Death of a Dude nwo-44

by Rex Stout

  I handed it to Jessup and said, “Read it, and the sooner he gets it the better.”

  He read it, and then read it again. “Why this? Why not phone him?”

  I shook my head. “That line may be tapped. From what I have been told about Haight and his feelings about you, it could even be that yours is tapped.”

  “It’s a hell of a situation, Goodwin.”

  “I agree.”

  He looked at the sheet. ” ‘Now you have stirred him.’ Stirred him how?”

  “My God, that’s obvious. Of course Peacock might have got killed anyway-for instance, if he was on a blackmail caper and overplayed it-but maybe not. He would probably still be alive if Mr Wolfe hadn’t started in on him. Of course Haight should have done that long ago, or you should.”

  He ignored the dig in his ribs. “Peggy Truett is the girl you were talking with when Peacock arrived.”

  “Right. I reserved nothing relevant. If you prefer to get at her yourself I suppose it’s-”

  “I don’t.” He looked at the sheet again. “You won’t have to go to St. Louis. A man named Saul Panzer is going. In fact”-he looked at his watch-“he’s there now if his plane was on time.”

  “Oh.” I finished spreading an ample layer of caviar on a full slice of bread. “I don’t think I mentioned him, but evidently Mr Wolfe did. He called him? When?”

  “This morning. I drove him to Woody’s. He told Panzer to put another man on the job in New York-I forget his name-”

  “Orrie Gather, probably.”

  “That’s it. And he told Panzer to take the first available plane to St. Louis and gave him instructions. I think Wolfe has decided-no, not decided, assumed-that one of the persons at Farnham’s had a previous connection with Brodell. We went there when we returned from Woody’s-Wolfe and Miss Rowan and I-and I asked them to allow Miss Rowan to take pictures of them. With her camera. I know nothing about cameras, but apparently she does.”

  I nodded. “She knows enough. Did any of them object?”

  “No. Farnham didn’t like it, but of course he wouldn’t. She seemed quite expert. I brought the film and a man I know is developing it. I intended to take the prints to Miss Rowan later this evening, but with your message for Wolfe I’ll go now. Or as soon as the prints are ready. I like Miss Rowan’s conception of a snack. She seems to be aware that man cannot live by bread alone. She is leaving early in the morning for Helena to get the prints off to Panzer by air mail and to get Luther Dawson. She is not-You’ll remember that at our previous encounter she ordered me to leave.”

  “She suggested that you go and sit in the car. This is good cheese. Have some.”

  “And if I didn’t you would drag me. That episode is now forgotten by mutual consent. I’m going to repeat to you a confession that I made to her. Not for quotation. I think I funked it. I should have realized long ago that the conflict between Haight and me could be resolved only by the destruction, the political destruction, of one of us, and I should have seized the opportunity offered by his inefficient investigation of the murder of Philip Brodell. I said I’m stuck with you and Wolfe, and I’m glad I am. If we lose, it will finish me, but I don’t think we will.” He took some cheese.

  “Did you say that to Mr Wolfe?”

  “No. I said it to Miss Rowan. His manner is��� he doesn’t invite���”

  “I know. I have known him quite a while. That’s a good way to put it, he doesn’t invite. Tell him and Miss Rowan that since they’re doing so well without me they don’t need to bother about bail, they might as well save the expense, and anyway I don’t like Dawson. Haight will probably turn me loose when they deliver X to him. Is there room in that refrigerator for what’s left?”

  “Certainly. But there will be people here all day.”

  “Wait until they’re gone. I probably won’t be hungry sooner anyhow. That disinfected cell doesn’t seem to whet a man’s appetite.” I picked up the can opener. “Plums, or pineapple?”

  Chapter 12

  I never got around to asking, so I still don’t know what happened to the rest of that snack.

  The next time you’re in jail, try this. There are two steps. The first step is to determine whether there is anything helpful and practical that you can be using your mind for. If there is, okay, go ahead and use it. If there isn’t, proceed with the second step. Decide definitely and positively to cut all connections between your mind and you. I understand that something like that is used by people who are trying to go to sleep and can’t make it, but I don’t know how well it works because I never have that problem. Locked in a 6 by 9 cell and wide awake, you’ll be surprised at how the time will go. You will find, if you are anything like me, that your mind knows a thousand tricks and can sneak in through a crack that you didn’t even know was there. For instance, at one point that Monday afternoon, having another try at it, I decided to shut my eyes and look at girls’ and women’s knees, having learned hours ago that you have no chance at all unless you make your eyes see something or your ears hear something or your fingers touch something; and in a cell you have to see or hear or touch things that aren’t there. So I looked at dozens, maybe hundreds, of females’ knees; all shapes and sizes and conditions, and was in control and doing fine when all of a sudden I realized that my mind had plugged in and was asking me if I thought that anyone was at that moment looking at Peggy Truett’s knees, and if so was it Nero Wolfe or Sheriff Haight��� and what were they saying���

  Nuts. I got up and kicked the stool clear to the far wall, at least three feet, and walked to the end wall, at least four feet, and reached to feel the rusty bars at the doll-size window. I knew them by heart.

  I am not going to report on the food because you would think I’m prejudiced. I honestly believe they put disinfectant in the oatmeal and the stew.

  When footsteps stopped at my door at twenty minutes to six I was lying on the cot with my shoes off, wondering if Jessup still had company in his office. I admit the remains of the snack were a factor, but I was hungrier for news than for grub. The footsteps stopping was nothing; he often stopped to look in to see if I was sawing the bars or making a bomb, but when I heard the key in the lock I moved. I swung my legs around and sat up. The door opened and a man entered and said, “You’re takin’ a walk. Get your shoes on and bring your coat.”

  It was Evers, the other full-time deputy. He stood and watched me put my shoes on, and my jacket, and when he told me not to leave anything and stooped to look under the cot I knew I wasn’t going upstairs, I was going out and not coming back. He didn’t have handcuffs, and on the way down the corridor, and then down the side hall of the courthouse, he didn’t care whether I was in front or behind. He opened the door of the sheriff’s office and thumbed me in. There was no one in the anteroom, and he opened the gate in the railing and jerked his head and said, “On in.” I crossed to the door to the inner room and entered, and he followed.

  Haight was there at his desk, busy with papers. The eminent lawyer who looked more like a working ranchman, Luther Dawson, was standing with his back to Haight, looking at a big wall map of Montana. At sight of me he came with a hand out and a hearty welcome. “Well, greetings!” He had a good grip. “I come to deliver you from bondage. All signed and sealed.”

  “Fine. Next time I’ll pick a better day than Saturday.” I pointed. “I believe that’s mine.” It was a pile of objects on a table. I went and retrieved my possessions, with Evers at my elbow. Everything was there, including the contents of the card case, which belongs in my breast pocket, and the non-negotiable items in the wallet, which goes in my pants pocket. As I picked up the last item, the ignition key of the station wagon, Evers said, “Sign this,” put a sheet of paper on the table, and offered a pen.

  Dawson said, “Let me see it,” and stuck a hand between Evers and me to take it.

  “No matter what it says,” I said, “I don’t sign it. I sign nothing.”

  Dawson asked, “Were you given a r
eceipt for those things when they took them? An itemized receipt?”

  “No, and even if I was, I sign nothing.” I headed for the exit. I didn’t give Haight even a glance, but I have good side vision, and the corner of my eye noted that he was too busy with the papers to look up. Probably Wyatt Earp. There were footsteps behind me, presumably Dawson’s, and out in the hall he came abreast and said, “Miss Rowan’s out in front. In a car. I have something to say, Goodwin.”

  I stopped and faced him. Our eyes were exactly on a level. “Not to me,” I said. “Ten days ago today, on Friday, August second, I told you that I thought a man named Sam Peacock might know something that would help, but he had clammed up on me, and probably a famous Montana lawyer like you could pry him loose. And you said you were too busy with important matters. Now nobody is going-”

  “I didn’t say that. I said only-”

  “I know what you said. Now nobody is going to pry him loose. And Harvey Greve didn’t kill him. So that’s another important matter. Have you talked with Nero Wolfe?”

  “No. He refuses to see me. I intend to-”

  “I don’t give a damn what you intend, but if my name is in your script anywhere, cross it out. I had to shake hands with you in there because there were witnesses.” I moved.

  I thought that should make it clear that I wanted to be alone to enjoy my liberty, and it did. Going down the hall I heard no footsteps behind me. There were a few people scattered around in the big lobby and I heard someone say, “There’s that Archie Goodwin,” but I didn’t stop to take a bow. On the walk outside I sent my eyes left and right but didn’t see Lily until the second try because she was half a block away, in a dark blue Dodge Coronet sedan. Her attention was on something down the street in the other direction, and she heard me before she saw me. I opened the car door and said, “You don’t look a day older, let alone two days.”

  She squinted at me. “You do.”

  “I’m two years older. Are there any errands for us?”

  “No. Get in.”

  She was in front but not behind the wheel. “You’d better move to the back,” I said. “And open both windows. I don’t smell, I stink. I doubt if you can stand it.”

  “I’ll breathe through my mouth. Let’s go.”

  I circled around to the other side, got in, started the engine, backed out, and headed east. I asked if the car was a rental, and she said yes, the sheriff had the station wagon, and anyway she didn’t want it. She didn’t want a car a man had been killed in.

  “I couldn’t ask Dawson what my price tag is,” I said, “because I was dressing him down. How much?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It does to me. For the record. The lowest so far was five hundred, and the highest thirty grand. What am I worth to the people of the State of Montana?”

  “Ten thousand dollars. Dawson said five thousand and Jessup said fifteen and the judge split the difference. They didn’t ask me.”

  “What would you have made it?”

  “Fifty million.”

  “That’s the way to talk.” I patted her knee.

  We were in the open country. For a mile or so I played on the gas pedal to test the engine, and it was okay. Lily asked, “Aren’t you going to ask me any questions?”

  “Yeah, plenty, but not between bumps. There’s a spot not far ahead.”

  It was just beyond a gully, where the road went north for a stretch, with a stand of lodgepole on the left. I slowed and eased off of the blacktop into the shade the trees gave from the slanting sun, stopped, killed the engine, and twisted around to face her. “For two days and a night,” I said, “I’ve been wanting to ask people certain questions, and this is my first chance, so I’ll start with you. When I left the dance floor Saturday night about a quarter past eleven, soon after Sam Peacock arrived, you were dancing with Woody, Farnham had Mrs Amory, DuBois had a woman in a black dress, and Wade had a girl I had seen before but can’t name. Did you see Peacock at all?”

  “I saw him twice from a distance. Later I looked around but didn’t see him, and I didn’t see you either. I supposed you had taken him in to Nero Wolfe.”

  “I hadn’t. With Haight and Welch there, we decided to skip it. Now this is important. After you danced with Woody, did you see Peacock talking with anyone you know?”

  “No.” She frowned. “I only saw him from a distance, and I don’t��� No.”

  “Did you see anyone you know leave the dance floor? Go out to the Gallery?”

  “If I did, I didn’t notice. No.”

  “As I said, it’s important. It’s crucial. As you know, people often see something and don’t know they’re seeing it. If you’ll sit down, or lie down is better, and shut your eyes, and go over everything you saw and did, starting from when you were dancing with Woody, you might come up with something. Will you give it a try?”

  “I doubt-but I’ll try, of course.”

  “Okay. Now some things that you are aware of, but first a word of stomach-felt appreciation. You don’t like to give or receive thanks for things that should be taken for granted, and neither do I, but there’s a limit. Six bananas. A whole pie. The best caviar and the best p��t��. And calling it a snack was false modesty deluxe. But you saved my life.”

  “Go to hell, Escamillo. I got you into this.”

  “You did not. X did, and he’s going to regret it. Now. Where is Mr Wolfe?”

  “I think at Woody’s. We’ll stop there. Yesterday and today he has spent more time at Woody’s, and at the ranch, than he has at the cabin.”

  “Why the ranch?”

  “Because that girl’s there. Peggy Truett. Carol got her last night-she lives in Timberburg-and brought her to the cabin. Jessup was there, and they questioned her for more than two hours. In your room. Around eleven o’clock Jessup came to the big room and phoned Carol and told her they were coming with Peggy Truett. They went in Jessup’s car. It was after midnight when he brought Wolfe back. They told me nothing, not a damn thing, and this morning I left for Helena before seven o’clock. With this car. I haven’t been back, but about two hours ago I called Carol, and she said Wolfe had been there nearly all day talking with Peggy Truett, and he was still there, and he had asked her if she would drive him to Woody’s around five o’clock. So I think he’s at Woody’s but he may still be at the ranch. You know him better than I do. Peggy Truett may be his type.”

  “He hasn’t got a type. It’s a filter job.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s similar to what I asked you to do about Saturday night, only he steps it up by asking questions. It’s the opposite of filtering coffee. With coffee you’re after what goes right through, but with her he’s after what doesn’t go through, or doesn’t want to. Then you don’t know whether Haight has seen him or not.”

  “No. Does that matter?”

  “Probably not. Only if those two have conversed I have missed something I would have enjoyed. Let’s see, what else? Oh. Jessup said you went to Farnham’s and took pictures, and that nobody objected but Farnham, but of course he would. Did anybody want to object but decided not to? I assume you were aware that you were pinch-hitting for me.”

  “Of course. You might have seen signs that I missed. Jessup made it an official request, but he explained that it was a request and anyone who wanted to could refuse without giving a reason. Very neat, I thought. You and the genius are making a man of him. Sitting still like this I do seem to notice a slight-uh-aroma. Kind of exotic. Will it go?”

  “No, it’s permanent. Our future contacts will have to be outdoors in a strong wind. You sent the prints to Saul?”

  “Did I. I was up and dressed at six o’clock, and I got them on the ten-o’clock plane. He should have them by now. You think it was one of them, don’t you?”

  “I don’t think anything. I have no right to think until I earn it by doing a little work.” I started the engine and moved the pointer to D. “And take a bath.” We bumped back onto th
e blacktop.

  It was ten minutes to seven when we rolled to a stop in front of the Hall of Culture and I climbed out and crossed to the screen door and entered. There was no one in the Gallery, but the door at the rear, to the kitchen, was standing open, and I went and stuck my head in. Woody was on a stool at the counter, stirring something in a bowl, and Wolfe was standing at his elbow, watching. With Wolfe in it, the kitchen looked smaller than it was. I stepped in and said, “Just in time.”

  Wolfe looked at me, took a step for a closer look, and growled, “Satisfactory.”

  My nerves were a little raw. “What’s so damn satisfactory about it?” I demanded.

  “You’re here, you’re intact, and you have your tongue. ‘Just in time.’ Yes, you are. You are just in time for Mr Stepanian’s favourite dish, hunkiav beyandi. He says it was originally Armenian, but the Turks have claimed it for centuries. It’s kebab served with egg-plant stuffed with a pur��e which the Turks call Imam Ba��ldi-‘swooning Imam.’ Onions browned in oil, tomatoes, garlic, salt and pepper. Was that jail dirty?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  It was understandable that he didn’t want to report with Woody there, and apparently there was nothing so urgent that it couldn’t wait until he had tasted hunkiav beyandi.

  “Certainly I’m hungry,” I said, “but first I have to scrub, and Miss Rowan phoned Mimi to have some filets mignons out. She thought you might be hungry too.”

  “If you will excuse me,” Woody said, “there is my tub and shower and plenty of hot water, and I would be honoured. You know how glad I am to see you, Archie. As Mr Wolfe says, it is satisfactory.”

  “And I’m glad to see you, Woody.” To Wolfe: “So I’ll come back later. Around nine?”

  He looked at the clock on the wall. Right at home. “I expect telephone calls. And I must make one. Nine or ten, any time. Or Mr Stepanian can take me; he has kindly offered to. I suggest that you bathe and eat and go to bed.”