“Hospitals are all well and good,” Saul was saying. “For one thing, they make us appreciate our lives all the more when we’re back on the outside. I have never felt as good as when I walked out of that old brick pile called Greenpoint this morning.”
That got Wolfe started on hospitals and their history, both in this country and in Europe. By the time he had finished his exposition, we had learned that a six-bed ward founded in the New York City Almshouse in 1736 later became Bellevue Hospital, and that the institution of the public hospital in the United States grew out of a massive need for the caring of the wounded in the Civil War. And we also got treated to minibiographies of Florence Nightingale and Clara Barton, two pioneers of nineteenth-century medical care.
In the office after dinner, Saul made himself at home in the red leather chair with a snifter of the rare Remisier cognac that gets served to favored dinner guests. Wolfe was seated at his desk with two bottles of chilled beer and a pilsner glass, while I sipped on a scotch and soda.
“You do not appear to be suffering any lasting ill effects from your recent contretemps,” Wolfe observed.
“Could have been a helluva lot worse,” Saul said. “Oh, I’ve still got some tender spots, but then, with my stupidity, I probably had that coming to me.”
“Archie has related what transpired that unfortunate night in Brooklyn, but I would like to hear a recapitulation from you.”
Saul took a sip of Remisier, nodded in approval, and cleared his throat. He then essentially repeated what he had told me as Wolfe leaned back in the reinforced desk chair built to accommodate his seventh of a ton, eyes closed and hands interlaced over his middle mound.
When Saul had finished his narrative, Wolfe blinked. “Did those scapegraces who assaulted you believe they had beaten you unconscious?”
“I think so. I was playing possum at that point, hoping they would take off.”
“So when they laughed about you believing that one of the Mafia families was behind Lester Pierce’s killing, do you feel they were being serious?”
“Yes, absolutely. I do not think it was said for my benefit.”
“Do you have any idea as to the identity of the man called Miller?”
“No, none whatever. Whitey only told me he was someone who knew what, or who, was behind the Pierce murder. Now we know it was a setup aimed at getting me out of the way. I’m still puzzled as to why they didn’t just kill me right there, not that I’m complaining, mind you. And I don’t even know Whitney’s surname, although that’s often the case with informers. They like to remain as anonymous as possible—they tend to live longer that way.”
“Surely,” Wolfe said. “And help yourself to more Remisier. Had this Whitey proven to you in the past that he had intimate knowledge of the crime syndicate?”
“That is a damned good question, and one I should have asked. Previously, I had used him mostly to help me identify petty con artists and burglars. He seemed to have a lot of contacts and hinted that his brother has been in the mob.
“Regarding his knowledge of the city’s dark underbelly, he was the one who fingered the pawnshop employee in that case Fred Durkin and I just wrapped up. The bozo we caught was an employee of the shop who had been dipping into the till.”
Saul continued. “‘That there is good old Lefty Zeller,’ Whitey said with a laugh when we looked through the pawnshop’s front window from our vantage point in a doorway across the street. ‘He’s lifted cash or goods from every place he’s ever worked. It’s truly amazing that he hasn’t been caught more often. There’s your man, bank on it.’ So Durkin and I eventually ended up nailing Zeller, practically in the act. And to think, I gave Whitey a double sawbuck for his help, and I get this in return,” Saul said, touching the spot on his temple that still was swollen from the beating.
“Sorry, I got off the track and didn’t answer your question,” Saul told Wolfe. “Whenever I’ve used Whitey—it has been a half dozen times now—he always hints as to how he knows a lot about what’s going on in the mob, and he mentions enough names of its members, including some of its minor players, to make him sound believable. He sure as hell had me conned. Mark me down as a grade-A chump.”
“Do not be too hard on yourself,” said Wolfe, who is always willing to give Saul the benefit of the doubt. “Based on what you have told us, there was no reason to believe the man was a turncoat.”
“Maybe you are right, but I still feel like a fool.”
“We all are fools at one time or another. It is endemic to the human condition.”
“Very nice; who said that?” Saul asked.
“I did, although it is likely I picked up the quote along the way,” Wolfe replied, flipping a palm. “I believe Laurence Peter gave voice to many of us when he wrote that ‘Originality is the fine art of remembering what you hear but forgetting where you heard it.’”
“You are being too modest,” Saul said.
“Modest, no, realistic, yes. Let us move on. I know, of course, that Archie was the impetus behind your recent ill-fated expedition, sans any discussion with me. No matter. I find myself becoming increasingly intrigued by the Pierce killing. I have no client, nor do I anticipate one at present. Again, no matter. Has your recent unpleasant experience prejudiced you against any further investigation into the Pierce case?”
“Hell, no, rather the contrary,” Saul replied. “Lead me to it.”
“Archie?” Wolfe said, swiveling toward me.
“I’m all in, client or no. As you are aware, the bank balance is experiencing good health.”
Wolfe drank beer and glared at the empty glass. “I begin with the assumption that the crime syndicate, or the Mafia, or whatever you choose to call this pernicious force, is not responsible for Lester Pierce’s death. Do either of you take issue with that position?” We both shook our heads.
“Is Fred Durkin available?” Wolfe asked.
“He is almost always available,” Saul said. “Even now, with his wallet fattened by the payday he and I got from that pawnshop business.”
“I suggest the four of us meet here tomorrow night, nine o’clock, unless either you or Fred has a pressing engagement.”
“If anyone cares, I can make it,” I said.
“Me too,” Saul put in. “And as for Fred, it’s fair to say I can guarantee his presence.”
Chapter 9
And so it was that twenty-four hours later, the four of us gathered in the office, Wolfe at his desk with beer, Saul in the red leather chair and me at my desk, each of us with a scotch, and Fred Durkin in one of the yellow chairs with beer. Fred feels that in Wolfe’s presence, he should be drinking what the host consumes.
“Gentlemen,” Wolfe said, “thank you for being here tonight. Archie and Saul already know why we have convened, Fred, so it is time to bring you up to speed, to use one of Mr. Goodwin’s favorite phrases.
“We are going to investigate the murder of Lester Pierce, although we do not have a client and are unlikely to obtain one. However,” Wolfe continued, nodding toward Saul and Fred, “each of you will be reimbursed for your work at your usual rates.”
“I’m just curious,” Fred said, “and maybe this is none of my business, Mr. Wolfe, but why are you interested in this? And why is there no client?”
I knew the answer, and I’m sure you do as well as you read this: Wolfe was outraged at what had happened to Saul and was determined to avenge the attack on him. But I was intrigued as to how he would respond to the question.
Wolfe downed the first of his two beers and dabbed his lips with a handkerchief he had pulled from his center desk drawer. “You raise valid questions, Fred, and ones that demand an answer. But first, a question for you: How do you feel about George Rowcliff, who now is a captain?”
“The man is a weasel!” Fred barked. “I’d like to take him and—”
“You have
made your point forcefully,” Wolfe said, holding up a hand, which for him is a strong gesture. “And I agree with your assessment of the gentleman, if he can be so termed. During Inspector Cramer’s forced furlough, Mr. Rowcliff also is acting head of the Homicide Squad, as you probably are aware.”
“I am,” Fred said, grim-faced.
“I believe I speak for all four of us when I say that in any future relations with the New York City Police Department, we would far prefer dealing with Mr. Cramer rather than Mr. Rowcliff. Does anyone disagree with that opinion?” We all shook our heads.
“This is not to say I embrace all of Mr. Cramer’s techniques and attitudes, far from it. But he is easily the better alternative. As each of you is aware, he is under a cloud because of the murder of Lester Pierce and the attacks by Pierce on the inspector that were launched by the Good Government Group.”
“It seems like Cramer should be able to ride all this out,” Saul said. “He has taken a lot of criticism from the press and others many times in the past.”
“True, but there is something else the two of you probably don’t know,” Wolfe replied, looking first at Saul, then at Fred. “The inspector has been seen dining in a Little Italy restaurant with Ralph Mars.”
Saul opened his mouth and probably was about to say “lovin’ babe” when Durkin spoke. “There’s been nothing in print about this unless I missed it.”
“You are correct, Fred,” Wolfe said. “But we have this piece of information on good authority.”
“Lon Cohen, no doubt,” Saul remarked. “And if I were to hazard a guess, the reason that meeting has not been in print is because the news of it came from a Gazette source Cohen and others on the paper may feel to be untrustworthy.”
“Your guess is more than a guess,” Wolfe said. “Now, to respond to Fred’s earlier queries: I believe I answered his first question, at least implicitly. I want to remove the cloud that hangs over Inspector Cramer so that he will resume his role as head of the Homicide Squad. As to the second question, no one has come forward as a potential client, although one individual has all but begged us to conduct an investigation. Unfortunately, he lacks the capital I normally require to undertake a case.”
“Sounds suspiciously like one Sergeant Purley Stebbins,” Saul said.
Wolfe dipped his chin half an inch. “Your recent mishap has not in any way undermined your discernment. How do all of you feel about this undertaking?”
“Anything that might take that blockhead Rowcliff down a few pegs is jake with me,” Fred Durkin said. “Sign me up.”
“Fred said it better than I could have,” Saul added. “I’m ready for my marching orders.”
“Who am I to buck the trend?” I put in. “Besides, if my boss says we have a job, I always respond with ‘yes, sir.’”
“As I said to Archie and Saul earlier, I begin with the assumption that the crime syndicate was not behind the killing of Mr. Pierce,” Wolfe told Fred. “Are you uncomfortable with my belief?”
“No, sir, not if you say so, although it sure seemed like a mob-style hit.”
“Such was surely the intent. Continuing with my assumption, does anyone have a theory as to who or what might be behind what the newspapers are terming an ‘assassination’?”
“What about someone inside that Good Government Group?” Saul asked. “I don’t know a lot about the organization, although I’ve heard—and read in a couple of the gossip columns—that there was some friction among the leadership.”
“Can you be more specific?” Wolfe asked.
“Two people each apparently feel they should take over as Three-G executive director: Roland Marchbank, the assistant executive director, and Laura Cordwell, whose role was in effect as administrative assistant to Pierce, although rumors were that she had, shall we say, a more personal relationship with him.”
Wolfe made a face. “You are suggesting the Cordwell woman is a Jezebel?”
“I have to confess that I don’t know my Bible all that well,” Saul replied, “but of course I know who she was, and Miss Cordwell certainly could play the role in a motion picture if the rumors about her have any substance.”
“Was Mr. Pierce married?” Wolfe asked.
Saul nodded. “Yes, he had been for many years, to Audra Kingston Pierce, age fifty-five, who comes from money and is involved in a whole slew of charities.”
“Lily Rowan has met Mrs. Pierce several times,” I put in. “According to Lily, the woman is attractive, although she tends to be arrogant and pleased with herself. But she also is generous in contributing to good causes with both her time and her money. And the word is, she was well aware of her husband’s relationship with Laura Cordwell and, for whatever reasons, chose to ignore it.”
I went on, “Since we are beginning to sound like gossip columnists, I will throw this in: long before his liaison with Laura Cordwell, Lester Pierce already had a reputation as what Lily refers to as a lothario.”
When Fred looked puzzled at that word, I jumped in. “A lothario is a man who … well—”
“A man who seduces women,” Wolfe interrupted, clearly uncomfortable with the subject matter.
“Yet there was speculation that Pierce, who went by the nickname ‘Saint Lester’ because of his sanctimonious bearing and his church involvement, had his sights on running for governor one day,” I said.
“How could a guy hope to run for a big office like that with that kind of a private life?” Fred asked.
“It has been done before,” Saul responded. “Take our long-dead Warren Harding, well-known skirt chaser and father of a child by a woman he wasn’t married to. And he made it all the way to the White House. Okay, so he was not much of a president, but my point is that a lack of morality does not necessarily exclude someone from seeking high office if the candidate’s sins are not widely publicized—or sometimes even if they are. And it seems that Pierce’s lapses, while known in certain quarters, have not made it into print.”
“Your point is well taken,” Wolfe said. “We tend to glorify our political and business leaders, but many if not most of them have feet of clay in one area or another. We cannot eliminate the possibility that one of Mr. Pierce’s lascivious transgressions may have been the cause of his violent demise.”
“Okay, so we have to consider that either a wronged woman or a cuckolded husband could have bumped off Pierce,” I said. “And you also remain convinced the killing was not done by the crime syndicate?”
“I do,” Wolfe said. “Let us return to this Good Government Group. What else do we know about it?”
“For one thing—and it’s a big thing—the Three-G operation is heavily bankrolled by Weldon Dunagan, the multimillionaire grocery chain magnate who detests the syndicate,” Saul said. “One would have thought if the mob wanted to bump somebody off, it would be him, not Pierce.”
“How did this Dunagan character get along with Pierce?” Fred asked.
“That is a question I could put to Lon Cohen,” I said, “but I can only assume they must have hit it off okay, because Pierce had been top dog at Three-G since its inception several years ago. I can’t imagine Dunagan would put up with anybody he didn’t like or didn’t think was doing a good job.”
“What constitutes a good job?” Wolfe posed. “After all, this group has, as you say, been around for several years, and what success has it had in battling organized crime? Not a great deal, by all accounts. One of the reasons I do not feel mobsters were behind Mr. Pierce’s death is they had little to fear from him and what is essentially his toothless operation.”
“Point taken,” Saul said. “Where do we go from here?”
“We start by having you unearth everything you can about the essence of the meeting between Inspector Cramer and Ralph Mars at that restaurant in Little Italy,” Wolfe told Saul. “It is a difficult assignment, but I trust you will avail yourself o
f the resources at your disposal.”
“I’m on it.”
“Fred, we need to learn more about Guido Capelli, the syndicate hit man who himself became the victim of a hit. Why was he killed, was he still a member of the mob, or had he become a rogue, working only for himself? But go forth cautiously, given what happened to Saul when he undertook to find out more about this man.”
“I know of some people who might be helpful,” Fred said, knitting his broad brow. “And I will be careful.” Wolfe’s expression told me he was well aware of the man’s limitations. As I have mentioned, Fred Durkin takes a backseat to no one in the bravery and loyalty departments, but he is not always the wisest of operatives. However, I was not about to quarrel with Wolfe’s decision regarding the assignment.
“Archie, you are to meet with Weldon Dunagan and ascertain his attitudes about Mr. Pierce, both as an executive and an individual. No doubt he will respond to your questions with platitudes about the dead man’s sterling character and his admirable work ethic. However, I know you to be a skillful and shrewd interrogator, so you should be able to penetrate Mr. Dunagan’s defenses.”
If you think Wolfe was buttering me up, you are all aces, but I got used to that approach a long time ago. Also, he did not provide any suggestions as to how I was to obtain an audience with Dunagan, and if I had asked, he would have given me his standard reply: “You are to act in the light of experience as guided by intelligence.” Swell.
Wolfe finished his second beer and considered each of us in turn. “Gentlemen, you have your initial assignments, and more may follow. Report your progress to Archie, and he will relay the results to me. I wish you all a good night.” He rose and made what he thinks is a bow, walking out of the office to the elevator.
Chapter 10
The next morning after breakfast, I settled in at my desk with coffee and flipped through the Manhattan phone directory, finding the Dunagan office on Pine Street, which I knew to be down in the Financial District, an area I rarely frequented.
The Battered Badge Page 5
