Death of A Doxy Page 3

  "Yes."

  "Then I say no. He didn't."

  Wolfe didn't even frown at him. Such a contribution from me would have got what I deserved, but he knows how Fred's mind works, and he had asked for it. He merely said, "That is hardly decisive," and turned his head. "Saul?"

  "No," Saul said. "To put it the way Archie would, one will get you twenty that he didn't kill her."

  "Indeed." Wolfe was surprised. "An opinion, or a gesture?"

  "Call it a conclusion. Make it fifty to one. I'm not saying I'm superior to Archie. Since he knows everything I know, you may wonder why he didn't settle it, but that's obvious. He couldn't see it because he's involved personally. He's not conceited enough."

  "Pfui. This is flummery."

  "No, sir. I'll spell it out. First, say Orrie planned it. When he was with Archie, Friday evening, he intended to go there in the morning and kill her, and when Archie went in the afternoon, with gloves and keys, he would either find the body or, if someone had beat him to it, he would find police cars outside and a flock of cops inside. That's absolutely impossible. I don't know if you know it, but Orrie regards Archie as the smartest and quickest performer around. There's not the slightest chance that he would deliberately arrange to sit facing him and frame that kind of a deal. Anyway, why? If he was going to kill her, why such a flimflam with Archie?"

  "All right, cross it off," I said. "I already had. Friday evening he wasn't even intending to see her, let alone kill her. But what if he decided to go, no matter why, Saturday morning? And she stung him."

  Saul nodded. "And he killed her. Okay. Whether he stays to frisk the place for the objects he wants, or he doesn't, he goes back to his tailing job. He has a tough decision to make, whether to ring you and tell you not to go, with some kind of a reason. I admit he might not be able to cook up a good enough reason and he might decide it was too risky, it would be better to let you go. But now here's the point, the big point. You know him, and so do I. We know exactly how his mind works. You heard me ask Mr. Wolfe if there were any phone calls for you yesterday afternoon between four-thirty and six-thirty, and he said no. That's what settles it."

  "Good. Wonderful."

  "It's perfectly simple. You didn't see it because you were personally involved. Here's Orrie on his tailing job with the murder behind him. He decides not to call you off. He knows that when you go there and find the body you'll wonder about him. He knows that you think he'll be holding his breath, waiting to hear what objects you found and got. He knows that if he hadn't gone there and killed her, if she was still alive as far as he knew, he would be damned anxious to learn how you had made out, say from five-thirty on, and he would have called you. Therefore he would call you. But he didn't. That's the point."

  "Back up," I said. "You can't have it both ways. If he didn't kill her, why didn't he call?"

  "He would have, probably soon after he got home, but you rang him first. If he had killed her he wouldn't have waited until he got home. As you know, his worst fault is that he pushes. He knew that the natural thing would be for him to call, and, pushing it, if he had killed her, he would probably have called around five o'clock. Certainly by five-thirty. Damn it, he's not some stranger we can only guess about; we know him like a book."

  He turned to Wolfe. "Since you and Archie are passing and Fred is yes and no, my vote tips it. If you buy that and take it on, and want to use me, it will be on me, including expenses. I have no more affection for Orrie than you have, but of course I would want to back up my vote."

  "Me too," Fred blurted. "I voted no."

  That was quite an offer. Saul, who asks ten dollars an hour and gets it, could afford it, but Fred doesn't rate that high and he has a wife and four children.

  Wolfe's eyes came to me, and I met them. "The trouble is," I said, "I'm personally involved. It depends partly on how smart and quick Orrie thinks I am, and that cramps me. But it also depends on how smart I think Saul is, and I would hate to embarrass him either way. I'll switch and vote no, but I'm not giving any twenty to one."

  He drew in a bushel of air through his nose, held it three seconds, and let it out through his open mouth. He screwed his head around to look at the wall clock, curled his fingers over the ends of the chair arms, and said, "Grrrhhhh." It was hard to take. A month of the new year had passed with no new business, and he was going to have to work for nothing.

  He looked at Saul. "When can you start?"

  "Now," Saul said.

  "You, Fred?"

  "Tuesday," Fred said. "I'm on a little job, but I can clean it up tomorrow."

  Wolfe grunted. "You know the situation. We have nothing. We have never had less. We don't even know what objects the police found, if any, involving Orrie. On that Mr. Parker may help. Archie. Are they infesting that neighborhood?"

  "Certainly. Of course they're concentrating on Orrie, trying to find someone who saw him yesterday morning. For a case, they need to get him there."

  He turned to Saul. "We'll have to begin with banality. Who are the other tenants of the building? Who was seen entering or leaving yesterday morning? Did anyone see Archie enter or leave yesterday afternoon? That might become an issue. You will start on that tomorrow, and Fred will join you on Tuesday, but you will call twice a day to ask if something better has been suggested." He turned to me. "You will see someone. Who?"

  I took five seconds. "Jill Hardy, if she's available. She may be in Rome. Or Tokyo."

  "In that case, the sister? Mrs. Fleming?"

  "Maybe, but I like Jill Hardy better. Do you want her?"

  He made a face. "Only if you think I must." He pushed his chair back and pried himself up. "Confound it, I'm going to bed. I appreciate your offer, Saul, and yours, Fred, but this undertaking is mine. Your usual rates and, of course, expenses. Good night."

  He headed for the door.

  Chapter 4

  As I sat in the kitchen at ten minutes past eight Monday morning, having brioches, grilled ham, and grape thyme jelly, my mind was hopping around.

  First, why was Fritz so damn stubborn about the jelly? Why wouldn't he try it, just once, with half as much sugar and twice as much sauterne? I had been at him for years.

  Second, why were journalists so damn lazy? If the Times felt it had to decorate the follow-up on the murder with a picture, surely they could have scared up one of Orrie, but they had the nerve to run that eight-year-old shot of Nero Wolfe. He ought to sue them for invasion of privacy. He hadn't been pinched. As far as they knew he wasn't in it at all. Of course it might not be laziness; maybe they were still sore about a letter he had once written the food editor.

  Third, should I buzz him, or go up, before leaving? Fritz had had no word for me when he came down from taking up his breakfast tray, so apparently I was to proceed as instructed, but it wouldn't hurt to check.

  Fourth, where was Jill Hardy? Orrie had told me she was with Pan Am, but it would take more than a phone call to get her address out of them. I had tried the phone books of all five boroughs last night; no Jill Hardy. Parker could get it when he saw Orrie, but that would mean waiting. I would be ready to go when I finished the second cup of coffee, and the sooner I –

  The phone rang. Fritz started to come; he agrees with Wolfe that nothing and no one should be allowed to interrupt a meal; but I reached and got it. "Nero Wolfe's office, Archie Goodwin speaking."

  "Oh! I – This is Archie Goodwin?"

  "Right."

  "The Archie Goodwin who works for Nero Wolfe?"

  "I must be, since you called Nero Wolfe's number."

  "Of course. My name is Jill Hardy. You probably – you may have heard it." Her voice was what Lily Rowan calls mezzotinto, good and full but with sharp edges.

  "Yes, I believe I have."

  "From Orrie Cather."

  "Right."

  "Then you know who I am. I'm calling – I have just seen the morning paper. Is it true about Orrie? He has been arrested?"

  "You can call it that, yes. He is
being held as a material witness. That means that the police think he knows things he hasn't told them, and they want him to."

  "About a murder?"

  "Apparently."

  "They must be crazy!"

  "That's quite possible. Are you at home, Miss Hardy?"

  "Yes, at my apartment. Do you know –"

  "Hold it, please. Since you say you just saw it in the paper, I assume the police haven't paid you a call yet. But they will. At least, they may. I need to ask a question. I sort of gathered from things Orrie said that you and he are planning to get married. I might have misunderstood…"

  "You didn't. We're going to be married in May."

  "Is it known? Have you told people?"

  "I have told a few people – friends. I'm going to go on working for a while, and an airline stewardess is not allowed –"

  "I know. But if Orrie has told his friends, and he told me, you'll have callers before long. If you want to have –"

  "I want to know why he was arrested! I want to know – was he working for Nero Wolfe?"

  "No. He hasn't been on a job for Mr. Wolfe for more than two months. If you –"

  "Why should I have callers?"

  "I'd rather not tell you on the phone. It's complicated. If you want to know about it before the police come to ask questions, why don't you come and ask me questions? Nero Wolfe's office, Nine-thirty-eight West Thirty-fifth Street. I'll be –"

  "I can't. I'm due for a Rio flight at ten-thirty."

  "Then I'll come and pick you up and we can talk on the way to the airport. I'm a good driver. What's the address?"

  "I don't think –" Silence. "What if Orrie –" More silence. "I'll see." She hung up.

  I had room for another brioche and slice of ham, and I didn't dawdle. It might take her only a couple of minutes. When Fritz brought coffee I told him that when you wanted to see someone and didn't know where she was all you had to do was send out waves, and he asked if we had a client.

  "Yes and no," I said. "A job for someone, yes. A customer who can be properly billed, no. You heard me mention Orrie's name, so you might as well know that he's in a hole and we're going to pull him out. How do you say in French 'the brotherhood of man'?"

  "There is no such thing in French. So that's what your personal errand was Saturday. I'm glad it's Orrie instead of Saul or Fred, but all the same –"

  The phone rang. I got it. "Nero Wolfe's office –"

  "Jill Hardy again, Mr. Goodwin. I've fixed it. I'll be there in about an hour."

  "Good for you. Do you mind giving me your address and phone number? Just to have."

  She didn't mind. The address was 217 Nutmeg Street, in the Village. When I had finished the coffee and went to the office, I wrote it on a slip of paper, and the phone number, and considered a problem: should it go in Orrie's folder? Deciding against it, I got out a new folder and marked it Cather, Orrie, client. In ten minutes Wolfe would be taking the elevator for his morning session, nine to eleven, with the orchids, and I buzzed his room on the house phone. He took his time to answer.

  "Yes?"

  "Good morning. I thought you would want to know that it's possible that Jill Hardy will still be here when you come down. She'll arrive in about an hour, probably less."

  "You have already found her?"

  "Oh, sure. It's easy when you know how."

  "Swagger," he said, and hung up.

  As I dusted desks and chairs, removed yesterday's sheets from the desk calendars, changed the water in the vase on Wolfe's desk, and opened the mail, I decided that Jill Hardy would be tall and stiff with quick, sharp eyes, the sergeant type, but the corners of her eyes would slant up a little because some Oriental had got mixed in somewhere along the line. It would have taken something unusual like that to hook Orrie so hard, but there was another reason why she had to be like that. Since we had ruled Orrie out, the sooner we found a replacement for him the better, and of course Jill Hardy was a candidate, and it would simplify it if she looked the part.

  Damn it, she didn't. When the doorbell rang a little after nine-thirty and I went to the hall and to the front door, what I saw through the one-way glass was a size twelve black leather coat with a fur collar, and a little oval face, pink from the cold, with big gray-blue eyes, under a fur-and-leather pancake. When I had opened up and she was inside and the coat was off, she looked even smaller in the well-fitted dark blue suit. She must have just barely hit the minimum height for her job. In the office, I had one of the yellow chairs in place for her. The red leather chair is too far away from my desk.

  "I've calmed down a little," she said as she sat. "You look a little like Orrie. The same size."

  That didn't strike me as an ideal opening for a friendly conversation. I do not look like Orrie. He's handsome and I'm not. My face needs more nose, but I quit worrying about it when I was twelve. I turned the other cheek. "I'm not surprised," I said, "that Orrie decided to merge. Seeing you. I'll congratulate him again when I see him."

  She ignored the oil. "When will you see him?"

  "I'm not sure. Possibly this afternoon."

  "I want to see him, but I don't know how. What do I do?"

  "I wouldn't try to rush it if I were you. He might get bailed out. He has a good lawyer. When did you see him last?"

  "Why did they arrest him?" she demanded. "What could he know about a murder? You say he wasn't working for Nero Wolfe?"

  "Yes. He wasn't. I don't know, Miss Hardy, if I can tell you much of anything you don't already know, since you've read the paper. I suppose that woman, Isabel Kerr, was involved in some case he was working on, but that's just a guess. Another guess is that he was in her apartment recently, and they found his fingerprints there, and that's why they've got him. You probably know that private detectives sometimes get into a place and make a search, but if it had been that, Orrie wouldn't have left any prints because he would have had gloves on. Of course he might not have been there on business, it might have been just – social. Do you know if he knew Miss Kerr?"

  "No." She was frowning.

  "He has never mentioned her name?"

  "No."

  "When did you see him last?"

  She was tops at ignoring questions. She was still frowning. "You said you'd rather not tell me on the phone why I would have callers, but you're not telling me anything, it seems to me. You're Orrie's close friend, but you don't seem to know much. Why would I have callers? You mean the police?"

  I decided I wasn't going to get anywhere walking on eggs. "I don't want to jolt you," I said, "but I think you ought to know the situation."

  "So do I. That's exactly what I think."

  "Fine. When a man is arrested he has a right to call a lawyer. Orrie called Nathaniel Parker, and Parker went and saw him, and then he came here and talked with Mr. Wolfe and me. Orrie knew he was going to. They don't hold a man without bail merely because they think he knows things. They're holding him because they think he killed Isabel Kerr. They don't just think he knows something about a murder, they think he did it."

  Her eyes were wide, staring. "I don't believe it."

  "If you don't believe he did it, neither do I. If you don't believe they think he did, ask them. Or his lawyer. Because Mr. Wolfe doesn't think he did, he intends to do something about it, like for instance finding out who did. I haven't answered your question, why you should expect callers. Because as soon as the cops find out that Orrie is going to marry you, which won't take them long, they will want to ask you things. Like what I asked, do you know if he knew Isabel Kerr, and like what you haven't answered, when did you see him last? I only asked it twice, but they'll bear down. They'll also want to know where and how you spent Saturday morning; that's the kind of minds they have. They will wonder if you were there with him, and maybe even held her while he got the ashtray. It's also the kind of mind I have. Since I think he didn't kill her I have to consider who did, and it might have been you. Where were you Saturday morning?"

  Her jaw was
working. "I thought you were a friend of Orrie's," she said. "You wouldn't talk like that if he was here."

  "Yes, I would, and he would understand. He wouldn't like it, but he would understand." I leaned to her, elbows on knees. "Listen, Miss Hardy. I like your looks and I like your voice. You have very nice hands. You say you had never heard of Isabel Kerr, and I have no evidence that you had, so apparently you're out, but I would really appreciate it if you would tell me when you saw Orrie last and where you were Saturday morning."

  "Why do they think he killed her?" she demanded. "Why would he kill her?"

  "I don't know. I may have an idea later, possibly this afternoon if I see him, from the questions they have asked him. They probably think they have some line on motive, but not necessarily."

  "How could he have a motive?"

  "You'll have to ask them, not me, because I think they're off. It's supposed to be possible to convict a man of murder without proving motive, but juries don't like the idea."

  "Juries? You mean they will – there'll be a trial?"

  "I sincerely hope not."

  Her eyes were fastened on me. "I believe you really mean that."

  "I really do."

  "Saturday morning I was at home in bed, until after noon. I had been on a flight from Caracas that was due at midnight, but we weren't down until after two o'clock. I saw Orrie that evening. I had dinner with him at a restaurant. I have to answer so many questions in the air that when I'm on the ground I don't listen to them." She pulled her feet back, stood up, and took a step. "Get up and put your arms around me."

  It was an order, and I obeyed. She didn't lift her arms so we could lock, but when I had her enclosed she gripped my jacket with both hands near my backbone and hid her face on my chest. The dark blue suit felt like wool, but nowadays you never know. I didn't squeeze, just held her nice and firm, trying to decide whether she knew she was in trouble and wanted to enlist me, or she was getting started on me in case Orrie got permanently eliminated, or it was just a habit she had. She hadn't used any perfume, or very little, and she smelled fine. There's no telling how long it would have lasted if it hadn't been for the doorbell. It rang.