Homicide Trinity

by Homicide Trinity (lit)

  That is quite possible. We know that Hattie was not

  herself. We thought her incapable of guile, but she

  brought this man Goodwin, a professional detective—

  she brought him there and presented him to Martha

  and me in false colors."

  Ferris's brows were up. "But you came here to serve

  her?"

  "I did." Dell's boom would have carried to the gallery

  if there had been one. "Whether she killed or not,

  whether she was wise to trust her fate to this man

  Wolfe and this man Goodwin—we are not to judge. We

  can only ask, what can we do or say to help her?" His

  deep-set blue-gray eyes focused on Wolfe. "And we can

  only ask you."

  Martha Kirk put in, "Hattie said we should tell him

  everything we told the cops."

  Wolfe shook his head. "That may not be necessary. I

  hope not." He cleared his throat. "It has already been of

  some slight help to sit and listen to you; that is inherent

  in the situation. When four people are conversing in my

  presence and I know that one of them committed mur-

  der less than twelve hours ago, I would be a dolt to get

  no inkling at all. Look at you now—your reaction to

  what I just said. You are all staring at me. One of you

  opened his mouth to interrupt, but closed it. None of

  you glances at the others, or at any other. But I know

  that one of you is feeling the pinch. He is asking himself,

  182 Rex Stout

  are my eyes all right, how about my mouth, should I say

  something? He is aware, of course, that it will take

  more than an inkling to undo him, but an inkling can

  give me a start."

  It wasn't giving me one. They all kept their stares at

  him. Martha's lips were parted, and Ferris's were

  twisted. Paul Hannah's jaw was working. Dell's chin

  was up and he was frowning. Ferris demanded, "You

  know it was one of us? How?"

  "Not by an inkling, Mr. Ferris. There is the knife, and

  there is my conviction, on grounds that satisfy me, that

  Miss Annis didn't use it, but that isn't all. I prefer not to

  disclose why she took Mr. Goodwin to her house in

  masquerade; though one of you has certainly guessed

  why I'll leave it a guess." He flattened his palms on the

  chair arms. "And now we may proceed. Three of you

  came here to help a friend, and one of you came because

  he didn't dare to refuse; nor will he dare to refuse to

  answer my questions; and I expect him to expose him-

  self. If he has already exposed himself to the police we

  are wasting our time, but I'll proceed on the assumption

  that he hasn't. If I fail, it will be because I haven't asked

  the right questions, and I don't intend to fail."

  His head turned. "Mr. Dell. Have you paid your room

  rent for the past three months?"

  Chapter 6

  Raymond Dell's chin lifted another quarter of an

  inch. "We could all refuse," he said.

  Wolfe nodded. "You could indeed. If you

  think that would serve your friend in whose debt you

  are. Shall I try the others?"

  "No. As for that question, if Hattie is your client you

  could ask her. Perhaps you already have. I have paid no

  room rent for three years and she has asked for none."

  Wolfe's head moved. "Miss Kirk?"

  She was still staring at him. "The cops didn't ask me

  that," she said.

  Wolfe grunted. "They have their technique and I

  have mine. That question applies to the problem as I

  see it. Does it embarrass you?"

  "No. I have lived there nearly a year and I have paid

  five dollars every week."

  "From current income?"

  "I haven't any current income. I get a check from my

  father every month."

  "I trust it doesn't embarrass him. Mr. Ferris?"

  Noel Ferris passed his tongue over his lips. "How

  this applies is beyond me," he said, "but I don't dare to

  refuse to answer. I haven't figured how I stand on rent,

  but you can. I've had a room there for eighteen months.

  Last summer I was on television for thirteen weeks and

  I gave Hattie a hundred and fifty dollars. A show I was

  in flopped in November, and since then it has been

  television crumbs. Two weeks ago I gave her sixty

  dollars. You figure it."

  "You're a hundred and eighty dollars short. Mr.

  Hannah?"

  Paul Hannah was looking determined. "I'm not tak-

  184 Rex Stout

  ing any dare," he blurted. "You may think your ques-

  tion applies, but I don't. You say you know one of us

  killed Tammy Baxter, but I don't believe it. I know

  damn well I didn't. You don't kill someone without a

  reason, and what was it? She had only been there three

  weeks and we barely knew her. The knife doesn't prove

  anything. Whoever killed her got in the house some-

  how, and if he was in the house he could have got the

  knife. I'm not taking any dare."

  Wolfe shook his head. "Your spunk is impressive, Mr.

  Hannah, but it bounces off. If you are innocent the

  question whether you'll take a dare doesn't arise; the

  question is, what are you here for? To oblige a friend or

  parade your conceit?"

  "I'm here because of what Hattie said to Martha and

  I wanted to hear what you had to say. And you asked if

  I've paid my room rent, for God's sake. All right, I have.

  I've been there four months and I've paid every week.

  That proves something?"

  "Obviously. That you are not a pauper. You have an

  income?"

  "No. I have money that I saved."

  "So. That point is covered." Wolfe's eyes went to

  Martha. "Now, Miss Kirk, for what you have told the

  police—at least one detail. Your movements this mom-

  ing, say from ten-thirty until one o'clock. Where were

  you?"

  "I was in my room," she said, "until about a quarter

  after twelve. The police wanted to know exactly, but I

  couldn't tell them. I got in late last night, and I always

  do exercises for an hour when I get up. About a quarter

  after twelve I went down to the kitchen. There were no

  oranges and I went out and got some. I wasn't gone

  more than ten minutes. I was cooking bacon and eggs

  when Mr. Dell came in, and Hattie with Mr. Goodwin,

  and Hattie said he was going to do a piece for a maga-

  zine, and they went—"

  "That's far enough. Which room is yours?"

  "The third floor front, above Hattie's."

  "And the others? Their rooms?"

  The Homicide Trinity 185

  "Ray's is the second floor rear—Raymond Dell's. The

  rear room on my floor, the third, is Tammy Baxter's.

  The one above mine, on the fourth floor, is Noel Fer-

  ris's, and the rear one on that floor is Paul Hannah's."

  "Did you see any of them this morning?"

  "No. Not until Ray came to the kitchen, and that was

  afternoon."

  "Did you hear any of them moving or speaking?"

  "No."

  "Not even Mr. Ferris in the room above you?"


  "No. I suppose he was up and gone before I woke up."

  "Did you hear or see anything at all that might be of

  significance?"

  She shook her head. "The police thought I must have,

  when I was in the kitchen, but I didn't."

  Wolfe's head went left, to Raymond Dell in the red

  leather chair. "Mr. Dell. I know you came downstairs

  when Miss Annis entered the house with Mr. Goodwin

  shortly after one o'clock. Before that?"

  "Nothing," Dell rumbled.

  "Nothing?"

  "Nothing. That was when I left my room for the first

  time. Until then I had seen no one, heard nothing, and

  seen nothing. I had been asleep."

  "Then how did you know there were no oranges?"

  Dell's chin jerked up. "What's that? Oh." He ges-

  tured. "That man Goodwin. I knew because there had

  been none when I went down for some in the early

  hours—the late hours. I don't sleep at night; I read. I

  was reading Sophocles' Oedipus Rex, and when I fin-

  ished it, at five o'clock perhaps, or six, I wanted or-

  anges. I always do around that hour. Finding none, I

  returned to my room and finally dozed."

  "So that was customary? You rarely stir before

  twelve?"

  "I never do."

  "And at night you read. How do you spend your

  afternoons?"

  Dell frowned. "Could that conceivably apply?"

  "Yes. Conceivably."

  186 Rex Stout

  "I want to be present when you apply it. That would

  be a revelation worthy of the Cumaean sybil. I baby-

  sit "

  "You what?"

  "The current abhorrent term is 'baby-sit.' I have a

  friend who is a painter, by name Max Eder, who lives in

  an East Side tenement. His wife is dead. He has a son

  and daughter aged three and four, and five days a week

  I am their keeper for five hours, fi-om two till seven. For

  a stipend. Mondays and Tuesdays I am free to roam the

  market if I am so inclined. You frown. To offer my

  talents in television dens. I am so inclined only by

  necessity."

  "What is Mr. Elder's address?"

  Dell shrugged, an actor's shrug. "This approaches

  lunacy. However, it's in the phone book. Three-

  fourteen Mission Street."

  "How long have you been—uh—performing this ser-

  vice for him?"

  "Something over a year."

  Wolfe left him. "Mr. Hannah. Since I am now merely

  asking for what you have already told the police, your

  whereabouts today from ten-thirty to one, I hope you

  won't be provoked."

  "You do like hell," Hannah blurted. "Parading my

  conceit, huh? I'm sticking only because I told Martha I

  would. I left the house a little after nine o'clock and

  spent a couple of hours around the West Side docks, and

  then I took a bus downtown and got to the Mushroom

  Theater a little before twelve. We start rehearsal at

  noon. Around two o'clock a man came and flashed a

  badge and said I was wanted for questioning and took

  me to Forty-seventh Street."

  "What were you doing around the docks?"

  "I was looking and listening. In the play we're doing,

  Do As Thou Wilt, I'm a longshoreman, and I want to get

  it right."

  "Where is the Mushroom Theater?"

  "Bowie Street. Near Houston Street."

  "Do you have a leading role in the play?"

  The Homicide Trinity 187

  "No. Not leading."

  "How many lines have you?"

  "Not many. It's not a big part. I'm young and I'm

  learning."

  "How long have you been rehearsing?"

  "About a month."

  "Have you appeared at that theater before?"

  "Once, last fall. I had a walk-on in The Pleasure Is

  Mine."

  "How long did it run?"

  "Six weeks. Pretty good for off-Broadway."

  "Do you favor any particular spot when you visit the

  docks?"

  "No. I just move around and look and listen."

  "Do you do that every day?"

  "Hell, no."

  "How many times in the past month?"

  "Only once before today. A couple of times when I got

  the part, in November."

  I was thinking that at least he had one of the basic

  qualifications for an actor. He was ready and willing to

  answer any and all questions about his career, with or

  without a dare, whether they applied or not. If Wolfe

  thought it would help to have the plot of Do As Thou

  Wilt described in detail all he had to do was ask.

  But apparently he didn't need it. His head moved.

  "And you, Mr. Fen-is?"

  "I'm feeling a lot better," Noel Ferris said. "When

  the questions they asked made me realize that I was

  actually suspected of murder, and I also realized that I

  had no alibi, it looked pretty dark. Believe me. What if

  the others had all been somewhere else and could prove

  it? So I thank you, Mr. Wolfe. I feel a lot better. As for

  me, I left the house a little after ten and called at four

  agencies. Two of them would remember I was there,

  but probably not the exact time. When I got hungry I

  went back to the house to eat. I can't afford five-dollar

  lunches, and I can't eat eighty-cent ones. When I entered

  the house a man was at the phone telling someone that

  188 Rex Stout

  Tammy Baxter had been murdered and her body was in

  the parlor."

  "What kind of agencies?"

  "Casting. Theater and television."

  "Do you visit them daily?"

  "No. About twice a week."

  "And the other five days? How do you pass the

  time?"

  "I don't. It passes me. Two days, sometimes three, I

  make horses and kangaroos and other animals. I go to a

  workroom and model them and make molds. Something

  on the order of Cellini. I get eight dollars for a squirrel.

  Twenty for a giraffe."

  "Where is the workroom?"

  "In the rear of a shop on First Avenue. The name of

  the shop is Harry's Zoo. The name of the owner is

  Harry Arkazy. He has a sixteen-year-old daughter

  as beautiful as a rosy dawn, but she lisps. Her name is

  Ilonka. His son's name—"

  "This is not a comedy, Mr. Ferris," Wolfe snapped.

  He twisted his neck to look at the wall clock. "I engaged

  to act for Miss Annis only five hours ago and I haven't

  arranged my mind, so my questions may be at random,

  but they are not frivolous." His eyes moved to take

  them in. "Now that I have seen you and heard you I am

  better prepared, and I can consider how to proceed. I

  will leave it to Miss Annis to thank you—three of you—

  for coming." He arose. "I expect to see you again."

  Martha was gawking at him. "But Hattie said to tell

  you everything we told the cops!"

  He nodded. "I know. It would take all night. I'll go to

  that extreme only by compulsion; and if you told them

  anything indicative they are hours ahead of me and I

  would only breathe their dust."

  Dell boomed. "You call this investigating a murd
er?

  Asking me if I had paid my room rent and how I spend

  my afternoons?"

  It was a little odd, the four suspects coming uninvited

  to empty the bag and being told to go almost before

  they got started. Noel Ferris, his lip twisted, got up and

  The Homicide Trinity 189

  headed for the hall. Martha Kirk, getting no satisfaction

  from Wolfe, appealed to me: didn't I realize that Hattie

  had been arrested for a murder she didn't commit? Paul

  Hannah sat and listened to us, chewing his lip, then got

  up and touched her arm and said they might as well go.

  Raymond Dell stood, lowered his chin, gazed at Wolfe

  half a minute, registering indignation, wheeled, and

  marched out. (Exit Dell, center.) I followed Martha and

  Hannah to the hall, but she preferred to put on her

  galoshes herself. When I opened the door for them a

  few snowflakes danced in.

  Back in the office, Wolfe was sitting again, leaning

  back with his eyes closed. I asked if he wanted beer, got

  a nod, and went to the kitchen and brought a bottle and

  glass, and a glass of milk for me. He opened his eyes,

  took in a bushel of air through his nose and let it out