Death of a Doxy (Crime Line)

by Rex Stout

  I said yes. “When I get back from the hospital I’m going to take her home with me. I don’t want -”

  “You’re not going to any hospital. Take her now. The cop asked questions, but I don’t know anything. Do I?”

  “Sure you do. You know Nero Wolfe hired you to help me bodyguard her, and that’s all.”

  “It’s enough. Ouch. Take her now. I’ve been in hospitals before. Don’t leave her alone. The sonofabitch nearly got her with us right here. I only wish -”

  He stopped because the cop had come. He wanted names, and I gave him some, Fred’s and Julie’s and mine, and nothing else. All I knew was that someone had shot a gun. He thought he would get tough but decided not to, and the ambulance came. I watched them load Fred and then went into the Maidstone and up to the ninth floor.

  When I knocked on the door, Julie’s voice came. “Is it you, Archie?”

  “No. It’s a Boy Scout.”

  She opened the door wide, and I stepped in. There on the floor were a big suitcase and a big bag. “I didn’t send for a boy to take them down,” she said, “because I thought you might change your mind.”

  I picked them up.

  Chapter 13

  At nine o’clock Sunday morning I entered the kitchen, told Fritz good morning, got orange juice from the refrigerator, sat at my breakfast table, yawned, sneered at The New York Times, and rubbed my eyes. Fritz came with a piece of paper in his hand and demanded, “Were you drunk when you wrote this?”

  I blinked at him. “No, just pooped. I’ve forgotten what I said. Please read it.”

  He cleared his throat. “‘Three-twenty a.m. There’s a guest in the South Room. Tell him. I’ll cook her breakfast. AG.’” He dropped it on the table. “I told him, and he asked who, and what could I say? And you will cook her breakfast in my kitchen?”

  I took an economy-size swallow of orange juice. “Let’s see if I can talk straight,” I suggested. “I had four hours’ sleep, exactly half what I need. As for telling him who she is, that is my function. I admit it’s your function to cook breakfast, but she likes fried eggs and you don’t fry eggs. Let’s get to the real issue. There is one man who is more allergic to a woman in this house than he is, and you are it. By God, I am talking straight.” I drank orange juice. “Don’t worry, this woman is allergic to a man in her house. As for the eggs, poach them – you know, in red wine and bouillon -”

  “Burgundian.”

  “That’s it. With Canadian back bacon. That will show her what men are for. Her usual hour for breakfast is half past twelve. I’m still willing to cook it if -”

  He uttered a French sound, loud, maybe it was a word. He was at the range, with sausage. I reached for the Times.

  Since Wolfe goes up to the plant rooms on Sunday morning only for a brief look, if at all, I supposed he would be down around ten o’clock. But it was still ten minutes short of ten when the sound of the elevator came, then his footsteps in the hall. I hadn’t seen him since bedtime Friday evening, nearly forty hours ago. Instead of stopping at the office, the footsteps kept coming, and the swing door opened and he appeared.

  “Indeed,” he said. “You’re alive.”

  I conceded it. “Just barely. Don’t count on me for much.”

  “Who is the guest?”

  “Miss Jaquette. Miss Jackson to you, Julie to me. She’s alive too, but it’s not my fault. She was shot at this morning, at half past one, in front of her hotel, from behind the Central Park wall. The sniper was not seen. Fred got it in the leg and is in Roosevelt Hospital. He was asleep when I phoned this morning. I phoned his wife when I got home last night. I also phoned Saul and told him to stand by. I brought Julie home with me because, with Orrie in the coop and Fred in the hospital, we’re short-handed, and anyway I got tired of hearing bullets go by. She eats breakfast in bed, and Fritz will cook it and I’ll take it up around half past twelve. That seems to cover it.”

  “The sniper was not seen.”

  “No, sir, but it was Barry Fleming. He reacted to the letter by coming to see her yesterday afternoon. That tagged him for blackmail, and the gunplay tagged him for murder. So all we need now is a little evidence. But I suppose you want a full report.”

  He said yes, and we went to the office. The Saturday mail was on my desk, unopened. I don’t know why he does that, but I suspect that it’s because he wants to show me that he won’t butt in on my routine if I won’t butt in on his. Fritz hadn’t butted in either; my desk top was dustier than it gets in one day. I put my copy of the Sunday Times on it and sat, and proceeded to report. I gave it verbatim only in spots, the few that might have a bearing, thinking it unnecessary for him to know that she had asked me if I realized it was a bed, or that I had called her snuggle bunny. Usually he opens his eyes and sits up when I finish, but that time he held it a full minute, and finally I spoke.

  “If you’re waiting for a comment, I have nothing to offer. I could say we know but can’t prove we do, but that’s obvious. As for last night, did he own a rifle, or did he get one, and if so where? Saul and I could dig up the answers, and then what? The first bullet either hit Fred’s leg bone or went on through and hit the building, which is stone, and the second one presumably hit the building. Identifying them as coming from his rifle would take six experts, three on each side. If he had hit her and killed her that would be -”

  “Pfui.” He came erect. “That’s mere futility. We have what we wanted, support for our surmise that he’s a murderer. Is there any doubt now that we are going to extricate Orrie?”

  “No.”

  “Then that is no longer of concern. Supposing that we could proceed to get proof, conclusive evidence, that Fleming killed Isabel Kerr, do we want to? If we get it, and give it to Mr. Cramer, what will happen?”

  “Three things. One, they’ll drop Orrie fast. Two, Fleming will be arrested, tried, and probably convicted. Three, they’ll try to keep Ballou’s name out of it but can’t. Make it four. Four, you won’t get another look at that package.”

  He nodded. “What did I tell him?”

  “If you can serve his purpose without damage to yours, you will.”

  “Well?”

  “Well, you can try. It’s February sixth, with nothing coming in yet this year, and nothing in sight, and I know how much goes out, since I draw the checks. Do you want my opinion?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t see how we can possibly pull it. If we’re going to spring Orrie, and we are, we’re going to have to give them Fleming, with or without evidence, and he’ll give them Ballou, and they’ll have to see him. That’s the trouble. Even if they play it tight and his name is kept out of the papers during the buildup, it’s bound to get spilled in the courtroom, and he won’t think he owes you anything. Neither will you. As you know, I am strongly in favor of income. I would hate to have my paycheck bounce. But you wanted my opinion.”

  “You misunderstood. I want your opinion on the risk, not on the feasibility. Could we conceivably jeopardize our purpose?”

  “No. Orrie’s as good as out now.”

  “Then there’s no risk at all. The problem is to expose the murderer without -”

  The doorbell rang, and I went to the hall, took a look, and stepped back in. “Cramer. Get Fritz. I’ll go up and tell her not to sing ‘Big Man Go-go’ with the door open.” I headed for the stairs.

  By go-go, the door was open, though it had been shut when I passed by at nine o’clock. I lifted a hand to tap, but it wasn’t necessary. She said, “My God, you’re up and dressed.” She was in a chair by a window. Her pajamas were light green with dark green stripes, and her feet were bare. Her hair was in all directions. I closed the door.

  “I opened it,” she said, “just to enjoy it. It’s been years since I had a bedroom where I could leave the door open. I’m up because I woke up. I never stay in bed awake unless I’m reading or eating.”

  I had approached. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a while on the eating. Inspecto
r Cramer is here. He probably thinks you’re here, since that cop saw you leave with me, but it’s possible that we’re not going to concede it. If we do, and if he insists on seeing you, we can say he’ll have to postpone it because you’re in a state of shock after last night, or I’ll bring him up and you can get it over with. As you prefer. I thought I’d better ask you.”

  She took a swipe at the hair. “An inspector, huh?”

  “Yeah. An old pal of ours. In reverse.”

  “I like to get things over with.”

  “Okay. He’ll probably want to see you alone, and not in the office because he knows we have a hole to see and hear through. What do you want to keep you until breakfast? Will orange juice and coffee do?”

  “Not if you have grapefruit juice.”

  “Certainly. Fritz will bring it up, and I’ll bring Cramer up later. He may -”

  “Here?”

  “Sure. This room is bugged, he doesn’t know that, and we’ll be listening in. He may invite you down to the District Attorney’s office, but you’re not going. To take you with law he’d have to have a warrant, and he hasn’t got one. Now the -”

  “How do you know he hasn’t?”

  “I know everything except how to bodyguard a girl right. Now the main question. Do you remember the script? What we said last night?”

  “What you said. Yes.”

  “Should we check it?”

  “No. ZYXWVU -”

  “Of course. I keep forgetting. Fritz will be up with the juice and coffee. Bolt the door. There’s just a chance Mr. Wolfe will decide you’re not here, to gain time, and Cramer will come hopping up to barge in. Once a cop’s inside, he can move around and you don’t touch him, but he can’t bust doors in, or he’d better not. Don’t answer knocks.”

  “Damn it,” she said, “I ought to be sound asleep.”

  I said she could sleep all afternoon, and left.

  Three paces inside the office I stopped to take in an unexpected scene, homey and very appealing. I couldn’t see Wolfe, at his desk, because the review-of-the-week section of the Sunday Times, spread wide, was hiding him. Cramer, in the red leather chair, had the sports section, spread just as wide. Having checked that Cramer had been admitted and was still there, I went to the kitchen, told Fritz the guest’s name, asked him to take up grapefruit juice and coffee, and told him not to knock but give his name. Back in the office, Wolfe was still hidden. I crossed to my desk, sat and enjoyed the pleasant scene a couple of minutes, and then coughed. In a moment Wolfe folded the paper, put it on his desk, and spoke. To me.

  “Mr. Cramer wishes to ask about that incident last night. Since you were there and I wasn’t, I insisted on waiting for you.” He turned. “Yes, Mr. Cramer?”

  Cramer, having folded the sports section, put it on the stand. His eyes went to Wolfe. “I told you. I want to know why you had them guarding that girl, and who they were guarding her from. If you knew she was in danger, you know who fired those shots at her. Durkin says he doesn’t know, but you do. I don’t need Goodwin to tell me that. It’s even possible he doesn’t know, but you do. Assault with intent to kill is a felony, and you know who committed it, and I’m an officer of the law. Is that plain?”

  Wolfe nodded. “Quite plain. It’s also quite plain that your true interest is not assault with intent to kill, but an assault that did kill. Have you released Mr. Cather?”

  “No. And I don’t -”

  “Are you prepared to release him?”

  “No! I want an answer. Who fired those shots at that girl?”

  Wolfe turned. “Do you know, Archie?”

  “No, sir, I don’t know. I could offer guesses, but not in the hearing of an officer of the law. Slander. I might guess Orrie Cather, but that’s out because he’s in the can, and unless -”

  Cramer said a word, loud, which I omit because I suspect that some of the readers of these reports are people like retired schoolteachers and den mothers.

  “Nor do I know,” Wolfe said. “Mr. Cramer. Why not be forthright? You came here last Monday in the pretense that you hoped to get information that would strengthen your case against Mr. Cather, though you knew you would get none. Not from Mr. Goodwin. What you really wanted was to learn if my support of Mr. Cather was more than a gesture. What you want now is to learn if I have collected any evidence that will weaken your case against Mr. Cather. Why not be straightforward and ask me?”

  “All right, I ask you. Have you?”

  “Yes.”

  “What evidence?”

  “I’m not prepared to divulge it.”

  “By God, you admit it. You admit you have evidence in a murder case and you withhold it.”

  Wolfe nodded. “It’s a nice point. If I withhold evidence that would help to convict a man of murder I am obstructing justice, yes. But if I withhold evidence that would help to acquit a man, is that obstructing justice? I doubt if the point has ever arisen juridically. We could ask some -”

  “Ask my ass. If you’ve got evidence that would help to clear Cather, it will help to convict someone else. I want it.”

  “That’s nonsense. Thousands of men have been cleared by alibis, with no bearing on another’s guilt. I have no evidence, none whatever, that would help to convict anyone of the murder of Isabel Kerr. I have a suspicion, a surmise, but that isn’t evidence. As for the guarding of Miss Jaquette and the shots fired at her, how does that concern your effort to indict Mr. Cather? As Mr. Goodwin said, they couldn’t have been fired by him, he’s in custody. Under suspicion of murder.”

  “He hasn’t been charged with homicide.”

  “You’re holding him without bail. Consider a hypothesis. Suppose that Miss Jaquette had a private reason to fear that someone might try to do her violence, a reason she would not reveal, and arranged for protection, and got shot at. Do you think you could force her to disclose her secret, or could force me to?”

  “Balls.” Cramer was getting hoarse. He always did, with Wolfe. “You try being forthright. Will you give me your word of honor that your guarding her and the shots fired at her had no connection with the murder of Isabel Kerr?”

  “Of course not. I suspect there was a connection. If so I would like to establish it – with evidence.”

  “You haven’t already established it?”

  “No.”

  Cramer got a cigar from a pocket, rolled it between his palms, stuck it in his mouth, and sank his teeth in it. But the rolling had loosened the wrapper, and a flap of it pointed up and touched his nose. He removed it, glared at it, hurled it at my wastebasket, and came close. It hit the edge and bounced to the floor. He aimed the glare at me and blurted, “All right, Goodwin. Where is she?”

  I put a brow up. “You could mean Miss Jaquette.”

  “Yes, I could. You took her with you last night. And brought her here.”

  I nodded. “That’s what Mr. Wolfe calls a surmise. You don’t know I brought her here, just as I don’t know who fired the shots. You’re expecting me to stall, so I won’t. She’s up in the South Room. I was there chatting with her when you came.”

  “Now I’ll chat with her. I’ll go up.” He left the chair. “I know the way.”

  “The door’s bolted. We thought it might be better to hold off.” I rose. “But you deserve a break. With a new Mayor and a new Commissioner, you probably need a break.” I moved.

  In the hall he stopped at the elevator, but I kept on to the stairs and he came. Policemen should keep fit. By the time he got to the second landing I had called to her and she had opened the door. She had changed to the blue thing and put slippers on. I pronounced names and asked if she had enough coffee and left them.

  Taking it for granted that Wolfe had gone to the kitchen, I turned right at the bottom. He was there, in the only chair Fritz allows in his kitchen, with a seat ample for me but not for him, and had opened a certain cupboard door and flipped the switch. Fritz was on one of the stools at the big table, slicing a shallot, preparing for the poached eg
gs Burgundian, and I got the other stool.

  Cramer’s voice was coming from the cupboard. “I know that, I know you have. You made a full statement, and we appreciate that kind of cooperation. But that business last night is a new – element. Those two men were there, Archie Goodwin and Fred Durkin, for your protection, that right?”

  Julie: Yes.

  Cramer: You had arranged with Nero Wolfe for that protection?

  Julie: Yes.

  Cramer: When?

  Julie: Oh… I guess it was Saturday.

  Cramer: Why? Why did you need protection?

  Julie: I might as well tell you the truth.

  Cramer: Yes, that’s always the best way.

  Julie: Between you and me, I didn’t need protection. But one evening, I think it was Tuesday, I had come here because Nero Wolfe wanted to see me, and I met Archie Goodwin. And the next afternoon, Wednesday, I came again, and Archie took me up to show me the orchids, and we had a long talk. Are you sure this is confidential?

  Cramer: Yes.

  Julie: For God’s sake don’t tell him, but I simply flapped. What a man! I had to have him. So I – well, I made arrangements. He may not want you to know this, but he was there all day Saturday, in my hotel, from ten o’clock on. You may not approve, I suppose you’re a married man, but when I want something I usually get it.

  Wolfe was looking at me, and I was shaking my head. I had not suggested that. I was sorry I wasn’t there to see Cramer glaring at her.

  Cramer: Do you mean to… are you saying that… you said you made arrangements. What arrangements?

  Julie: I told Archie a man was annoying me and I was afraid and I wanted protection day and night. You can understand why I wanted it day and night.

  Cramer: What’s the name of the man who was annoying you?

  Julie: Aren’t you an inspector?