Рекс Стаут: In the Best Families

“Well, naturally she took that for granted. She didn’t say that Mr. Wolfe told her in so many words that Mr. Goodwin knew all about it, but if he was his assistant and helping with it, naturally she would think so. Anyway that didn’t seem to be important then, because she had told it all to her husband. They used the same bedroom at Birchvale, and she said that after they had gone to bed she simply couldn’t help it. She didn’t tell me their conversation, what they said to each other, but they had had a violent quarrel. She had told him they would have to separate, she was through with him, and she would have Mr. Wolfe go on with his investigation and get proof of what he had done. Mrs. Rackham had a very strong character, and she hated to be deceived. But the next day she wasn’t sure she really meant it, that she really wanted to part from him. That was why she wanted to talk about it with someone. I think the reason she didn’t want to talk with Mrs. Frey—”

“If you don’t mind, Miss Darrow,” Archer suggested gently, “just the facts now.”

“Yes, of course.” She sent him a glance and returned to me. “I told her I thought she was completely wrong. I said that if her husband had been untrue to her, or anything like that, that would be different, but after all he hadn’t done wrong to her, only to other people and himself, and that she should try to help him instead of destroying him. At the very least, I said, she should wait until she knew all the details of what he had done. I think that was what she wanted to hear, but she didn’t say so. She was very stubborn. Then, that afternoon, I did something that I will regret all my life. I went to Barry and told him she had told me about it, and said I was sure it would come out all right if he would meet her halfway — tell her the whole thing, tell her he was sorry, as he certainly should be — and no more foolishness in the future. And Barry said he loved me.”

She weakened a little there for the first time. She dropped her eyes. I had been boring at her with as steady and sharp a gaze as I had in me, but up to that point she had met it full and fair.

“So then?” I asked.

Her eyes lifted and she marched on. “He said he didn’t want it to come out all right because he loved me. Shall I try to tell you what I — how I felt?”

“Not now. Just what happened.”

“Nothing happened then. That was in the middle of the afternoon. I didn’t tell Barry I loved him — I didn’t even know I loved him then. I got away from him. Later we gathered in the living room for cocktails, and you and Mr. Leeds came, and we played that game — you remember.”

“Yep, I do.”

“And dinner, and television afterward, and—”

“Excuse me. That is common knowledge. Skip to later, when the cops had come. Did you tell them all this?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t think it would be fair to Barry. I didn’t think he had killed her, and I didn’t know what criminal things he had helped with, and I thought it wouldn’t be fair to tell that about him when all I knew was what Mrs. Rackham had told me.” The fine eyes flashed for the first time. “Oh, I know the next part. Then why am I telling it now? Because I know more about him now — a great deal more! I don’t know that he killed Mrs. Rackham, but I know he could have; he is cruel and selfish and unscrupulous — there is nothing he wouldn’t do. I suppose you think I’m vindictive, and maybe I am, but it doesn’t matter what you think about me as long as I’m telling the truth. What the criminal things were that he did, and whether he killed his wife — I don’t know anything about it; that’s your part.”

“Not mine, sister. I’m not a cop.”

She turned to the others. “Yours, then!”

This would have been a good moment for me to take time out to read my signed statement, since I could have used a few minutes for some good healthy thinking. Here was a situation that was new to me. About all that Barry Rackham’s ticket to the electric chair needed was my endorsement, and I thought he had it coming to him. All I had to do was tell the truth. I could say that I had no knowledge whatever of the phone call Nero Wolfe was purported to have made to Mrs. Rackham, but that it was conceivable that he had made such a call without mentioning it to me, since he had often withheld information from me regarding his actions and intentions. You couldn’t beat that for truth. On various occasions I had used all my wits to help pin it on a murderer, and here it would take no wit at all, merely tossing in a couple of facts.

But if I let it go at that, it was a cinch that before the sun went down, Rackham would be locked up, and that would ruin everything. The program sunk, the months all wasted, the one chance gone, Zeck sailing on with the authority of his superior intellect, and Wolfe and me high and dry. My wits had a new job, and quick. I liked to think that they had done their share once or twice in getting a murderer corralled: now it was up to them to do more than their share in keeping a murderer running loose and free to keep appointments. Truth was not enough.

There was no time to draw a sketch and see how I liked it. All three of them were looking at me, and Archer was saying, “You can see, Goodwin, why I wanted you to read your statement and see if you left anything out.”

“Yeah.” I was regretful. “I can also see you holding your breath, and I don’t blame you. If I now say that’s right, I forgot, Wolfe did phone Mrs. Rackham that Friday evening and tell her that, you’ve got all you need and hallelujah, I would love to help out, but I like to stick to the truth as far as practical.”

“The truth is all I’m asking for. Did you call on Rackham at his apartment yesterday afternoon?”

That punch had of course been telegraphed. “Yes,” I said.

“What for?”

“On a job for a client. At first it was a tailing job, and then when Rackham spotted me my client thought I might learn something by chatting with him.”

“Why is your client interested in Rackham?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Who’s the client?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think that would help you any. He’s a man who came here recently from the West Coast, and I suspect he’s connected with gambling or rackets or both, but my suspicions are no good at the bank. Let’s table it for now.”

“I want the name, Goodwin.”

“And I want to protect my client within reason. You can’t connect him up with the murder you’re investigating. Go ahead and start the rigmarole. Charge me again as a material witness and I get released on bail. Meanwhile I’ll be wanting my lawyer present and all that runaround. What will it get you in the long run?”

Ben Dykes said in a nasty voice, “We don’t want to be arbitrary about it. We wouldn’t expect you to name a client if you haven’t got one. West Coast, huh?”

“Is Rackham your client?” Archer asked.

“No.”

“Have you done any work for him?”

“No.”

“Has he given you or paid you any money in the past week?”

That was enough and to spare. I was hooked good, and if the best I could do was flop around trying to wriggle off, the outlook was damn thin. “Oh,” I said, “so that’s it.” I gave Lina Darrow an appreciative look and then transferred it to Archer. “This narrows it down. I’ve collected for withholding evidence against a murderer. That’s bad, isn’t it?”

No one answered. They just looked at me.

So I went on. “First, I hereby state that I have no money from Rackham, and that’s all on that for now. Second, I’m a little handicapped because although I know what Miss Darrow has in her mind, I don’t know how it got there. She’s framing Rackham for murder or trying to, but I’m not sure whether it’s her own idea or whether she has been nudged. I would have to find out about that first before I could decide how I stand. I know you’ve got to give me the works, and that’s all right, it’s your job, you’ve got all day and all night for it, but you can take your pick. Either I clam up as of now, and I mean clam, and you start prying at me, or first I am allowed to have a talk with Miss Darrow — with you here, of course. Then you can have the rest of the week with me. Well?”