Рекс Стаут: Death of a Doxy

“Jesus,” Fred said.

“That doesn’t help. He would merely tell him to go and sin no more. Did he kill her?”

Fred put his glass down and shifted in his chair. He looked at Saul, then at me, and back at Wolfe. “It’s too tough,” he said. “Have I got it straight? If we decide he killed her you lay off and it’s up to Parker. If we decide he didn’t, you try to prove it, and of course the only way to prove it would be to find out who did and nail him. Is that it?”

“Yes.”

“Then I say he didn’t.”

“Is that your considered opinion?”

“To be honest, no. The only way I could be sure he killed her would be if he confessed, and Orrie never would. But we know Orrie. He has always done whatever he felt like with women, and they let him. I mean they couldn’t help it. But now apparently it’s hit him and he wants to get hitched. So if this Isabel Kerr got in his way, really blocked him... well, I don’t know. I mean I think I really do know. But you called us in to help you decide, didn’t you?”

“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.

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.