“You can do better than that,” I said, easing forward and leaning on my knees. “One man is dead, another has been charged with his murder, and your roommate is devastated. This is no time for getting coy. I know this is sensitive stuff, but to use a cliché, a life may be on the line. Now, tell me about you and Sparky Linville.”
She did, and it wasn’t at all pretty. She deserves more than a modicum of privacy, however, so I will only report that her own unpleasant experience with Linville—also on their final date—was not unlike Noreen’s. Tears came early on in her narrative, and by the end she was sobbing into the handkerchief I had passed to her.
“Miss Mars, I promise you none of this will ever get beyond Mr. Wolfe and me unless it is absolutely vital to establish an individual’s innocence or guilt. But I must ask one more tough question: Given your own experience with Linville, how could you let Noreen James go out with him?”
She moaned and sniffled into the handkerchief before raising a tearstained face. “Oh, God, that’s the worst part of all. I couldn’t bear to tell anybody what happened to me—not my parents, not Noreen, not even my shrink. And I’m a better actor than Noreen is; I kept it hidden. Also, one thing I didn’t mention: Sparky had gotten interested in Noreen before … before what happened to me. He even asked me—this was before our last date, if you want to call it that—he asked me if I minded his calling her.”
“And?”
“And I told him no, I didn’t mind, which was true. I was never serious about Sparky, I just like to have a good time, and he knew how to have a good time. I mean, you know, not like what—”
“Yes, I know what you mean,” I said solemnly. “So it was after your episode with him that he asked Noreen to go out?”
“Yes!” she spat it angrily, dabbing at her eyes. “After Noreen told me he’d called her, she wanted to know if I had any objections, and I was flabbergasted. I stuttered around and at least said one true thing—that I wasn’t interested in Sparky. I was so damn stupid. I wish I’d said more to her. Anyway, when Noreen wasn’t around, I phoned Sparky and told him to stay the hell away from her. I said if he didn’t, I was going to tell her what happened to me.”
“His reaction?”
“He said nothing happened to me that I didn’t want to have happen. And then he laughed—he laughed. He told me that I’d never say anything about it to anybody because that would make me look bad, and he said that not looking bad was more important to me than anything else. And dammit, maybe he was right. Mr. Goodwin, I hated him for what he did to me, I hated him for what he did to Noreen, and I hated myself most of all for not warning her about him.” Her tears had turned to rage. “God, I’m such a coward.”
“Easy,” I said, putting a hand on her arm. “How close are you and Noreen?”
“We went to college together and we’ve been roommates here for two years. But even with all that, we don’t talk much about, well … the really personal stuff, if you know what I mean.”
That confirmed what Noreen had told me. “I do. What do you think occurred between Noreen and Linville?”
She wrung my damp handkerchief nervously. “Huh. That’s obvious. She never told me, but she didn’t have to. I could tell from the way she acted. And even knowing that, I didn’t try to comfort her. Some friend I am, all the way around!”
“So here you were, two roommates with apparently identical experiences, and nobody said a thing—to each other or to anyone else?”
Polly nodded soberly. I wondered how many others, like her and Noreen, were locked in self-imposed prisons of silence because of similar horrors. Far more than those who spoke out against their attackers, I supposed. “Miss Mars,” I said gently, “I’m sure you know Michael James. What is your opinion about his arrest?”
“How do you mean?”
“Do you think he killed Linville?”
She twitched her shoulders twice, then raised her dewy eyes. I’d buy toothpaste from her any day. “I don’t know Michael terribly well—oh, I’ve met him a few times, although we never talked a lot to each other. But, yeah, I guess it wouldn’t surprise me at all that he did it.”
“Any particular reason for saying that?”
“Mr. Goodwin, I’ve got an older brother too—his name is Chris—and if he ever found out what had happened to me, like Michael must have found out with Noreen, I honestly think he would have gone berserk and killed Sparky, too.”
“Miss Mars,” I said, watching her face carefully, “where were you on Wednesday night?”
“Wednesday night? Let’s see, I was … Wait a minute, why do you want to know?” She recoiled, realizing where I was coming from.
“Why wouldn’t I want to know?”
“So you think I’m the one who …” She let it trail off, looking at me reproachfully.
“I didn’t say that, but in fact, you must admit you had a reason for intensely disliking Linville.”
“And now you know that reason.”
“You still haven’t answered the question,” I said.
She readjusted the towel with a hand, letting it come to rest on her right cheek, then punched up her reproachful look, obviously hoping I would say something to make her feel better or else let her off the hook. I kept my mouth shut and my face expressionless and waited.
“Wednesday night,” she repeated dully. “I was … I had a late photo assignment, in a studio on East Fifty-second.”
“How late?”
“Until … about seven-thirty.”
“Then what?”
“I had dinner at a little Italian place on Sixth Avenue up near the park.”
“Alone?”
“Yes,” she said. “I got out of there about nine and took a cab back here.”
“Again, alone?”
“Yes. Nobody was here. Noreen was staying at her mother’s place, but you probably know that.”
“And the rest of the evening?”
“I stayed home, watched a little TV, did some ironing, went to bed around eleven. I guess I don’t have an alibi, do I, for when Sparky got killed?” she said in what she tried to make a defiant tone.
“I guess not.”
“Except that Michael James already has confessed,” she went on, not sounding the least bit satisfied about it. “Mr. Goodwin, it’s hard to blame him for what he did. I just hope that he doesn’t have to pay for this in any way. Now, that would really be a crime. As far as I’m concerned, Michael James is a real hero. If it were up to me, I’d give him a medal.”
FOURTEEN
POLLY MARS WAS STILL ON her soapbox trumpeting Michael James as the Great American Avenger when I left her apartment. I did stay around long enough to see her pull herself together, helped by a shot of brandy I poured from an unopened bottle she and Noreen kept in a kitchen cabinet, and I reassured her that her story would go no further than the brownstone unless absolutely necessary. “Do whatever it takes to help Michael,” were her parting words as I left and descended the dark hallways to the street, where light rain was now falling. Miraculously, I landed a cab in less than a half-minute, which meant I got home in plenty of time to clean up, take a twenty-minute catnap, and put on a fresh shirt before sitting down to a dinner of capon Souvaroff.
Fritz’s capon was so good that it almost made me forget we had a nine-o’clock business engagement. It came back to me when Wolfe and I were in the office with coffee, though, and he asked for a fill-in on my visit with Polly. I gave him the usual verbatim of the conversation as he leaned back, eyes closed and fingers interlaced over his middle mound. After I finished he made no comment, but did ring for beer.
It was ten after nine when the front doorbell rang. Peering out through the one-way glass, I saw a frowning Noreen James standing in the rain on the stoop with a dark-haired, square-shouldered, square-jawed young man I took to be her brother. He had what I would label a pleasant, honest face, but at least at that moment it totally lacked animation. “Come in,” I said in my best host’s voice, pu
lling the door toward me and stepping aside.
“Mr. Goodwin—I mean Archie, I’m sorry we’re late; we had a horrific time getting a cab, what with the rain and all,” Noreen said, shaking her umbrella. “This is my brother, Michael.” She smiled weakly while I hung up his raincoat and offered him a paw, which was returned firmly but without enthusiasm or words. Michael wore gray slacks, a white open-collared sport shirt, and a light blue sport coat, and he looked like he’d rather be just about anyplace but where he was.
“I know I’m not even supposed to be here,” Noreen half-whispered in the front hall, her eyes jumping from Michael to me and back again like she was watching a tennis match. “Where do you want me to go?”
“Come into the office first, then we’ll get you settled in the front room,” I told her with a smile, steering both of them toward a meeting with Wolfe. He gave us a bland expression as we walked in, setting his book down and leaning back. I introduced Michael, directing him to the red leather chair, then escorted Noreen to the front room, where, I told her, Fritz would soon arrive to look after her refreshment needs. I then made with a quick detour to the kitchen to tell Fritz our female guest warranted a visit.
I got back to the office just as Wolfe was starting in. “Mr. James, you’re in a pickle. However—”
“Look,” Michael said, sticking out his dandy chin and running a hand through thick, curly hair, “I’m only here because my sister begged me to come, really begged me. I couldn’t believe it when I heard she had hired you. I mean, for God’s sake, I killed the …” He paused, groping for a noun, then pronounced it with relish.
“So I sit in the company of a murderer,” Wolfe intoned softly, placing an index finger on the side of his nose. “As long as you already are here, however, I would be interested, given my profession, in what impelled you to this action.”
Michael looked puzzled. “Wait a minute—Noreen told me you knew all about everything,” he blurted.
“She discussed various facets of what I choose to term her incident with Mr. Linville,” Wolfe said. “But at the moment I am interested in your own perspective on the events.”
“Huh!” Michael tugged at his belt and arranged his smooth, strong face into a sour smile. “The jerk—Linville, that is—he, well … you know what he did.”
“I know what I have been told he did. How did you learn of this?”
“I hadn’t seen Nor for a few weeks,” Michael muttered belligerently. “Then, when Mother got home from France, we had a get-together to welcome her back, and it was obvious that Nor was … well, she looked like hell. Anyway, Mother didn’t take long—that’s the way she is—to learn exactly what happened. I mean with Linville. That’s when we all found out.” Michael leaned back and turned his palms up, as though that explained everything.
“So you, being the noble sibling, exacted the ultimate vengeance?”
Michael scowled at Wolfe, lowering the brows over his dark eyes. “Listen, nobody messes with my sister without answering to me.”
“Boldly said, sir. Did you inform anyone outside of the family circle of what had happened to your sister?”
“Well, in a way,” he answered tentatively, allowing his eyes to move around the room.
“Oh?”
“The next day, I sort of mentioned something about it to Doug Rojek—he’s a guy I know down on Wall Street, maybe Nor told you about him. They’ve gone out a fair amount the last few months.”
“How did you ‘sort of mention’ something to him?” Wolfe asked.
Michael slouched in the chair. “Well, I had lunch with him in Battery Park—a couple of times a week we get a soda and a hot dog and eat them on a bench. Anyway, I guess it just sort of came out when we talked. I was still really hot about it and … hell, I know I shouldn’t have said anything to him, but I did. For God’s sake, please don’t tell Nor.”
“How did Mr. Rojek react to this revelation?” Wolfe probed, ignoring the entreaty.
“He got, well, real quiet, didn’t say anything for the rest of the lunch. I started to wish I hadn’t opened my big mouth. I guess it really depressed him.”
“Did you share with him any plans you had regarding Mr. Linville?”
“God, no, Doug didn’t have anything to do with what happened,” Michael said tensely. “This was my thing, and why in the hell my mother and father want to spend a fortune on a lawyer for me is more than I can figure. Same with Nor wanting to spend another fortune getting you to try to—”
Wolfe cut him off sharply. “Exactly when did you plot Mr. Linville’s demise?” he snapped.
“I guess from the minute I heard what he did to Nor. Although at first, I didn’t plan to kill him, just rough him up good, mess up that smirky face, you know?”
“When did assault turn to murder in your mind?” Wolfe asked.
He shrugged. “I dunno. I suppose when I followed him and that damn Porsche of his into the garage and spotted the tire iron on the floor.”
“You were stalking him at the time?”
“If you want to call it that. I had gone around to a few bars and places where he hung around.”
“Had you met him before?”
“No—although I’d seen him in Orion three or four times. He was hard to miss. He was always the loudest guy anyplace he went.”
Wolfe paused to sip his beer, then asked Michael if he wanted anything to drink. The answer was a shake of the head.
“Did you know before this week that Mr. Linville had had social engagements with your sister?”
“Dammit, no! If I had, I would have stopped it right then,” he growled, making a fist and shaking it at a nonexistent target.
“Oh?” Wolfe raised his eyebrows. “Is Miss James accustomed to having you dictate to her in that manner?”
Older brother sat upright and gave Wolfe another one of his low-eyebrow looks, then turned toward me. He got only my blandest expression. He swung back toward Wolfe, tight-lipped. “Okay, maybe she would have listened to me, maybe she wouldn’t. But at least I’d have had my say about that … jerk.” I knew he had any one of several stronger words in mind, but he settled for a tame one.
“Mr. James,” Wolfe said with a sigh, “what did you say to Mr. Linville before you dispatched him?”
“God, you know, I’ve been through all this with the cops, Cramer, and the others.”
“I appreciate that, sir. But I ask your indulgence. The police are not accustomed to sharing their information with Mr. Goodwin and me.”
“Okay,” Michael said, kneading his hands. “I saw Linville drive into the garage where he parks and—”
“Excuse me, but I’m curious as to how far that garage is from Mr. Linville’s building.”
“How far? Hell, it’s about three, maybe four doors west,” Michael snapped irritably.
“Had you known that was where he kept his automobile?”
“I … No, I didn’t. Why?”
“Then how did you happen to be there when he arrived?” Wolfe asked.
“It was … just good timing.”
“Or bad timing,” Wolfe remarked dryly, eyes on the ceiling. “So you followed him into the garage on foot?”
“You got it,” Michael said. “And it looks like I’m going to have a lot of time to think about what I did once I got in there, doesn’t it?”
“Indeed. Tell me again, please, about the tire iron.”
“What’s to tell? It was on the floor, just inside the big door, which Linville had unlocked before he drove in. The door was still up when I walked in behind him, and I just spotted it among a pile of tools.”
“What other tools were there?”
Michael’s forehead wrinkled. “It was dark, but I think a jack, some wrenches, and at least one of those four-sided things to take lugs off a tire, and … well, that’s all I noticed.”
“Understandable,” Wolfe said. “After all, as you say, it was dark. And now, a hypothetical question, if you don’t mind: Let us assume for a
moment that there had been no tools piled inside the door, no tire iron. How do you think you would have proceeded against Mr. Linville in that situation?”
“I probably would have popped him a few times, but I did some boxing in college, so even my punches might have killed him,” Michael said in a smug tone.
“But you reached for the tire iron, with specific intent to use it?”
“Damn right,” Michael shot back. “And I’m not sorry.”
“Evidently. Did you engage Mr. Linville in conversation before you delivered the coup de grace?”
“As he was getting out of the car, I hollered to him—I called his name. He looked at me, sort of puzzled. I mean, he’d never met me before, although I’d seen him a couple times around town, like in Orion. Anyway, I walked up to him and said my name. It didn’t register, so then I told him I was Nor’s brother, and he gave me a funny smile, like he was all of a sudden figuring things out.”
“Did he appear to be intoxicated?” Wolfe asked.
“Hard to tell. Maybe. Anyway, he started to laugh, and that’s when I lost it and called him a bastard and swung the tire iron. I don’t even know how many times I hit him.” His expression was impassive.
Wolfe drank beer, then set his glass down, frowning at it. “What was Mr. Linville wearing?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Michael snarled.
“Just my curiosity,” Wolfe said. “What did you do after striking him down?”
Michael fidgeted irritably. “Like I said, I’ve told all this to the cops already. I ran out the door.”
“Where did you go?”
“Home.”
“Via what route?”
“I went west on Seventy-seventh and caught a cab on Second Avenue.”
“What about the tire iron?”
“Like I told the cops, Cramer and the others, I thought I dropped it in the garage, but I honestly can’t remember. But they say they didn’t find it in the garage, so maybe I carried it with me.”
“To Second Avenue?” Wolfe asked.
“All I know is that I didn’t have it with me when I got into the damn cab. Everything is kind of hazy about that time, you know. Look, the lawyer they got for me doesn’t want me to talk to anyone, and the only reason I’m even here is because of Noreen. I know you’ve got a reputation as some kind of genius, but that’s not going to do me any good. Face it, I’m dead meat.”
The Last Coincidence (The Nero Wolfe Mysteries Book 4) Page 10
