Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 45

by Please Pass the Guilt

  “If he had told you, would you have tried to dissuade him?”

  Falk shook his head. “I can’t even discuss it as a hypothesis. If Pete Odell had told me that, I would just have stared at him. It wouldn’t have been him. Not his doing it, his telling me.”

  “So the bomb was for Browning?”

  “Yes. Apparently.”

  “Not certainly?”

  “No. You told us yesterday that the journalists have different ideas, and we have too—I mean the people who are involved. They are all just guessing really—except one of course, the one who did it. My guess is no better than anybody else’s.”

  “And no worse. Your guess?”

  Falk’s eyes came to me and returned to Wolfe. “This isn’t being recorded?”

  “Only in our skulls.”

  “Well—do you know the name Copes? Dennis Copes?”

  “No.”

  “You know Kenneth Meer. He was here last evening. He’s Browning’s man Friday, and Copes would like to be. Of course in a setup like CAN, most of them want someone else’s job, but the Copes-Meer thing is special. My guess is that Meer had a routine of checking that drawer every afternoon and Copes knew it. Copes did a lot of work on that program about bombs and getting one would have been no problem. That’s my best guess partly because I can’t quite see anyone going for Browning with a bomb. A dozen people could have, but I can’t see any of them actually doing it. You said one of the reporters thinks it was Browning’s wife, but that’s absurd.”

  “Did Kenneth Meer check the drawer every day?”

  “I don’t know. I understand he says he didn’t.”

  I could fill three or four pages with the things Theodore Falk didn’t know, but they didn’t help us, so they wouldn’t help you. When I returned to the office after going to the hall to let him out, we didn’t discuss him, for two reasons: the look we exchanged showed that we didn’t need to, and Fritz came to announce dinner. The look was a question, the same question both ways: How straight was Falk? Did we cross him off or not? The look left it open.

  The fact was, Wolfe hadn’t really bit into it. It was still just batting practice. He had taken the job and was committed, but there was still the slim chance that something might happen—the cops might get it or the client might quit—so he wouldn’t have to sweat and slave. Also in my book there was the idea that I had once mentioned to him, the idea that it took a broil with Inspector Cramer to wind him up. Of course when I had offered it, he had fired me, or I had quit, I forget which. But I hadn’t dropped the idea, so when the doorbell rang at 11:10 Wednesday morning and I went to the hall and saw who it was on the stoop through the one-way glass, and stepped back in the office and said “Mr. Fuzz,” I didn’t mind a bit.

  Wolfe made a face, opened his mouth and then clamped his jaw, and in five seconds unclamped it to growl, “Bring him.”

  9

  that was a first—the first time Inspector Cramer had ever arrived and been escorted to the office in the middle of a session with the hired hands. And Saul Panzer did something he seldom does—he stunted. He was in the red leather chair, and when I ushered Cramer in I expected to find Saul on his feet, moving up another yellow chair to join Fred and Orrie, but no. He was staying put. Cramer, surprised, stood in the middle of the rug and said, loud, “Oh?” Wolfe, surprised at Saul, put his brows up. I, pretending I wasn’t surprised, went to get a yellow chair. And damned if Cramer didn’t cross in front of Fred and Orrie to my chair, swing it around, and park his big fanny on it. As he sat, Saul, his lips a little tight to keep from grinning, got up and came to take the yellow chair I had brought. That left the red leather chair empty and I went and occupied it, sliding back and crossing my legs to show that I was right at home.

  Wolfe didn’t merely turn his head left to face me; he swiveled. “Was this performance arranged?” he demanded.

  “Not by me,” I told him. “This chair was empty, that’s all.”

  “I guess I was just too surprised to move,” Saul said. “I didn’t know the Inspector was coming.”

  “Balls,” Cramer said. “No one knew I was coming.” He focused on Wolfe. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”

  “I hope you are,” Wolfe said, not thorny. “We are discussing the prospect of making an important contribution to the investigation of a murder.”

  Cramer nodded. “Yeah. I thought you would be.”

  Actually the discussion had barely begun. Saul Panzer, who looks like a guy who was trying to sell encyclopedias but gave up and quit, and is actually the best operative alive; and big-footed, heavy-set Fred Durkin, who looks as if he wouldn’t know what an encyclopedia is but actually bought a Britannica for his kids; and good-looking, six-foot Orrie Cather, who would trade an encyclopedia for a full-length mirror if he didn’t already have one, but can handle a tough assignment when he needs to, had come in at ten o’clock, and I had briefed them good. On some jobs they are called in on, some details have to be reserved, but not that one. I had given them the whole picture, and Wolfe, coming down from the plant rooms at eleven o’clock, had just got started.

  When Wolfe faced Cramer in my chair with me in the red leather chair, I had his profile from his left instead of his right, and I had to adjust to it. I don’t know why it made so much difference, but it did. His chin looked more pointed and his hair thicker. He asked Cramer politely, “You have questions?”

  “Nothing specific.” Cramer was leaning back, comfortable, also polite. “Don’t mind me. Go right ahead.” Saul’s stunt had cued him.

  Wolfe’s eyes passed Orrie and Saul to Fred. “I was asking,” he said, “if Archie covered the ground to your satisfaction. Do you need more?”

  “I hope not.” Fred riffled the pages of his notebook. “No room for more.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  That routine was nearly always just talk, but now and then it led to something. “Well,” Fred said, “you can’t just walk up to the counter at Macy’s and say one Number Four gelignite bomb and charge my account and don’t bother to wrap it.” He looked straight at Cramer. “What the hell.”

  Wolfe nodded. “No doubt the police have made every effort. Twenty-two days. Three weeks yesterday. You suggest …?”

  “I need time to sort it out.”

  “Yes. Orrie?”

  “I need more,” Orrie said. “For instance, I need to know if Odell had gloves on. One theory is that he was putting the bomb in the drawer to get Browning, and if so, he would have used gloves if he wasn’t a moron. I suggest that you ask Inspector Cramer if he was wearing gloves, and if not, that will narrow it. Also you can ask him about fingerprints.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Maybe. After I know that.”

  “Saul?”

  “I may as well say it,” Saul said. “Maybe it wasn’t just surprise. I had a suggestion ready and the Inspector coming flipped me. I was going to say that if you asked for a look at the files, both Homicide and the DA, they might want to cooperate. After three weeks they must have quite a stack of stuff that—”

  “Shove it,” Cramer growled. “Who the hell are you, Panzer? Do you think you’re Goodwin?” His eyes stopped at me a second on their way to Wolfe. To Wolfe he said, “It’s you. It’s always you.”

  A corner of Wolfe’s mouth was up a thirtysecond of an inch. For him a broad grin. He asked politely, “Does that mean something?”

  “You know damn well—” Cramer bit it off. “Skip it. I don’t want to interrupt. I have all day. Go right ahead. I might learn something.”

  “We haven’t even started.”

  “That would be something. How you start.”

  “Well …” Wolfe shut his eyes. In ten seconds he opened them, looked at Saul, then at Fred, and then at Orrie. Then at me. “Get Mr. Abbott.”

  It didn’t seem necessary to pretend I had to look up the number, so instead of going to my desk, where Cramer was, I went around to the other end of Wolfe’s desk, r
eached for his phone, and dialed. It took four minutes to get the president of CAN—first an operator and then his secretary, and I had to say it was urgent. Since it was Wolfe’s phone and I didn’t go to mine, I heard only him.

  “Good morning, Mr. Abbott …. Yes, I’m busy too, this won’t take long. You said Monday evening that you have a warm and deep sympathy with Mrs. Odell and you want to oblige her; and this request is from her through me. I have just given three men the known facts about Mr. Odell’s death. Their names are Saul Panzer, Fred Durkin, and Orrie Cather. They are experienced and competent. I ask you to give them permission to talk with people who are employed by your company—to move freely about the premises and talk with anyone who is available and willing. Only those who are willing. The police can do that without permission, but these men can’t. They need a letter from you, and I want to send them to your office to get it. They will be considerate; they will not impose. They will not ask to talk with anyone who was here Monday evening. If you have a complaint about one of them, he will be withdrawn. May they come now for the letters? … No, of course not. No compulsion …. No, there will be no difficulty about that. Inspector Cramer is here hearing me, and … Yes, Inspector Cramer of Homicide South. He is here in my office …. No, there is nothing official about this request. Mr. Cramer came to talk with me and interrupted my talk with these men. He has neither approved this request nor objected to it ….”

  There was some more, mostly about interrupting people at work. When Wolfe hung up I was back in the red leather chair. He leaned back and sent his eyes to Fred and across Orrie to Saul. To them: “So you are going fishing. First to Mr. Abbott for credentials, and then scatter. As usual, anything whatever may or may not be significant. If any single question has precedence, it is who, if anyone, knew that Mr. Odell was going to that room and open that drawer. If you get no answer to that or any other question, you may at least get hints. Report to Archie daily as usual. I doubt if any bribing will be necessary or desirable, but the available funds are unlimited.” He turned to me. “Five hundred?”

  I said that should do for a start and went and opened the safe. From the supply in the cash box, always used bills, I got thirty twenties, sixty tens, and sixty fives, and split them three ways. Wolfe was telling them, “You heard me say that you will exclude those who were here Monday evening. Saul, you will try Dennis Copes. The question you want answered, did he know or think he knew that Kenneth Meer habitually inspected that drawer, is of course the one you won’t ask. Orrie, you will try Dennis Copes’s secretary if he has one. We want that question answered. Fred, you will follow your nose. Smile at people. Your smile is admirably deceptive. All of you, don’t push and don’t impose. There is no urgency.—Mr. Cramer. Have you a question or a comment before they go?”

  Cramer said, “No,” louder than necessary, and with the used lettuce, distributed by me while Wolfe was talking, in their wallets, they got up and went. I gave Cramer a deceptive smile and said, “Let’s trade,” and he rose and crossed to the red leather chair and I took the one I belonged in.

  Wolfe swiveled to face him. “Obviously,” he said, “you are not in armor. Perhaps you will answer one question. Who told you about my Monday evening visitors?”

  “Kenneth Meer. He phoned Lieutenant Rowcliff yesterday morning.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Yes.” Cramer got a cigar from a pocket, stuck it in his mouth, and clamped his teeth on it. “You have Goodwin report verbatim, so I will. When Rowcliff told me about Meer’s call, he said, ‘Of course when they left, that fat son-of-a-bitch leaned back in his goddam tailor-made chair and shut his goddam beady eyes and worked his lips a while, and then he sat up and told that smart-ass Goodwin who the murderer was and told him to have him there at six o’clock when he came down from nursing his goddam orchids. So we’ll put a man there to see who comes at six o’clock and then all we’ll have to do is dig up the evidence and the motive.’ Well, we did put a man there, and he reported that Theodore Falk came at half-past six. I thought it would save time and trouble to come and ask you, at least for the motive. That will help, getting the evidence.”

  Wolfe shook his head. “This isn’t like you. Wasting your breath on clumsy sarcasm. And sitting here hearing me send those men on their errands you said nothing to them, or to me, about interference by private investigators in a murder case. How many times have you threatened to take my license? Are you desperate?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.” Wolfe’s eyes opened wide. He shut them and opened them again. “Shall we have beer?”

  “Yes.”

  Wolfe reached to the button to give Fritz the beer signal. Cramer took the cigar from his mouth, inspected the teeth marks, started it back toward his mouth, changed his mind, and laid it on the little table at his elbow. Fritz came with a bottle and glass on a tray and was told to bring another.

  Cramer aimed a frown at me and then switched it to Wolfe. “I didn’t come to ask for help. I’m not down that low. But it looks close to impossible. Of course lots of murder cases are impossible and have to be put on the open list, which means they’re closed actually, but that won’t do when the victim is a Peter Odell. But look at it. How can we get a murderer when we don’t know who he wanted to kill? After three weeks we don’t even know that. Durkin thinks we should have traced the bomb. Nuts. Seventeen people had a hand in getting the dope for that goddam program, and they have named nine sources that were contacted, and God knows how many others there were that they haven’t named and won’t name. And some of them learned enough to make their own bombs, and who did they tell? Of course we’re still on that, but it looks worse now than it did a week ago.”

  He turned his palms up, the fingers spread. “You told them that the first question is who knew Odell was going to that room and open that drawer. Yeah? Sure. They’ll bring you a list of names? Like hell they will. I don’t suppose you already know who knew? That you told them that because I was here?”

  “Nonsense. If I knew that, I probably wouldn’t need those men.”

  Fritz had come with another bottle and glass, and Wolfe got the opener from the drawer and used it, and I got up and served Cramer. Wolfe poured, and as he waited for the foam to reach the right level, he told Cramer, “Of course you know why Odell went there and opened that drawer.”

  “I do?”

  “Certainly. With a powerful drug in his pocket, opening the drawer where Browning kept his whisky? You are not a nincompoop.”

  “Naturally Mrs. Odell has told you.”

  “She told me that you showed her the LSD. I don’t suppose it was flour or sugar, supplied by you. Why would you? Was it?”

  “No.” Cramer drank, emptied the glass, put it down on the table, picked up the bottle, and poured. He picked up the cigar, put it in his mouth, and took it out again. He looked at Wolfe, whose head was tilted back to drink, and waited for Wolfe’s eyes to meet his.

  “Why I came,” he said. “Not to ask for help, but I thought it was possible that an exchange might help both of us. We have collected a lot of facts, thousands of facts, some established and some not. Mrs. Odell has certainly told you things that she hasn’t told us, and maybe some of the others have too. We might trade. Of course it would hurt. You would be crossing your client, and I would be giving you official information that is supposed to be withheld. You don’t want to and neither do I. But I’m making a straight offer on the square. I haven’t asked you if this is being recorded.”

  “It isn’t.”

  “Good.” He picked up his glass. “That’s why I came.”

  Wolfe swiveled, not his chair, his head, to look at me. The look said, as plain as words, “I hope you’re appreciating this,” and my look said, “I am.” He turned back to Cramer and said, just stating a fact, “It won’t do, Mr. Cramer.”

  “It won’t?”

  “No. There is mutual respect between you and me, but not mutual trust. If I gave you every word spoken to me by Mrs. Odell,
and by the others, you would think it possible, even probable, that I omitted something. You say you have thousands of facts. If you gave me ten thousand, I would think it likely that you had reserved at least one. You know as well as I do that in the long record of man’s make-believe, there is no sillier formula than the old legal phrase, ‘the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.’ Pfui.”

  “So you would omit something.”

  “Perhaps. I could add that if I did give you every word, you would know nothing helpful that you don’t know now, but you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “You’re damn right I wouldn’t.” He looked at the glass in his hand and squinted at it as if he wondered how it got there. “Thanks for the beer.” He put the glass, not empty, on the table, saw the cigar, and picked it up. I expected him to throw it at my wastebasket and miss as usual, but he stuck it in the beer glass, the chewed end down. He stood up. “I had a question, I had one question, but I’m not going to ask it. By God, you had the nerve—those men—with me sitting here—” He turned and walked out.

  I didn’t go to see him out, but when I heard the front door open and close, I went to the hall to see that he was out. Back in, I went to the safe to enter the outlay in the petty cash book. I don’t like to leave things hanging. As I headed for my desk, Wolfe said, “I thought I knew that man. Why did he come?”

  “He said he’s desperate.”

  “But he isn’t. So healthy an ego isn’t capable of despair.”

  I sat. “He wanted to look at you. Of course he knew you wouldn’t play along on his cockeyed offer. He thinks he can tell when you’ve got a good hand, and maybe he can.”

  “Do you think he can? Can you?”

  “I’d better not answer that, not right now. We’ve got a job on. Am I to just sit here and take calls from the help?”

  “No. You are to seduce either Miss Lugos or Miss Venner. Which one?”

  I raised one brow. He can’t do that. “Why not both?”