb down a fire escape. According to you.” Cramer brandished the cigar at him. “Do you realize that this time I could actually slap a charge of obstructing justice on you?”

“I doubt it. Why don’t you try?”

“For a damn good reason. Because the commissioner and the district attorney are both on the soft pedal.”

Wolfe’s brows went up. “They are?”

“Yes. Didn’t I say it’s a hush-hush? It’s exactly the kind of thing that makes my guts turn over. I’m a cop. I am paid a salary to go and look at dead people and decide if they died as the result of a crime and, if they
did, find the criminal and fasten it on him so it will stick. That’s the job I’m paid to do. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred I get official cooperation as required, but once in a while a bunch of politicians or influential citizens will try to rope me off. I don’t like being roped off by anyone whatever.” He stuck the cigar in his mouth and laid his heavy fists on the chair arms. “I do not like it.”