"Thanks, Sergeant, but I can handle the press," he said as he strode away. "If I can do anything to help you and Miss Dane, give me a shout. I'll be at the stables."
With a smile as the young man walked away, Bogdanovic said, "Where did Janus find him, Maggie? He looks as if he came right from Central Casting's bronco-buster department."
"Theo actually discovered him at the Fishkill Correctional Facility. He was doing time for armed robbery and working in the prison law library, preparing appeals and writs of habeas corpus for inmates. One of them somehow found its way to Theo's desk and was so impressive that when Dave was up for parole Theo went to bat for him and offered him a job as a paralegal. Then he discovered that Dave's ability to handle horses exceeded his skills as a jailhouse lawyer. The result is a life rescued from the revolving door of crime, prison, parole, and recidivism."
"You've made your point, Maggie," Bogdanovic said as they entered the house. "I was wrong about Janus. He wasn't the tricky Philadelphia lawyer I took him to be. He was a saint."
"He was hardly that, John," she said, leading him toward the office. "He was a decent human being with a law license. And if you dare to make a crack about that being an oxymoron, I'll give you a swift kick in the ass."
Pausing in the doorway of the office and regarding the walls festooned with the artifacts and memorabilia of the career of the man who had been named in honor of the twenty-sixth president of the United States, Bogdanovic let out a low whistle and muttered, "Si monumentum requiris circumspice."
With eyes blinking in astonishment, Dane gasped, " 'If you would see the man's monument look around.' I am impressed, John!"
"By my Latin, or by Janus's monument to himself?"
She stepped into the room as softly as she might enter the tomb of a great man. "Theo did not believe in sticking memories in a drawer. He told me once that there are three things to do with a wall. Leave it empty, hang a single supreme work of art, or cover it with everything meaningful in your life."
"I don't know about walls," he said, advancing across the room, "but I do know that if you want to find what's really important in someone's life, start by looking in the desk drawers, then move on to closets."
As he sat behind the massive desk, she stood before a set of glass-front cabinets containing morocco-bound volumes, each with the name of a Theodore R. Janus case embossed in gold. "These are his collection of openings and closings I told you about."
"Fascinating, I'm sure," he said. "But ancient history."
She opened a case, withdrew a slender volume, and opened it. "Here's the appeal he filed on behalf of Victoria Davis, along with a transcript of his amazing oral argument."
In a triumphant tone Bogdanovic declared, "And here is his appointment book. If you would see the man, look up who he made dates with."
"Happiness for the detective is finding a paper trail," she replied, gently replacing the Davis volume. "What do you hope to find in his date book?"
"I'll know it when I find it."
"Pity the murdered," she said, moving from the glass-front cases to a shelf of books Janus had written. "They are allowed no secrets. Everything about them must be ferreted out and revealed. If the murderer is to be caught, you must first get to know the victim. All the secrets, the dirty linen, lovers, if he cheated on his taxes, all the human things that might point to a motive. Does it ever bother you, John?"
"Looking through a victim's effects? Not really."
"Effects. What we call effects, someone called possessions. A watch, a wallet, clothing. An appointment book."
"According to this one, he hasn't had many clients lately."
"Theo never had a lot of clients. He was highly selective and always pragmatic. His genius was not, as everyone believed, in taking on every seemingly impossible case that came his way and winning them, but in analyzing the likelihood of success before leaping in. He was never the modern Don Quixote tilting at windmills the press made him out to be. If he chose to fight, it was because he was certain he had the weapons that would give him a chance to win. He liked to say that David defeated Goliath not because David was brave, or because he appreciated he was expert with a slingshot, but because he had analyzed the vulnerability of the foreheads of giants to rocks."
"Ah! Here's Mr. Elwell," Bogdanovic said excitedly. "It's a note on his last attempt at seeing Elwell. Quote: I have no hope whatsoever of breaking case without Elwell's cooperation. Time to move on. Have informed all those concerned with it that the matter is closed. Unquote. What do you make of that, Maggie?"
"If he decided to drop the Elwell matter and he'd informed all those concerned with it, I think you have to look elsewhere for a motive."
"But how would you explain Elwell's being murdered after Janus tried to see him?"
With a shrug, she replied, "Coincidence."
"Oh, come on, Maggie," he retorted. "Elwell's being stabbed to death one day after Janus tried to talk to him was coincidence'?''1
"Elwell was killed after Theo's last attempt to visit him," she said as Bogdanovic flipped open the lid of a humidor at the right side of the desk. "It seems to me that if someone had been worried about Elwell talking to Theo, he would have been killed after Theo's first visit."
"Someone might have been afraid that Elwell might change his mind about talking to Janus," Bogdanovic said, fishing out a long black cigar from the humidor. Sniffing it, he grunted, "Strong!"
"Assuming that someone wanted to kill Elwell in order to prevent Elwell from changing his mind," she continued, "and assuming that purpose had been achieved the day after Theo's latest visit, why was it necessary to also kill Theo?"
"To keep Janus from revealing what he learned from Elwell," he answered, replacing the cigar and closing the humidor.
"But Theo had learned nothing," Dane protested.
"The killer didn't know that," he said, looking around the room. "There must be a file on Elwell somewhere in this room."
"With Elwell dead, it wouldn't matter what Theo knew," Dane said. "Without Elwell's testimony there could be no case. Theo recognized that himself. If he felt that it was time to move on, I think we should, too."
"You're probably right, but just to be certain, I'm going to get someone up here to go through Janus's files."
"If it turns out that the Elwell case was not the motive for Theo's murder," Dane said, "where does that leave us?"
"It leaves us smack dab in the middle of the dreaded Paulie Mancuso quagmire. Or have you come up with a logical explanation for the triple coincidence of Paulie's going out the window of that hotel room, a copy of Janus's autobiography on the table next to Mancuso's bed, and Janus's being found shot to death a couple of hours later?"
"I must admit it's a puzzle worthy of the pen of Rex Stout, who seems to have had a fixation on the numeral three."
"Being ignorant on the topic, I wouldn't know."
"I didn't make the connection myself until I read Theo's wonderful Nero Wolfe encyclopedia. There were six collections of short stories with the word three in the tide, one with the word triple, one with triplicate, one trio, and one trinity.''
"Well three cheers for Mr. Stout."
"You ought to have a copy of Theo's book. Yes. I shall drop by Wiggins's bookstore and get you one as a Christmas gift."
"Thank you, but I'm still trying to get through the complete adventures of Sherlock Holmes that Goldstein thrust upon me a few years ago. I find it impossible to get excited about a man who's always running around in a cape and a ridiculous hat in Victorian London, yelling, 'The game's afoot' at Dr. Watson."
"Of course you can't. You're the two-fisted New Yorker, just like Archie Goodwin."
Looking again at Janus's appointment book, Bogdanovic said, 'Janus had some visitors in the past few months. Stamos, Henry,
Pendelton." He gave a little bark of a laugh. "Speaking of people who run around in a cape, here's an odd entry. The Sunday after Janus's last trip to Watertown, he was expecting a visit f
rom our mutual friend Wiggins. He wrote, 'Send Dave in Rolls to pick up Wiggins.' That is very odd indeed."
"What's so odd about Wiggins making an excursion into the country on a Sunday?"
"What is odd about it," he said, closing the book, "is that Wiggins is notorious for hating to leave his store. Suddenly, he's making a trip into the country."
"He probably wanted to go over arrangements for the Black Orchid dinner."
"I've known Wiggins a long time. He would have done that by telephone. If Janus sent his car to bring him here, the visit was Janus's doing. He wanted to see Wiggins about something he didn't want to discuss on the phone, or by dropping in on Wiggins at his bookstore."
"It's an easy matter to clear up. Ask Wiggins."
"I intend to do just that. I'll drop in at his store first thing tomorrow."
"Oh how thoughtless of me," she exclaimed. "I ought to have called him and told him about Theo. Do you think he's found out by now?"
"If he hasn't heard it from the radio or TV, it will be all over the Monday morning papers."
"What a horrible way for him to find out. As his friend, I really should call him, John."
"I appreciate your feelings, Maggie, but I prefer that you not talk to him before I do. He could be a material witness. You are, of course, welcome to come along with me when I talk to him in the morning."
"Very well," she said dejectedly. "It is your case."
"Besides, having been delighted to have been regarded very briefly as a prime suspect in the Griffith case a few years ago, I'm certain Wiggins will be thrilled to find himself smack in the middle of this one. And while you and I are visiting with him to inquire about his singular departure from the city, Leibholz and Reiter will be sifting through the files in this office with the proverbial fine-tooth comb. As the detective's handy guide to how to solve a murder, Latin edition, says, 'Si motivum homicidum requiris circumspice fium.' Now, how about lunch? I happen to know a terrific seafood place overlooking the Hudson River in a delightfully quaint section of Newtown called the Gove."
"ON A CLEAR DAY," said Bogdanovic as a hostess seated them at a table overlooking the river, "you can see Sing Sing prison on the opposite shore."
The window next to the table reflected the warming glow of a fireplace and a sea of flickering flames of stubby candles that reminded Dane of votive tapers in a church. Through the window she saw scattered across the broad, placid surface of the gray, slowly flowing river an expanse of flat, thin shards of drift ice that looked like pieces of a giant jigsaw puzzle.
"It's a charming spot," Dane said. "How did a city boy ever find it?"
"The way all good restaurants are discovered. I was brought here by a friend."
"Am I correct in deducing that the friend was a woman?"
"You tell me the basis of that deduction, and I'll tell you whether you're right."
"It's elementary. You said a friend brought you here. Only a woman takes a man to a place as romantic as this."
"It was strictly a business lunch."
"For you, perhaps," she said, smiling. "But not for her."
"You're wrong there. The business was murder. The Griffith case. The woman was also a detective. The murder had been done in the city, but the victim's body was found in a boathouse several miles from here, so it was a matter of interjurisdictional cooperation that brought us together. Romantic ambiance had nothing to do with Arlene Flynn's bringing me here."
"Before I concede the point, I would have to question her, woman to woman. Perhaps you'll introduce me to her someday."
"You'd like her. She's the chief investigator for District Attorney Benson. And a hell of a detective. Since her outstanding work on the Griffith case, Goldstein has been trying to lure her away to work for him."
"Why hasn't he succeeded?"
"Arlene prefers living and working in Stone County the way someone else I know chooses to live and work in California, when she belongs in New York."
"Chauvinism, thy name is Bogdanovic."
A waiter in a snug white jacket appeared with menus. "Would you care to order from the bar?"
"A glass of white wine, I think," Dane replied. "A chablis, if you have it."
The waiter bowed slightly. "Of course."
Bogdanovic asked, "New York or California?"
"We have both, sir."
Grinning, Bogdanovic looked at Dane. "Your call, Maggie."
"Oh, the California," she said emphatically.
"Scotch for me," said Bogdanovic, grumpily. "Single malt. Do you have Dalwhinnie?"
"We certainly do, sir. How would you like it?"
"Neat, of course," Bogdanovic said, sharply. "It's the only acceptable way."
As the waiter withdrew, Dane laughed. "Now I appreciate how Sherlock Holmes felt when he called Watson the one fixed point in a changing universe. For Sgt. John Bogdanovic, it's single malt neat or none at all. It's New York chablis over California. And the only crimes that matter are committed in New York City."
"Not all of them," he said, frowning as he picked up a menu. 'Just most."
"Obviously, Arlene Flynn doesn't agree with you."
"That is her mistake. And probably her tragedy." "Did you two work well together on the Griffith case?"
"Why wouldn't we? If you are supposing there was a male/female problem, there wasn't. She's an excellent detective, a true professional in every way. So am I."
"I have no doubt. I'm confident that you will solve Theo's murder in short order. It will be fascinating to see how you go about doing it."
"I see the solving of a murder in terms of a room that has three doors," he said, putting down the menu. "Each door has a sign. One says Love, which is to say hate or betrayal. The second is labeled Money. And the third is Revenge. But only one door is real. The others open to a brick wall. The job of the detective is to know which of the doors will get him into that room. At the moment, in view of Janus's background and all of those who might have had a reason to hold a grudge against him, I'm concentrating on door number three." He laughed. "I sound like one of those emcees on a TV game show! 'Well, Monty, I choose door number three.' "
"Explain for me why you're so positive it's door three."
"As to the first door, nothing has turned up so far pointing to Janus's being romantically engaged. Agreed?"
"I believe I can vouch for Theo's not having been involved in a love affair."
"Murder in the name of love—the crime passionnel—is most likely to be a spur-of-the-moment event. The scene of the crime is usually in a domestic setting. An irate husband or wife bursts into the bedroom and catches the loved one in flagrante in the love nest, a gun blazing. I have difficulty picturing a jealous or jilted lover shooting Janus sitting alone in his Rolls-Royce in the heart of Manhattan. As to door two, murder for profit, you have to look for someone who stands to benefit from a will or an insurance policy. According to you, the beneficiaries of Janus's estate are charities and other entities, not someone unwilling to let time and nature run their course. This is one case in which I won't have to stake out a funeral to check out the mourners for possible suspects."
"There won't be a funeral as such," Dane said, peering out the window. "Theo didn't want one. He was not what you would call a religious man. But at some point, I presume, there may be some sort of a memorial. A strictly secular one."
"I see. One of those events where a Mark Antony in a pinstriped suit gets up not to bury Caesar, but to praise him.''
Dane turned from the window angrily. "There is a great deal to praise him for."
"His numerous virtues aside," Bogdanovic said sarcastically, "I remind you that somebody murdered Caesar."
"And you believe that that somebody was lurking behind door three with revenge in his heart."
"Revenge is a category that includes several possibilities. It might have been the need to settle a grudge or some grievance arising from something Janus did, either recently or a long time ago. On the other hand, he migh
t have been killed preemptively. He could have been eliminated to prevent him from doing something, or to stop him from continuing a case he was working on."
The waiter arrived with their drinks.
Scooping up his glass of scotch, Bogdanovic said, "A toast to murder."
Startled, the waiter wheeled round and hurried away.
"It's an interesting coincidence that you mentioned Caesar's being murdered," Dane said as Bogdanovic sipped the scotch. "In a case called 'Some Buried Caesar,' Nero Wolfe also made a journey out of New York City, reluctantly, of course. Some of the world's most renowned orchid growers were competing for the top prizes at the North American Exposition. Wolfe ended up claiming the gold medal and three ribbons."
Bogdanovic lowered his glass. "The number three again."
"Wolfe also found himself investigating three murders, one of which was that of a prizewinning bull. He was the Caesar whom some wanted to bury, by the way."
"A bull?" Bogdanovic exclaimed. He shook his head. "That's not a murder. It's a moo-der. And who did Wolfe find responsible for this Aora-icide? Was it someone like the guy who killed Jake Elwell because he had a beef with him? Or was there an udderly different motive?"
Dane groaned and rolled her eyes. "Sergeant, if Arlene Flynn was subjected to your brand of barnyard humor in the Griffith case, I can hardly fault the woman for turning down Goldstein's repeated offers of a job."
"Arlene happens to have a keen sense of humor."
"She must have," Dane said, smiling as she lifted her wineglass, "to have put up with you."
"It's not my barnyard humor that's got you riled up."
"No? Then what has?"
"You don't like me making jokes at the expense of the sacrosanct Nero Wolfe."
With eyes as icy as the river, she said, "Of whom you have admitted knowing nothing."
The waiter reappeared, smiling solicitously. "Are you ready to order? May I recommend the blackened swordfish?"
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