Rex Stout: The Rodeo Murder

I regarded her. “You know,” I said, “at least you’ve answered my question, why you went for Cramer. You wanted to plant the idea that you’re a holy terror. That wasn’t so dumb, in fact it was half bright, but now listen to you. You might possibly sell it to the cops that you killed him, at least you could ball them up a while, but not me. When I went to the shack yesterday and found you there with Cal, the first thing he said was that you thought he had killed him. And now you—”

“Cal was wrong. How could I think he had killed him when I knew I had?”

“Nuts. I not only heard what he said, I saw his face, and I saw yours. You still think Cal killed him and you’re acting like a half-wit.”

Her head went down, her hands went up to cover her face, and she squeezed her breasts with her elbows. Her shoulders shook.

I sharpened my voice. “The very worst thing you could do would be to try telling the cops that you killed him. It would take them about ten minutes to trip you up, and then where would Cal be? But maybe you should tell them about Sunday night, but of course not that you told Cal about it. If they find your fingerprints in Eisler’s apartment you’ll have to account for them, and it will be better to give them the account before they ask for it. That won’t be difficult; just tell them what happened.”

“They won’t find my fingerprints,” she said, or I thought she did. Her voice was muffled by her hands, still over her face.

“Did you say they won’t find your fingerprints?” I asked.

“Yes. I’m sure they won’t.”

I gawked at her. It wasn’t so much the words as the tone — or not the tone, muffled as it was, but something. Call it a crazy hunch, and you never know exactly what starts a hunch. It was so wild that I almost skipped it, but it never pays to pass a hunch. “You can’t be sure,” I said. “You must have touched something. I’ve been to a party in that apartment. When you entered did you stop in the hall with the marble statues?”

“No. He... we went on through.”

“To the living room. You stopped there?”

“Yes.”

“Did he take you across to look at the birds in the cages? He always does. The cages are stainless steel, perfect for prints. Did you touch any of them?”

“No, I’m sure I didn’t.” She had dropped her hands and lifted her head.

“How close did you go to them?”

“Why... not very close. I’m sure I didn’t touch them.”

“So am I. I am also sure that you’re a damn liar. There are no marble statues or bird cages in Eisler’s apartment. You have never been there. What kind of a double-breasted fool are you, anyway? Do you go around telling lies just for the hell of it?”

Naturally I expected an effect, but not the one I got. She straightened up in her chair and gave me a straight look, direct and steady.

“I’m not a liar,” she said. “I’m not a fool either, except about Cal Barrow. The kind of a life I’ve had a girl gets an attitude about men, or anyway I did. No monkey business. Keep your fences up and your cinch tight. Then I met Cal and I took another look, and after a while I guess you would say I was in love with him, but whatever you call it I know how I felt. I thought I knew how he felt too, but he never mentioned it, and of course I didn’t. I only saw him now and then, he was mostly up north, and when I came to New York for this rodeo here he was. I thought he was glad to see me, and I let him know I was glad to see him, but still he didn’t mention it, and when two weeks went by and pretty soon we would scatter I was trying to decide to mention it myself, and then Sunday night Nan told me about Wade Eisler, how he had—”

“Nan Karlin?”

“Yes. He had told her he was having a party at his apartment, and she went with him, and when they got there there wasn’t any party, and he got rough, and she got rough too, and she got away.”

“She told you this Sunday night?”

“Yes, when she got back to the hotel she came to my room. It’s next to hers. Then there was this ear.” She lifted a hand to push her hair back over her left ear. “I’m telling you the whole thing. I got careless with a bronc Sunday night and got bruised by a buckle, and I didn’t want to admit to Cal that I didn’t know how to keep clear around a horse. So when we met for breakfast yesterday morning I told him — you know what I told him. I guess I thought when he heard that, how a man had tried to bulldog me, he would see that it was time to mention something. I know I was a damn fool, I said I’m a fool when it comes to Cal Barrow, but I guess I don’t know him as well as I thought I did. He never goes looking for trouble. I thought he would just ride herd on me, and that would be all right, I wanted him to. I never dreamt he would kill him.”

“He didn’t. How many times do I have to tell you he didn’t? Who else did Nan tell about it?”

“She was going to tell Roger, Roger Dunning. She asked me if I thought she should tell Roger, and I said yes, because he had asked us to go easy with Eisler, not to sweat him unless we had to, so I thought he ought to know. Nan said she would tell him right away.”

“Who else did she tell?”

“I guess not anybody. She made me promise not to tell Mel.”

“Mel Fox?”

“Yes. She and Mel are going to tie up, and she was afraid he might do something. I’m sure she didn’t tell him.”

“Did you tell him?”

“Of course not. I promised Nan I wouldn’t.”

“Well.” I lifted my hands and dropped them. “You’re about the rarest specimen I’ve ever come across. I know something about geniuses. I work for one, but you’re something new, an anti-genius. It wouldn’t do any good to try to tell you—”

The phone rang, and I swiveled my chair around to get it. It was Lon Cohen of the Gazette. He wanted to know how much I would take for an exclusive on who roped Wade Eisler and why, and I told him I did and when I typed my confession I would make an extra carbon for him but at the moment I was busy.

As I reached to cradle the receiver Wolfe’s voice sounded behind me, not loud but clear enough though it was coming through the waterfall that covered the hole. “Archie, don’t move. Don’t turn around. She has taken a gun from her bag and is pointing it at you. Miss Jay. Your purpose is clear. With Mr. Goodwin dead there will be no one to disclose what you told Mr. Barrow at breakfast yesterday but Mr. Barrow himself, and you will deny it. You will of course be doomed since you can’t hope to escape the due penalty for killing Mr. Goodwin, but you accept it in order to save Mr. Barrow from the doom you think you have contrived for him. A desperate expedient but a passable one; but it’s no good now because I have heard you. You can’t kill me too; you don’t know where I am. Drop the gun. I will add that Mr. Goodwin has worked with me many years; I know him well; and I accept his conclusion that Mr. Barrow did not kill Wade Eisler. He is not easily gulled. Drop the gun.”

I had stayed put, but it wasn’t easy. Of course tingles were chasing up and down my spine, but worse than that I felt so damned silly, sitting there with my back to her while Wolfe made his speech. When he stopped it was too much. I swiveled. Her hand with the gun was resting on her knee, and she was staring at it, apparently wondering how it got there. I got up and took it, an old snub-nosed Graber, and flipped the cylinder. Fully loaded.

As I jiggled the cartridges out Wolfe entered from the hall. As he approached he spoke. “Archie. Does Mr. Barrow cherish this woman?”

“Sure he does. This could even key him up to mentioning it.”

“Heaven help him.” He glared down at her. “Madam, you are the most dangerous of living creatures. However, here you are, and I may need you.” He turned his head and roared, “Fritz!” Fritz must have been in the hall; he appeared immediately. “This is Miss Laura Jay,” Wolfe told him. “Show her to the south room, and when lunch is ready take her a tray.”