Over My Dead Body

by Rex Stout

  "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 co-operation 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."

  "And you are being roped off from this case?"

  "I am. The British Consul phoned the commissioner to express his deep concern at the violent death of a British subject, and his earnest hope and so forth. The commissioner saw him at eleven o'clock last night, and the consul was communicating with London as soon as possible. This morning I ask the commissioner for the dope, and he says the consul can furnish no information regarding Ludlow's activities, but of course it is to be hoped that justice will be done. Like it is to be hoped we'll have a mild winter. Then, a little later, talking with the district attorney, I suggested that he might phone the British embassy in Washington, and he vetoes it and says he doubts if it would be fruitful to pursue an investigation along that line. I damn near went ahead and phoned Washington myself!"

  "Why didn't you?"

  "Because I'm too old to look for another job. Besides, it wouldn't have been fruitful. But what I did this morning, within five minutes after I got there on 38th Street, I phoned right from that room to the German Consul-General and asked him about Faber, and he had the brass to tell me that he hadn't the faintest notion what Faber was doing in New York! After telling me last evening, in connexion with Ludlow, that he could vouch for Faber absolutely! I phoned-the German embassy in Washington then and there, and got the same run-around. What the hell right have countries got to send guys to other countries to do things they're ashamed to talk about? Even when the guys get murdered?"

  Wolfe shook his head.

  Cramer glared at him a while in silence and then announced abruptly, "I sent a cable to a place in Yugoslavia called Zagreb."

  Wolfe murmured, "Indeed."

  "Yes, indeed. That's the town those two girls came from. It's the address on their passports. They say they came over here because America is a land of opportunity. They were asked, in that case, why didn't they enter on the quota instead of visitors' visas? They said they wanted to see what it was like first."

  "Cautious." Wolfe grunted. "You cabled, of course, to learn if they might be suspected of a grudge against the British Empire. I doubt if you'll get much. If they're working for the Yugoslav government, of course you won't. If for someone else-Zagreb is the Croatian capital, and the authorities there certainly wouldn't help you any. May I ask why you picked on those two girls especially?"

  "I didn't. I picked on everybody. But it isn't surprising if I pick on 'em now, is it? With one of 'em evaporated? And Faber stabbed to death right in their flat? Is Tormic still your client?"

  "She is."

  "If she's innocent it's a mistake not to let her talk."

  "I don't think so."

  "I do." Cramer discarded his cigar and leaned back. "I'll tell you frankly, I don't think she did it. Chiefly for two reasons, and one is that she's your client. I admit that's a reason. The other is that Faber's death takes away her alibi for Ludlow. She wouldn't be that dumb. She left headquarters at a quarter past ten this morning and she was tailed. She took a taxi. At Canal Street she suddenly hopped out of the taxi and into the subway. It was so unexpected that the tail lost her in the shuffle because a train was just pulling in and she made it and he didn't. So what did she do between then and the time she got to your office, ten after eleven?"

  "What does she say?"

  "She says she told the taxi driver to take her to your place, but she suddenly decided that she would have time to go to Miltan's and see Miss Lovchen about something if she took the subway, so she did. Then she decided she wouldn't have time after all, so she got out at Grand Central and phoned Miss Lovchen instead, and then took a taxi here."

  "She phoned Miss Lovchen where? Miltan's?"

  "Yes. And she did. Miltan answered the phone himself and recognized her voice and called Miss Lovchen. About a quarter to eleven."

  "What does she say she phoned Miss Lovchen about?"

  "She says it's none of my business."

  Wolfe sighed. "Well, disprove it."

  "Sure. I know. I said frankly, I don't think she did it."

  "Who do you think did? Miss Lovchen?"

  "How the hell do I know?" Cramer sat up and made fists again. "Haven't I made it plain that I don't know a damn thing? I can't even put anyone in that room between ten o'clock, the time that Faber left here on his feet, and the time that Goodwin and Miss Tormic were there and found him. We can't find anyone that saw anybody go in or out of the building. We're still trying it, but you know that game."

  He banged a fist and demanded, "And what if we do? What if I had stood there on the sidewalk myself and saw her go in with Faber and come out again without him? What good would that do me? When the question comes up, what did she kill him for, or Ludlow either, what do I say then? Huh? Or anybody else! It is customary, before you turn a murder case over to a jury and ask them for a conviction, to give them some slight hint of what the motivation was. They like it better that way. And where it stands now, I could give just as good a motive for Goodwin here, and say he did it with his jackknife when he went there with Miss Tormic, as I could for anybody else."

  I protested, "I don't carry a jackknife. A penknife."

  "Maybe your field's too narrow," Wolfe suggested. "Have you considered-"

  "I haven't got any field. As far as I'm concerned, it's wide-open. Naturally, we're checking up on everyone that was at Miltan's last evening. Young Gill was at his office. One out. Miltan and his wife were at their place. Three out. That leaves six in, of that bunch. Driscoll went for a walk at half past ten and got to his office at eleven-thirty. Donald Barrett says he was at his office, Barrett & De Russy,
but it hasn't been confirmed yet to make it tight. Lovchen and Tormic and Zorka. Two of those disappeared. Belinda Reade left her apartment shortly after ten o'clock to go shopping and has been located."

  "The weapon?"

  "Hasn't been found. He was stabbed in the left breast with a blade long enough to reach the heart, and it was withdrawn in a few minutes, but not immediately, judging from the amount of bleeding. He was also struck a severe blow, before he was stabbed, on the left eye. A very hard blow with something blunt and hard, and heavy. Very unlikely that he could have got it falling, and anyway, if it had happened at the moment he was stabbed to death it wouldn't look the way it does. It indicates that there was a struggle-what's the idea?"

  I had doubled up my right fist and displayed it in front of his nose.

  "Blunt and hard, and heavy," I declared.

  "Huh? What-"

  "Yes, sir. It was me. He got obnoxious here in this office and I plugged him. I tell it because you may dig up someone who saw him soon after, and I don't want to be accused of withholding evidence."

  Cramer's chin slowly sunk to his breastbone. It looked like a slow-motion of Jack Dempsey preparing to wade in. Then, also slowly, he put the tip of a forefinger to his nose and rubbed up and down, gently and rhythmically, meanwhile surveying me through narrowed lids. It was quite a while before he said thoughtfully:

  "You wouldn't stab a guy."

  "No, sir," I agreed brightly, "it wouldn't be in character-"

  "Shut up. But what if you and Tormic went there and found him there going through things. You got mad and socked him. Tormic got mad and stuck a knife in him. You sent for Durkin and made him a gift of the knife and he left with it. You phoned here and I was here."

  "It sounds pretty plausible," I conceded, "but you're confronted with the question of motive again. What was it that infuriated Tormic to the point of croaking him? Another trouble is that Fred Durkin was here in the office when I plugged him." I shook my head. "That theory is full of holes. I'm in favour of crossing it off-"

  The phone interrupted me. It was a call for Cramer. I gave him room to take it at my desk. He talked for a full ten minutes, everything from non-committal grunts to elaborate detailed instructions, and when it was finished returned to his chair.

  He regarded me with a cold eye. "You know, son," he said finally, "you have one or two good qualities. In a way I even like you. In another way I could stand and watch your hide peeling off and not shed any tears. You have undoubtedly got the goddamdest nerve of anybody I know except maybe Nero Wolfe. Tormic is down at headquarters, with that lawyer you got for her, refusing to answer questions. I've got half a notion to try that old gag on her. I think I'll phone Rowcliff to tell her that you have admitted that Faber was on his feet when you and she got there, and you knocked him down."

  "Go ahead," I urged him. "It will be interesting to see how it works out. But as far as my nerve is concerned, I never have had, do not now have, and never will have, enough nerve to risk one teeny-weeny chance of sitting in the frying-chair."

  "Yesterday afternoon you fled the scene of a murder with the weapon used for the crime."

  "Not knowingly. To begin with, I didn't fled, I merely went. And I did not know that culdymore was in my pocket."

  Cramer leaned back, sighed, and began rubbing his nose again.

  The door opened. Fritz entered, approached, and said:

  "Mr Cather, sir."

  Wolfe's chin went up. "Show him in."

  I could tell from the tone of Wolfe's voice that there was a possibility that Orrie was bringing home a chunk of important bacon, but a glance at Orrie's face told me that he didn't have it. Wolfe obviously reached the same conclusion, for he said, more a statement than a question:

  "No result."

  Orrie stood with his overcoat on and his hat in his hand. "No, sir."

  Wolfe grimaced. "Did you find the-things I suggested?"

  "Yes, sir. More too. There were mentions-I saw the name-in a lot of articles and sometimes in headlines, but that was all. Of course I couldn't read-"

  "That wouldn't help any. No pictures."

  "No, sir. I went through every possible thing at the library, and I tried other places. The Times thought they would have one, but they didn't. I'm on my way to the consulate and I just stopped by here instead of phoning-"

  "Don't go to the consulate. I phoned there and it's hopeless. Mr Cramer and I are both out of humour with consulates. Have you been to Second Avenue?"

  "No, I was going there last."

  "Try it. You might find it there. It is possible that Mr Cramer has arranged that anyone leaving this house shall be followed. If so, shake him. I don't want the police in on this. Not yet."

  Orrie grinned. "That will be a pleasure." He tramped out.

  Cramer said in a tone of disgust, "Horse feathers."

  "It wouldn't be the first time you've tried that stratagem," Wolfe observed mildly. "Anyway, it's not as annoying as your former attempts at bulldozing. Thank heaven, you seem to have given that up. Are you through amusing yourself with Archie?"

  "Amusing myself? Good God!"

  "You must have been. You couldn't very well have been serious. Will you have some beer?"

  "No, thanks-yes, I will too. I'm thirsty."

  "Good." Wolfe pushed the button. "Did I understand you to say that you were having Miss Lovchen followed?"

  "Yes. A double tail. One of them phoned in at ten-forty that she had left the house at 38th Street and gone to Miltan's, and was in there then, and we haven't heard from them since. Their instructions are to report in every two hours if they can do so without danger of losing contact."

  "I see. It's very handy to have so many men."

  "Yeah. It would be if more of them were worth a damn. There are over a hundred of them on this case right now. Sitting out up at 38th Street. Looking for the thing he was stabbed with. Getting backgrounds. Tailing. Looking for Lovchen and Zorka. Checking alibis. I'm expecting any minute to be told to pull a bunch of them off. Hush-hush." The inspector set his jaw. "But until I get direct orders to the contrary, I'm going to proceed on the theory that the people who pay my salary don't want any kind of a murderer to get any kind of a break. That's why I'm sitting here chinning with you. This is the one place where I might get a line on whatever it is that the goddam consuls and ambassadors are so bashful about… much obliged."

  He took the beer Wolfe had poured for him, gulped, licked the foam from his lips, and gulped again.

  He sat back holding the half-filled glass. "Let me ask you something. If you had your pick of everybody, everybody in or near New York, to be brought in here right now, for you to ask questions of about this case, who would it be?"

  "Thank heaven," Wolfe declared, "I can answer that unequivocally. Madame Zorka."

  The phone rang. It was for Cramer again and he took it at my desk. It was a short conversation this time, and when he disconnected and went back to his chair he had a satisfied grin on his mug.

  "Well, well," he said, "I call that pretty good. No sooner asked for. They've got Zorka and I told them to bring her here."

  "Indeed." Wolfe was filling his glass again. "Where did they find her?"

  "In a room at the Brissenden. Registered phoney. Arrived at ten minutes past five this morning."

  "I hope," Wolfe muttered, "that she has something to wear besides that red thing she had on last night."

  "Huh? I beg your pardon?"

  "Nothing. Soliloquy- Yes, Fritz?"

  Fritz was in again. He had the salver this time, and crossed to Wolfe. Wolfe took the card, read it and frowned.

  "The devil," he said. "Where is he?"

  "In the hall, sir."

  "Please put him in the front room, close the door, and come back."

  As Fritz went Wolfe addressed the inspector:

  "I don't suppose you have an errand somewhere else." "Neither do I," Cramer said emphatically. "I've told you ten times I like it here. If I once got o
ut you might not let me in again unless I brought a warrant."

  "Very well. Then I'm afraid- Oh, Fritz. Will you please take Mr Cramer up in the elevator and ask Theodore to show him the orchids?" He smiled at the inspector. "You haven't been up there for a long while. I'm sure you'll enjoy it."

  "I'll love it," Cramer declared, and got up and followed Fritz out.

  Wolfe handed me the card and I read, "John P. Barrett." The sound came of the elevator door clanging, and Wolfe said, "Bring him in."

  Chapter Fifteen

  The appearance of Donnybonny's father in the flesh fitted the sound of his voice on the telephone. He was the kind many people call distinguished-looking and I call Headwaiter's Dream. He was around fifty, smooth-shaven, with grey eyes that needed to look only once at something, and was wearing $485 worth of quiet clothes. He shook hands with Wolfe in a pleasant manner, as if there could never be any hurry or urgency about anything in the world.

  "You're over here by the river in a corner of your own," he observed genially as he sat down.

  Wolfe nodded. "Yes, I bought this place a long time ago and I'm hard to move. You must excuse me, Mr Barrett, if I say that I haven't much time to spare. I'm wedging you in. Another caller kindly went up to my plant rooms for an interlude. Mr Cramer of the police."

  "Cramer?"

  "Inspector Cramer of the Homicide Bureau."

  "Oh." Barrett's tone was nonchalant, but his eyes, for an instant, were not. "I came to see you on account of some remarks you made last night to my son. Regarding Bosnian forests, credits held by my firm, and the Donevitch gang. That was your word, I believe-gang."

  "I believe it was," Wolfe admitted. "Was there something wrong with my remarks?"

  "Oh, no. Nothing wrong. May I smoke?"

  Permission received, he got a cigarette from a case which boosted his freight loading from $485 up to around eight hundred berries, lit, and thanked me for the ash tray I provided.

  "My son," he said in a tone of civilized exasperation, "is a little bit green. It's unavoidable that youth should arrange people in categories, it's the only way of handling the mass of material at first to avoid hopeless confusion, but the sorting out should not be too long delayed. My son seems to be pretty slow at it. He overrates some people and underrates others. Perhaps I've tried to rush it by opening too many doors for him. A father's conceit can be a very disastrous thing."