Homicide Trinity

by Homicide Trinity (lit)

  hold her, and she said you'd have to carry her. When I

  left she pushed the bolt."

  "All right," Cramer said, "if that's the way she wants

  it." He turned to speak to Rowcliff, but I didn't stay to

  listen, because I had an urgent errand. Callahan, the

  dick who had brought me from the kitchen, wasn't in

  174 Rex Stout

  sight, and if I went downstairs unescorted I probably

  wouldn't be stopped. I backed off, made the landing,

  descended, asked the dick in the lower hall if it was still

  snowing as I got my hat and coat, took my time putting

  my coat on, opened the front door, and was gone.

  The snow was coming down thicker and was an inch

  deep on the sidewalk. Outside were two harness bulls,

  four police cars double-parked, and a small group of

  unofficial criminologists. I headed east, found a phone

  booth in a bar and grill around the corner on Eighth

  Avenue, and dialed. It was after four and Wolfe would

  be up in the plant rooms for his afternoon session with

  the orchids, which is from four to six, so it was Fritz

  who answered, and I told him to switch it.

  "Yes?" Wolfe is always gruff on the phone, but when

  it interrupts him up there he is even gruffer.

  "Me again. From a booth on Eighth Avenue. I left the

  scene informally because I have something to report.

  We won't be contradicted about the money. Miss Annis,

  whom I now call Hattie, has buttoned her lip and will

  keep it buttoned. She is in her room with the door

  bolted and Cramer and Rowcliff are going to batter

  their way in. Stebbins isn't around. I was re—"

  "He was here."

  "Who? Stebbins?"

  "Yes. I spoke with him at the door. He wanted the

  package of money. I told him it was not mine to surren-

  der, since it had been left in your safekeeping. He said

  nothing about its being bogus. I didn't admit him. He

  was not pleased."

  "I'll bet. I was requested by Cramer to persuade

  Hattie to let them in, and I tried—not through the door,

  she let me in. When I told her that if they had to bust the

  door to get to her they would take her downtown and

  hold her, she said she wanted to hire you to make them

  eat dirt. I said the only job you might take would be to

  investigate the murder, and dirt-eating, if any, would

  be a by-product, and your fee would be high. She said

  she could pay you twenty-one thousand dollars, one-

  tenth of the tax-exempt bonds she has in a bank vault. I

  The Homicide Trinity 175

  said we would leave it that you are hired, and if you

  refuse to take it on because you're eccentric I'll notify

  her. The trouble is, how can I notify her if she's not

  accessible? Shall I ask Cramer to tell her you're too

  busy?"

  "Yes."

  "Naturally," I said sympathetically. "You would

  rather starve than work if only you had no appetite.

  The fact is, she wanted to hire me and I told her to get

  me she had to hire you. I'll hold the wire while you count

  ten."

  "Confound you." It was a growl from the depths.

  "She may have no bonds. She is probably indigent."

  "Not a chance. She's my favorite screwball, but she's

  not a liar. I'm under her spell and I'm in her debt. She

  made Cramer ask me a favor."

  Silence. Then, more growl. "Come home and report.

  We'll see."

  Chapter 5

  One of the rules in that house is no business talk at

  meals, ever, and another is no business in the

  plant rooms except in emergencies. That winter

  day the emergency was not that some sudden develop-

  ment demanded immediate action or that an important

  case had reached a crisis; it was that Wolfe had to

  decide, to work or not to work, and he could get no

  pleasure fiddling with orchids with that hanging over

  him. He took my report not in one of the three plant

  rooms, with their dazzle of color, but in the potting

  room, perched on his made-to-order stool, at the bench.

  Theodore was washing pots at the sink, and I used his

  stool.

  Wolfe keeps his eyes closed when I am reporting and

  176 Rex Stout

  rarely interrupts with questions. When I finished he

  took in air clear down to his middle, let it out, opened his

  eyes, and grunted. "Any comments or suggestions?"

  "Yes, sir, plenty. First, Hattie Annis is out. She

  couldn't possibly have been faking it when we went in

  and found the body. I wouldn't try to predict what she's

  going to do, but I know what she didn't do. She didn't

  kill Tammy Baxter. Second, their not asking if I knew

  the money is counterfeit is an insult to my intelligence

  and yours too. Leach had told Canner not to mention it

  because what he wants is to find the source. He'd rather

  catch a counterfeiter than a murderer any day, and if

  counterfeiting was mentioned to me I might mention it

  to a reporter. Evidently he thinks we can't add two and

  two. A T-man coming to ask me about a woman who had

  left a package of bills with me, and the idea that they

  might be counterfeit wouldn't occur to me?"

  "He didn't know she had been here and left a pack-

  age."

  "He did when I was being questioned. He heard me

  tell Cramer. Cramer must have been biting nails. He'd

  love to get us for being in possession of a stack of the

  queer. Ten to one Leach didn't know he sent Stebbins

  here to get it. Third, Tammy Baxter was a T-woman."

  Wolfe made a face. "That mean something?"

  "It does now. If there are T-men there can be a

  T-woman, though I've never heard of one. This morning

  Leach asked if she was here, and when I told him she

  had been and gone he asked if she had been back or

  phoned and then switched to Hattie Annis. Why didn't

  he ask what Tammy Baxter had said? Because he knew;

  she had reported to him. Also he knew the phone num-

  ber of that house. Also Cramer. Why wasn't he more

  interested in my talk with Tammy Baxter only an hour

  or so before she was murdered? Because he already

  knew about it from Leach."

  "Then she had been posted in that house by the

  Secret Service?"

  "Sure. A good guess is that they knew someone who

  lived there had passed bad money. I doubt if they knew

  The Homicide Trinity 177

  which one, because if so they know who killed Tammy

  Baxter, and I don't think they would dare not to tell

  Cramer—but it's possible. Their big play isn't for the

  passers, it's for the plant. Four, one of the four roomers

  is it, on account of the knife. It came from that kitchen.

  Raymond Dell, Noel Ferris, Paul Hannah, Martha

  Kirk. If one or more of them have been crossed off by

  alibis that would narrow it. Five, if Hattie Annis is your

  client you probably want to speak to Parker, since you

  are against leaving a client in the coop. I'll ring him."

  "I haven't told you to."

&nb
sp; "Do you tell me not to?"

  He tightened his lips. He took a deep breath. "Con-

  found you. Call him."

  "Right. But first one more. Six, I see no reason why I

  shouldn't try the package for prints, since it hasn't

  occurred to us that the bills may be phony. I'm assum-

  ing that you don't intend to let loose of your client's

  property unless a court orders you to."

  "Certainly not. But there will be other prints than

  yours. Hers."

  "I've got hers."

  "You have."

  "Yes, sir. In case."

  "So." He got off the stool. "So you make the decisions.

  Let me know if you wish to confer. Go."

  I went. It isn't easy to pass down the aisles of those

  three rooms without stopping, even in an emergency,

  but that time I stopped only once, where a group of

  Miltonia roezlis were sporting more than fifty racemes

  on four feet of bench. It was the best crop of Miltonias

  Wolfe (and Theodore) had ever had. The display is

  always harder to believe when snow is dancing on the

  sloping glass overhead.

  Since it was after office hours I dialed the home

  number of Nathaniel Parker, the lawyer, got him, put

  him through to Wolfe, and listened in, as I am supposed

  to when not told to get off. He was a little doubtful

  about springing our client before morning, since they

  had had to smash a door to get to her and she wasn't

  178 Rex Stout

  talking, but he said he would get on it immediately and

  do his best. That done, I went to the safe and got the

  wrapping paper and bills.

  It was a two-hour job, and I took an hour out for

  dinner, so it was after nine o'clock when I finished. It

  took so long because (a) wrapping paper is a mean

  surface to lift prints from, (b) I had to check and double-

  check every print with Hattie's and mine, and (c) I had

  to be darned careful to leave the evidence intact if there

  was any there. During the last hour, after dinner, Wolfe

  was there at his desk in the only chair he really likes,

  reading his current book. Now and then he shot me a

  glance, of course hoping that I would announce that we

  had him, and his job would be simple. But at a quarter

  past nine I swiveled and spoke. "No. Positively. Seven

  good prints, twelve fair ones, and fourteen smudges.

  The only ones that can be identified are Hattie's and

  mine. Either he never handled it without gloves or he

  wiped it."

  I'll say this for him, he never asks silly questions like

  Are you sure, or Have you tried the bills too. He merely

  growled, "It was too much to expect." He picked up his

  bookmark, a thin strip of gold that had been given him

  by a client in spite of the size of his bill, inserted it, and

  put the book down. "What do you suggest?"

  Ignoring the sarcasm, I took the bills and wrapping

  paper, still handling them with care, and went to the

  safe and put them in. "Now," I said, returning, "it will

  take a brain, and you know where one is. I only run

  errands. I know you never leave the house on business,

  but if you—"

  The doorbell rang. I offered myself three to one that

  it was Cramer, probably with Leach for company,

  stepped to the hall, and flipped the switch for the stoop

  light. It had been a bad bet. I stepped back in and told

  Wolfe, "All four of them. Dell, Ferris, Hannah, and

  Martha Kirk."

  He glared at me. "You invited them?"

  "No, sir. It's a surprise party. People have no consid-

  eration. They might at least have phoned."

  The Homicide Trinity 179

  "It's impossible! I'm not ready. I haven't prepared

  my mind." He ran his fingers through his hair. "It's

  impossible. Bring them in."

  I went to the front and opened the door, and invited

  them to enter. Martha Kirk, first in, did not curtsy, and

  Raymond Dell didn't bow. When I turned after shut-

  ting the door she was sitting on the bench pulling off her

  galoshes and the men were removing their coats.

  "Have you written your piece?" Dell demanded.

  That had been so long ago, eight whole hours, that for

  a second I didn't get him. "Oh," I said. "I had forgotten

  I was doing one. I got interrupted."

  "We want to see Nero Wolfe," Martha Kirk said.

  "And you."

  "Then you might as well have us together. This way."

  I went to the office door and stood aside, and they filed

  in. Wolfe arose, inclined his head an eighth of an inch as

  I pronounced each name, and sat. He never shakes

  hands with strangers. I was going to put Martha Kirk in

  the red leather chair, but Dell beat us to it, so I moved

  up a yellow one for her, next to me, and Ferris and

  Hannah moved their own, beyond her. Wolfe's eyes

  went from left to right and back again.

  "Go ahead, Martha," Paul Hannah said. "This was

  your idea."

  "No," Martha said, "it was Hattie's idea." She was

  still ornamental, and the dimples were still there, but

  she didn't look up to making an omelet of larks' eggs.

  She turned her face to me and then to Wolfe. "It's

  crazy," she said. "The idea that Hattie— It's just crazy."

  "She doesn't mean," Noel Ferris explained, "that

  Hattie's idea is crazy, she means the idea that Hattie

  killed Tammy Baxter. Hattie's idea was that we should

  come and see you."

  "According to Martha," Paul Hannah said.

  "Idiot children," Raymond Dell rumbled. His hat had

  pressed his white mane down, but it was starting to

  unfurl. "Snapping and yapping in the face of tragedy."

  "Death isn't tragedy," Ferris said. "Life is tragedy."

  "Was it Miss Annis's idea," Wolfe inquired, "that you

  180 Rex Stout

  should come and expound philosophy to me? Miss Kirk.

  I gather that she spoke with you?"

  Martha nodded. "She spoke to me. She said she had

  hired you and Mr. Goodwin to make the cops eat dirt,

  and we must come and tell you everything we had told

  the cops."

  "When did she hire you?" Hannah demanded. His

  chubby pink cheeks were a little saggy.

  Wolfe ignored him and kept his eyes at Martha.

  "What else did she say?"

  "Nothing. She couldn't. I was coming downstairs,

  and they were carrying her out, and she saw me and

  said that, and I said we would. Of course I couldn't tell

  the others then, they were still questioning us, but I did

  as soon as they left."

  "They were carrying her literally? Bodily?"

  "Yes. Two men."

  "Had they forced the door of her room?"

  "Yes."

  Wolfe grunted. "Possibly actionable. For the record,

  Miss Annis is my client, but my job is not as she defined

  it. I have engaged to investigate the murder that was

  committed in her house."

  "It wasn't committed by her," Martha declared. "But

  they've arrested her. It's crazy!"

  "It was committed by a sex maniac," Paul Hannah

>   said. "Twice last week a man followed her right to the

  door. When she told me about it I offered to ambush

  him, but she said no, if he did it again and came close she

  would handle him. She would, too."

  Noel Ferris twisted his lip. "Lochinvar Hannah," he

  drawled. "These sex maniacs are damn clever. Of

  course getting in wasn't much, he could have a bag of

  assorted keys, but getting the knife from the kitchen

  was a real stroke. We know he did because you identi-

  fied it."

  "You keep harping on that." Hannah's cheeks were

  pinker. "Certainly I identified it, with that nick in it. I

  supposed you all would. I knew Hattie would."

  "I did." Martha said.

  The Homicide Trinity 181

  Ferris turned a hand over. "Then I should have too. I

  was too sentimental, I always am. I had a vague notion

  that it would be better to leave it plausible that the

  knife was a stranger. Also I am too sensitive. I couldn't

  bear the thought that the knife I had sliced ham with

  had been . . ." He finished it with a gesture, an actor's

  gesture.

  Raymond Dell snorted. "Adolescent imbeciles! All

  three of you! We came here to serve a friend in whose

  debt we are, not to prattle. Tammy Baxter was new in

  that house, not yet of us. For all we know, Hattie may

  have had reason to fear her beyond endurance. In a

  frenzy of fear, in the panic of desperation, she killed her.