Рекс Стаут: Death of a Doxy

“Balls.” Cramer was getting hoarse. He always did, with Wolfe. “You try being forthright. Will you give me your word of honor that your guarding her and the shots fired at her had no connection with the murder of Isabel Kerr?”

“Of course not. I suspect there was a connection. If so I would like to establish it — with evidence.”

“You haven’t already established it?”

“No.”

Cramer got a cigar from a pocket, rolled it between his palms, stuck it in his mouth, and sank his teeth in it. But the rolling had loosened the wrapper, and a flap of it pointed up and touched his nose. He removed it, glared at it, hurled it at my wastebasket, and came close. It hit the edge and bounced to the floor. He aimed the glare at me and blurted, “All right, Goodwin. Where is she?”

I put a brow up. “You could mean Miss Jaquette.”

“Yes, I could. You took her with you last night. And brought her here.”

I nodded. “That’s what Mr. Wolfe calls a surmise. You don’t know I brought her here, just as I don’t know who fired the shots. You’re expecting me to stall, so I won’t. She’s up in the South Room. I was there chatting with her when you came.”

“Now I’ll chat with her. I’ll go up.” He left the chair. “I know the way.”

“The door’s bolted. We thought it might be better to hold off.” I rose. “But you deserve a break. With a new Mayor and a new Commissioner, you probably need a break.” I moved.

In the hall he stopped at the elevator, but I kept on to the stairs and he came. Policemen should keep fit. By the time he got to the second landing I had called to her and she had opened the door. She had changed to the blue thing and put slippers on. I pronounced names and asked if she had enough coffee and left them.

Taking it for granted that Wolfe had gone to the kitchen, I turned right at the bottom. He was there, in the only chair Fritz allows in his kitchen, with a seat ample for me but not for him, and had opened a certain cupboard door and flipped the switch. Fritz was on one of the stools at the big table, slicing a shallot, preparing for the poached eggs Burgundian, and I got the other stool.

Cramer’s voice was coming from the cupboard. “I know that, I know you have. You made a full statement, and we appreciate that kind of cooperation. But that business last night is a new — element. Those two men were there, Archie Goodwin and Fred Durkin, for your protection, that right?”

JULIE: Yes.

CRAMER: You had arranged with Nero Wolfe for that protection?

JULIE: Yes.

CRAMER: When?

JULIE: Oh... I guess it was Saturday.

CRAMER: Why? Why did you need protection?

JULIE: I might as well tell you the truth.

CRAMER: Yes, that’s always the best way.

JULIE: Between you and me, I didn’t need protection. But one evening, I think it was Tuesday, I had come here because Nero Wolfe wanted to see me, and I met Archie Goodwin. And the next afternoon, Wednesday, I came again, and Archie took me up to show me the orchids, and we had a long talk. Are you sure this is confidential?

CRAMER: Yes.

JULIE: For God’s sake don’t tell him, but I simply flapped. What a man! I had to have him. So I — well, I made arrangements. He may not want you to know this, but he was there all day Saturday, in my hotel, from ten o’clock on. You may not approve, I suppose you’re a married man, but when I want something I usually get it.

Wolfe was looking at me, and I was shaking my head. I had not suggested that. I was sorry I wasn’t there to see Cramer glaring at her.

CRAMER: Do you mean to... are you saying that... you said you made arrangements. What arrangements?

JULIE: I told Archie a man was annoying me and I was afraid and I wanted protection day and night. You can understand why I wanted it day and night

CRAMER: What’s the name of the man who was annoying you?

JULIE: Aren’t you an inspector?

CRAMER: Yes.

JULIE: Then you ought to listen better. Nobody was annoying me. I didn’t need protection. I needed Archie.

CRAMER: If you didn’t need protection, why did someone shoot at you, try to kill you?

JULIE: I’ve been thinking about that. Just because he hit Fred, there by me, that doesn’t prove he was shooting at me. Maybe he was shooting at Fred. Or maybe he was just shooting at anybody. Like that boy in Brook lyn who shot some woman going by in a car. They get a kick—

CRAMER: Save it. I don’t believe a word of it. Do you know what the penalty is for giving false information to an officer investigating a crime?

JULIE: No. What is it?

CRAMER: You can get five years.

JULIE: What crime are you investigating? Archie said you were investigating the murder of my friend Isabel Kerr, but you don’t sound like it. You only ask about me being protected and somebody shooting a gun. I must be thick.

CRAMER: No, Miss Jaquette, you’re not thick. You’re a damn good liar. Extra good. I hope you know what you’re doing. Do you know that Wolfe and Goodwin are two of the slickest operators in New York?

JULIE: I don’t know much about Nero Wolfe. I know a lot about Archie.

CRAMER: Well, they are. How much are they paying you?

JULIE: Paying me? Well. First I’m a liar, and now what am I?

CRAMER: That’s what I’d like to know. Do you still think Orrie Cather killed your friend Isabel Kerr?

JULIE: I never said that.

CRAMER: You didn’t have to. It was obvious from what you did say and put in your statement. Do you remember what you said?

JULIE: Certainly I do. I can say the alphabet backward.

CRAMER: Do you want to retract any of it?

JULIE: No. It was all true.

CRAMER: Then you still think he killed her?

JULIE: You ought to listen better. I told you I didn’t say that.

CRAMER: You implied it strong enough. Don’t forget we have your signed statement. Don’t forget that.

Five seconds of silence except for a faint sound that could have been Cramer leaving his chair.

CRAMER: I warn you again, Miss Jaquette, giving false information to an officer investigating a capital crime is a felony. Do you want to reconsider it?

JULIE: No, thanks. You can leave the door open.

Another faint sound, the door opening. I slid off the stool, went to the cupboard and turned the switch, crossed to the door to the hall, and swung it open. Heavy footsteps were coming down the stairs. Cramer appeared, turned left, and passed the office door without looking in. He must have seen me as he was putting his coat on, but he didn’t wave good-by. When he was out and the door shut, I turned and said, “That was ad lib, nothing like it in the script. I enjoyed every minute of it. You’d better start the eggs, Fritz, she must be hungry.” I headed for the stairs and mounted the two flights.

The door was wide open. She was squatting on the floor, looking at the underside of the table. At the sound of my footsteps she turned her head, scrambled up, and said, “I’m looking for the bug.”

“You won’t find it there. It’s not that simple. It came through fine.”

“You heard it?”

“Sure. Why he called you a liar is beyond me. If ever I heard the ring of truth. How soon do you want breakfast?”

“Now. Right now.”

“It’s nearly ready. Get in bed and I’ll bring it.”

I don’t mention everything, for instance phone calls that have nothing to do with progress or the lack of it. There had been two phone calls from Jill Hardy, one from Dr. Gamm, two from Lon Cohen, and three from Nathaniel Parker. But I mention the one from Parker that Sunday afternoon because what he wanted to do might have helped or hurt. He had decided he should make a habeas corpus play Monday morning to get Orrie bailed out, and it took Wolfe ten minutes to talk him out of it. It wasn’t easy. Wolfe couldn’t very well tell him that we were no longer worried about Orrie, that we now had another fish to fry.