Рекс Стаут - A Right to Die

“Where was his home?”

“Evansville, Indiana.”

“Then he didn’t. I’m sure he didn’t. Have you any reason to think he did?”

“No. I’m obliged to you, Mr. Vaughn, for indulging me. If this leads to anything, the obligation will be canceled.”

As I cradled the receiver my eyes were narrowed at it. I was considering diphthongs. Ch? Gh? Au? Wh? Br? I’d have to look it up. Too many years had passed since the fourth grade, or maybe fifth. I was interrupted by Wolfe saying, “Get Mr. Drucker.”

Again it took me half a second to catch up; it had been ten days since I had eaten roast beef and apple pie with Otto Drucker, the distinguished citizen, in my hotel room in Racine. I got his number from the file and put in the call, and when I got him I took time for a few sociable remarks before passing him to Wolfe. He told Wolfe it was a pleasure to speak with a man whose career he had followed with interest and admiration.

Wolfe grunted. “I may forfeit the admiration by the job I’m on now. You may be able to supply some needed information. I suppose you remember your conversation with Mr. Goodwin?”

“Certainly. Susan Brooke. Are you still on that?”

“I am. I’m floundering. What can you tell me of the young man who shot himself on the porch of the Brooke house?”

“Not much. I told Goodwin all I know. I didn’t even remember his name.”

“His name was Richard Ault. Do you know if any member of his family came to Racine? Or any representative of the family?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t think so. As far as I recollect, they held the body here only a day or two and shipped it. I don’t remember that anyone came to get it. I can find out.”

“It isn’t worth the trouble. I believe Mr. Goodwin has told you to command us if at any time you need information from here.”

“He didn’t say ‘command,’ but he said you’d reciprocate and I appreciate it. I like that ‘command.’ If you need more on this let me know.”

Wolfe said he would, hung up, pushed the phone away as if he resented it, which he does, pushed his chair back, left it, walked over to the globe, twirled it, and focused on a spot near the center of the United States of America.

In a minute he demanded, not turning, “Where the devil is Evansville?”

“If you’ve got Indiana, at the bottom, on the Ohio River.”

Another ten seconds, and he turned. “How do you get there?”

“Probably the quickest would be a plane to Louisville.”

“I’d have to be back Monday morning for a little job,” Saul said.

“No, Archie will go. You’re needed here. Archie, find—”

He stopped because I had turned to the phone and started dialing.

At ten minutes past two Friday morning I sat on a wooden chair at the end of a glass-topped desk in a room with two windows, being sized up by a cop. I wasn’t exactly in the pink, after the day in New York, the plane ride to Louisville, and the three-hour drive in a rented car to Evansville, but since I now knew which diphthong it was, and I would sleep better after I got the answers to a few questions, and police headquarters is open all night, I had stopped at the hotel only long enough to sign in. I admit that as I sat I had to tell myself to keep my shoulders up.

The cop’s name was Sievers, Lieutenant Sievers, an old pro with very little hair but plenty of jaw. He gave my New York State detective license a thorough look, handed it back, and frowned at me. “Archie Goodwin,” he said. “Haven’t I seen that name somewhere?”

“I hope not on a hot dodger. You may have seen the name of the man I work for, Nero Wolfe.”

“Oh.” He nodded. “That one. Yeah. How do you stand him?”

“I’ve asked myself that question a thousand times, and damned if I can answer it.”

“Don’t expect me to. What’s your problem here?”

“Just a little information we need, about a man named Richard Ault, or I should say his family. He’s dead. He committed suicide in Racine, Wisconsin, on August fourteenth, nineteen fifty-nine.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“This was his home town, wasn’t it?”

“It was. He was born here.”

“Did you know him?”

“I knew him by sight. I don’t know if I ever spoke to him. He wasn’t the kind we have to speak to much. Why are you interested in him now?”

“We’re not, in him. A point has come up in a case we’re on that his family might know about. I’ll see them tomorrow — I mean today — but I thought it wouldn’t hurt to find out what they’re like first. How do they stand locally?”

“They don’t stand. You won’t see them tomorrow. There’s no one to see.”

“No one at all?”

“No. If you want details, Richard Ault’s father, Benjamin Ault, Junior, has a furniture factory, a big one. He inherited it from his father, Benjamin Senior. Benjamin Junior died about ten years ago. Let’s see...” He shut his eyes and lowered his head. He looked up. “That’s right, nineteen fifty-three. You don’t believe in making notes, huh? Out here we always make notes.”

“So do I when they may be needed. What about brothers or sisters?”

He shook his head. “Richard was an only.”

“There’s still Mrs. Ault. Where is she?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t know who does. There’s a lawyer who might named Littauer, H. Ernest Littauer. He handled it when she sold the factory.”

I had my notebook out and was scribbling. When in Evansville do as the Romans do. “I need all the dope I can get,” I said. “Am I keeping you from anything important?”

“Hell no. Not until the phone rings to report a hit and run.”

“I hope it won’t. When did Mrs. Ault sell the factory?”

“About three years ago. When Benjamin Junior died, her husband, she changed the name of the business to M. and R. Ault, Inc. M for Marjorie and R for Richard. Then a couple of years after Richard’s death she sold it and left town. As far as I know she has never been back, and I don’t know where she is. You do shorthand, huh?”

“I guess you could call it that to be polite. I understand Richard went to Harvard University.”

“I believe he did. Let’s see.” In a moment: “Yes, he did.”

“Do you happen to know if his mother ever went to visit him there?”

He cocked his head and eyed me. “You know, maybe I’m not as sharp as you are, out here in the sticks, but I can count up to ten. A point in a case his family might know about, nuts. Suppose you open up a little, huh?”

I nodded. “I intend to, but I wasn’t being sharp. If you had told me she’s here in Evansville I wouldn’t even have bothered to take a look at her. I’m about done. Did she ever visit him at Harvard?”

“I don’t know, but it would be a good bet. He was the apple of her eye.”

I took a breath. “Now. I hate to ask it. I’m afraid to ask it, but here goes. Describe her.”

“I thought so,” he said.

“I only hope you’ll still think so after you describe her.”

“Well, three years ago, about a hundred and forty pounds. Late forties or early fifties. Five feet six. Light brown hair with a little gray. Brown eyes, a little close. Not much of a mouth. Long narrow nose, extra narrow. Not exactly a double chin, but a crease in it. That enough?”

“I’m not much at paying compliments,” I said, “but you are absolutely the best describer south of the North Pole. I could have saved wear and tear on my nerves by asking for it sooner. One more question. Would you care to take a trip to New York this morning, expenses paid and honored guest treatment?”

“You’re damn right I would. But I’m an employee of the city of Evansville. What have you got on Mrs. Ault?”