If Death Ever Slept

by Rex Stout

  “Not a glimmer.”

  “Then we can’t anticipate them. You will call police headquarters?”

  “Yes, on my way.”

  “That will expedite matters. Otherwise there’s no telling when the body would be found.”

  I was on my feet. “If you phone me there,” I told him, “keep it decent. He has four phones on his desk, and I suspect two of them.”

  “I won’t phone you. You’ll phone me.”

  “Okay,” I said, and went.

  Chapter 6

  PASSING THE GANTLET OF the steely eyes of the lobby sentinel, mounting in the private elevator, and using my key in the tenth-floor vestibule, I found that the electronic security apparatus hadn’t been switched on yet. Steck appeared, of course, and said that Mr. Jarrell would like to see me in the library. The eye I gave him was a different eye from what it had been. It could even have been Steck who had worked the rug trick to get hold of a gun. He had his duties, but he might have managed to squeeze it in.

  Hearing voices in the lounge, I crossed the reception hall to glance in, and saw Trella, Nora, and Roger Foote at a card table.

  Roger looked up and called to me. “Pinochle! Come and take a hand!”

  “Sorry, I can’t. Mr. Jarrell wants me.”

  “Come when you’re through! Peach Fuzz ran a beautiful race! Beautiful! Five lengths back at the turn and only a head behind at the finish! Beautiful!”

  A really fine loser, I was thinking as I headed for the corridor. You don’t often meet that kind of sporting spirit. Beautiful!

  The door of the library was standing open. Entering, I closed it. Jarrell, over by the files with one of the drawers open, barked at me, “Be with you in a minute,” and I went to the chair at an end of his desk. A Portanaga with an inch of ash intact was there on a tray, and the smell told me it was still alive, so it couldn’t have been more than ninety seconds since he left his desk to go to the files. That’s the advantage of being a detective with a trained mind; you collect all kinds of useless facts without even trying.

  He came and sat, picked up the cigar and tapped the ash off, and took a couple of puffs. He spoke. “Why did you go to see Wolfe?”

  “He pays my salary. He likes to know what he’s getting for it. Also I had told him on the phone about your gun disappearing, and he wanted to ask me about it.”

  “Did you have to tell him about that?”

  “I thought I’d better. You’re his client, and he doesn’t like to have his clients shot, and if somebody used the gun to kill you with and I hadn’t told him about it he would have been annoyed. Besides, I thought he might want to make a suggestion.”

  “Did he make one?”

  “Not a suggestion exactly. He made a comment. He said you’re an ass. He said you should have corralled everybody and got the cops in to find the gun.”

  “Did you tell him I’m convinced that my daughter-in-law took it?”

  “Sure. But even if she did, and if she intends to use it on you, that would still be the best way to handle it. It would get the gun back, and it would notify her that you haven’t got a hole in your head and don’t intend to have one.”

  He showed no reaction to my mentioning a hole in the head. “It was you who said we’d probably find it in a tub on the terrace.”

  “I didn’t say probably, but what if I did? We’d have the gun. You said on the phone you’ve got instructions for me. About looking for it?”

  “No, not that.” He took a pull on the cigar, removed it, and let the smoke float out. “I don’t remember just how much I’ve told you about Corey Brigham.”

  “Not much. No details. That he’s an old friend of yours-no, you didn’t use the word friend-that he got in ahead of you on a deal, and that you think your daughter-in-law was responsible. I’ve been a little surprised to see him around.”

  “I want him around. I want him to think I’ve accepted his explanation and I don’t suspect anything. The deal was about a shipping company. I found out about a claim that could be made against it, and I was all set to buy the claim and then put the screws on, and when I was ready to close in I found that Brigham was there ahead of me. He said he had got next to it through somebody else, that he didn’t know I was after it, but he’s a damn liar. There wasn’t anybody else. The only source was mine, and I had it clamped tight. He got it through information that was in this room, and he got it from my daughter-in-law.”

  “That raises questions,” I told him. “I don’t have to ask why Susan gave it to him because I already know your answer to that. She gives things to men, including her-uh, favors, because that’s what she’s like. But how did she get it?”

  “She got my gun yesterday, didn’t she?”

  “I don’t know and neither do you. Anyhow, how many times has that rug walked in here?”

  “Not any. That was a new one. But she knows how to find a way to get anything she wants. She could have got it from Jim Eber. Or from my son. Or she could have been in here with my son when Nora and I weren’t here, and sent him out for something, and got it herself. God only knows what else she got. Most of my operations are based on some kind of inside information, and a lot of it is on paper, it has to be, and I’m afraid to leave anything important in here anymore. Goddamn it, she has to go!”

  He pulled at the cigar, found it was out, and dropped it in the tray. “There’s another aspect. I stood to clear a million on that deal, probably more. So Brigham did instead of me, and she got her share of it. She gives things to men, including her favors if you want to call it that, but all the time her main object is herself. She got her share. That’s what I’ve got instructions about. See if you can find it. She’s got it salted away somewhere and maybe you can find it. Maybe you can get a lead to it through Brigham. Get next to him. He’s a goddamn snob, but he won’t be snooty to my secretary if you handle him right. Another possibility is Jim Eber. Get next to him too. You met him yesterday. I don’t know just what your approach will be, but you should be able to work that out yourself. And don’t forget our deal-yours and mine. Ten thousand the day she’s out of here, with my son staying, and fifty thousand more when the divorce papers are signed.”

  I had been wondering if he had forgotten about that. I was also wondering if he figured that later, remembering that he had told me Thursday night to get next to Jim Eber, I would regard that as evidence that he hadn’t been aware that Eber was no longer approachable.

  I reminded him that it takes two to make a deal and that I hadn’t accepted his offer, but he waved that away as not worth discussing. His suggestion that I cultivate Eber made it relevant for me to ask questions about him, and I did so, but while some of the answers I got might have been helpful for getting to know him better, none of them shed any light on the most important fact about him, that he was dead. He had been with Jarrell five years, was unmarried, was a Presbyterian but didn’t work at it, played golf on Sunday, was fair to good at bridge, and so on. I also collected some data on Corey Brigham.

  When Jarrell finished with me and I went, leaving him at his desk, I stood outside for a moment, on the rug that walked like a man, or a woman, debating whether to go and join the pinochle players, to observe them from the new angle I now had on the whole bunch, or to go for a walk and call Wolfe to tell him what Jarrell’s instructions had been. It was a draw, so I decided to do neither and went upstairs to bed.

  I slept all right, I always sleep, but woke up at seven o’clock. I turned over and shut my eyes again, but nothing doing. I was awake. It was a damn nuisance. I would have liked to get up and dress and go down to the studio and hear the eight o’clock news. It had been exactly ten-thirty when I had phoned headquarters to tell them, in falsetto, that they had better take a look at a certain apartment at a certain number on 49th Street, and by now the news would be out and I wanted to hear it. But on Tuesday I had appeared for breakfast at 9:25, on Wednesday at 10:15, and on Thursday at 9:20, and if I shattered precedent by showing before eight,
making for the radio, and announcing what I had heard to anyone available-and it would be remarkable not to announce it-someone might have wondered how come. So when my eyes wouldn’t stay closed no matter which side I tried, I lay on my back and let them stay open, hoping they liked the ceiling. They didn’t. They kept turning-up, down, right, left. I got the impression that they were trying to turn clear over to see inside. When I found myself wondering what would happen if they actually made it I decided that had gone far enough, kicked the sheet off, and got up.

  I took my time in the shower, and shaving, and putting cuff links in a clean shirt, and other details; and history repeated itself. I was pulling on my pants, getting the second leg through, when there was a knock at the door, and nothing timid about it. I called out, “Who is it?”, and for reply the door opened, and Jarrell walked in.

  I spoke. “Good morning. Come some time when I’ve got my shoes on.”

  He had closed the door. “This can’t wait. Jim Eber is dead. They found his body in his apartment. Murdered. Shot.”

  I stared, not overdoing it. “For God’s sake. When?”

  “I got it on the radio-the eight o’clock news. They found him last night. He was shot in the head, in the back. That’s all it said. It didn’t mention that he worked for me.” He went to a chair, the big one by the window, and sat. “I want to discuss it with you.”

  I had put my shoes and clean socks by that chair, intending to sit there to put them on. Going to get them, taking another chair, pulling my pants leg up, and starting a sock on, I said, “If they don’t already know he worked for you they soon will, you realize that.”

  “Certainly I realize it. They may phone, or come, any minute. That’s what I want to discuss.”

  I picked up the other sock. “All right, discuss. Shoot.”

  “You know what a murder investigation is like, Goodwin. You know that better than I do.”

  “Yeah. It’s no fun.”

  “It certainly isn’t. Of course they may already have a line on somebody, they may even have the man that did it, there was nothing on the radio about that. But if they haven’t, and if they don’t get him soon, you know what it will be like. They’ll dig everywhere as deep as they can. He was with me five years, and he lived here. They’ll want to know everything about him, and it’s mostly here they’ll expect to get it.”

  I was tying a shoelace. “Yeah, they have no respect for privacy, when it’s murder.”

  He nodded. “I know they haven’t. And I know the best way to handle it is to tell them anything they want to know, within reason. If they think I’m holding out that will only make it worse, I appreciate that. One thing I want to discuss with you, they’ll ask why I fired Eber and what do I say?”

  I had my shoes on now and was on equal terms. Conferring in bare feet with a man who is properly shod may not put you at a disadvantage, but it seems to. It may be because he could step on your toes. With mine now protected, I said, “Just tell them why you fired him. That you suspected him of leaking business secrets.”

  He shook his head. “If I do that they’ll want details-what secrets he leaked and who to, all that. That would take them onto ground where I don’t want them. I would rather tell them that Eber was getting careless, he seemed to be losing interest, and I decided to let him go. No matter who else they ask, nobody could contradict that, not even Nora, except one person. You. If they ask you, you can simply say that you don’t know much about it, that you understand that I was dissatisfied with Eber but you don’t know why. Can’t you?”

  I was frowning at him. “This must have given you quite a jolt, Mr. Jarrell. You’d better snap out of it. Two of Mr. Wolfe’s oldest and dearest enemies, and mine, are Inspector Cramer and Sergeant Stebbins of Homicide. The minute they catch sight of me and learn that I’m here under another name in Eber’s job, the sparks will start flying. No matter what reason you give them for firing him they won’t believe you. They won’t believe me. They won’t believe anybody. The theory they’ll like best will be that you decided that Eber had to be shot and got me in as a technical consultant. That may be stretching it a little, but it gives you an idea.”

  “Good God.” He was stunned. “Of course.”

  “So I can’t simply say I don’t know much about it.”

  “Good God no. My mind wasn’t working.” He leaned forward at me. “Look, Goodwin. The other thing I was going to ask, I was going to ask you to say nothing about what happened Wednesday-about my gun being taken. I’m not afraid that gun was used to shoot Eber, that’s not it, it may not have been that caliber, but when they come here on a murder investigation you know how it will be if they find out that my gun was stolen just the day before. And if it was that caliber it will be a hundred times worse. So I was going to ask you not to mention it. Nobody else knows about it. Horland’s man doesn’t. He left before I found it was gone.”

  “I told you I told Mr. Wolfe.”

  “They don’t have to get to Wolfe.”

  “Maybe they don’t have to but they will, as soon as they see me. I’ll tell you, Mr. Jarrell, it seems to me you’re still jolted. You’re not thinking straight. The way you feel about your daughter-in-law, this may be right in your lap. You want to sink her so bad you can taste it. You hired Mr. Wolfe and gave him ten thousand dollars for a retainer, and then offered me another sixty thousand. If you tell Inspector Cramer all about it-only Cramer, not Stebbins or Rowcliff or any of his gang, and not some squirt of an assistant district attorney-and tell him about the gun, and he starts digging at it and comes up with proof that Susan shot Eber, what better could you ask? You said you knew Susan took the gun, and if so she wanted to use it on someone, and why not Eber? And if you’re afraid Cramer might botch it, keep Mr. Wolfe on the job. He loves to see to it that Cramer doesn’t botch something.”

  “No,” he said positively.

  “Why not? You’ll soon know if Eber was shot with a thirty-eight. I can find out about that for you within an hour, as soon as I get some breakfast. Why not?”

  “I won’t have them-I won’t do it. No. You know damn well I won’t. I won’t tell the police about my personal affairs and have them spread all over. I don’t want you or Wolfe telling them, either. I see now that my idea wouldn’t work, that if they find out you’re here in Eber’s place there’ll be hell to pay. So they won’t find out. You won’t be here, and you’d better leave right now because they might come any minute. If they want to know where my new secretary is I’ll take care of that. He has only been here four days and knew nothing about Eber. You’d better leave now.”

  “And go where?”

  “Where you belong, damn it!” He gestured, a hand out. “You’ll have to make allowances for me, Goodwin. I’ve had a jolt, certainly I have. If you’re not here and if I account for the absence of my new secretary, they’ll never get to you or Wolfe either. Tell Wolfe I’m still his client and I’ll get in touch with him. He said he was discreet. Tell him there’s no limit to what his discretion may be worth to me.”

  He left the chair. “As for you, no limit with you too. I’m a tough operator, but I pay for what I get. Go on, get your necktie on. Leave your stuff here, that won’t matter, you can get it later. We understand each other, don’t we?”

  “If we don’t we will.”

  “I like you, Goodwin. Get going.”

  I moved. He stood and watched me while I got my tie and jacket on, gathered a few items and put them in the small bag, and closed the bag. When I glanced back as I turned the corner at the end of the hall, he was standing in front of the door of my room. I was disappointed not to see Steck in the corridor or reception hall; he must have had morning duties somewhere. Outside, I crossed the avenue, flagged a taxi headed downtown, and at a quarter past nine was mounting the stoop of the old brownstone. Wolfe would be up in the plant rooms for his morning session, from nine to eleven, with the orchids.

  The chain bolt was on, so I had to ring, and it was Orrie Cather who opened up.
He extended a hand. “Take your bag, sir?”

  I let him take it, strode down the hall to the kitchen, and pushed the door.

  Fritz, at the sink, turned. “Archie! A pleasure! You’re back?”

  “I’m back for breakfast, anyhow. My God, I’m empty! No orange juice even. One dozen pancakes, please.”

  I did eat seven.

  Chapter 7

  I WAS IN THE OFFICE, refreshed and refueled, in time to get the ten o’clock news. It didn’t add much to what Jarrell had heard two hours earlier, and nothing that I didn’t already know.

  Orrie, at ease on the couch, inquired, “Did it help any? I’m ignorant, so I have to ask. What’s hot, the budget?”

  “Yeah, I’m underwriting it. I’m also writing a book on criminology and researching it. Excuse me, I’m busy.”

  I dialed a number I didn’t have to look up, the Gazette, asked for Lon Cohen’s extension, and in a minute had him.

  “Lon? Archie. I’m col-”

  “I’m busy.”

  “So am I. I’m collecting data for a book. What did you shoot James L. Eber with, an arquebus?”

  “No, my arquebus is in hock. I used a flintlock. What is it to you?”

  “I’m just curious. If you’ll satisfy my curiosity I’ll satisfy yours someday. Have they found the bullet?”

  Lon is a fine guy and a good poker player, but he has the occupational disease of all journalists: before he’ll answer a question he has to ask one. So he did. “Has Wolfe got a thumb in it already?”

  “Not a thumb, a foot. No, he hasn’t, not for the record. If and when, you first as usual. Have they found the bullet?”

  “Yes. It just came in. A thirty-eight, that’s all so far. Who is Wolfe’s client?”