Роберт Голдсборо - Murder in E Minor

“Has he confessed?” Wolfe asked.

“No, but he’s rattled to the point where I think he’ll crack sometime today. The hallman in Stevens’s building saw him go up, and we found his prints in the apartment. No question, he’s it. Now, those notes.”

“Certainly. Archie, please get them from the safe and give them to Mr. Cramer. Well, it appears that your case is over very quickly, and I congratulate you. Have you established a motive?”

“Hell, yes,” Cramer said as I handed him an envelope with the notes in it. “We’ve already talked to several orchestra members who heard Stevens screaming at Milner after a rehearsal several weeks ago. It seems that Milner wanted to marry Stevens’s niece, but when the old man found out about it, he was furious, didn’t think Milner was worthy of her. After that, he singled Milner out during rehearsals, chewing him out, and trying to make him look bad in front of everyone.”

“And what does Mr. Milner say about last night?” Wolfe asked.

“He claims Stevens wrote him a note asking him to come to his apartment. Milner says he thought it was to talk about Maria. When he got off the elevator, or so he says, the door to the apartment was open. He called out Stevens’s name, and when there was no answer, he went in and found Stevens lying dead on the floor in the library.

“He claims he panicked,” Cramer said. “His story is that he ran out, not bothering to close the door, and walked the streets for hours, trying to decide what to do. Our men were at his apartment in Queens waiting for him when he got there at about one-thirty.”

Wolfe nodded. “They probably brought him in while Lieutenant Rowcliff was still questioning Mr. Goodwin.”

Cramer spat an obscenity. “And he wonders why he hasn’t made captain. One of the biggest names in town is murdered, and that idiot decides to handle it all by himself. Not that Goodwin doesn’t deserve a two-hour grilling, and more, but the time Rowcliff wasted on him, when he should have been... Aw, the hell with it. Quote me, and I’ll deny I ever said any of that. Anyway, I’m glad this one’s going to be over quick. The heat would’ve been murder, with the mayor kicking the commissioner, the commissioner kicking everybody in the department, and the papers going nuts over it.”

“Again, I congratulate you,” Wolfe said.

“Yeah, thanks. No great help to you, though. Maybe this really will be my last time in this office.” Cramer stood up and looked around.

“I honestly hope not,” Wolfe said. “I always enjoy your visits.”

“That’s more than I can say,” Cramer answered. “Well...” He was staring at the globe, probably deciding whether to spin it again. After a few seconds he shrugged and walked out, the cigar still clenched in his teeth. I followed him to the hall, but he was out the front door before I could open it for him.

“Well?” I said to Wolfe back in the office.

“Mr. Cramer wants very badly to believe he has the murderer,” he said, “but he’s troubled. And he’s far too honest to take the easy way out by sacrificing an innocent person, merely to avoid pressure from his superiors.”

“The notes,” I said.

“Of course.” Wolfe nodded. “They complicate the situation, and Mr. Cramer obviously realizes this. Why would the murderer, be it Mr. Milner or someone else, alert his intended victim with a warning?”

“Maybe they were sent by someone else,” I ventured. “A coincidence. Stevens apparently had plenty of detractors.”

“Pah!” Wolfe waved my suggestion aside. “Without question the same person who wrote the notes also is the murderer. Could you conceive of doing such a thing yourself, if you were planning to destroy someone?”

“Nope,” I said. “Too much effort, and as you said, all it does is make the target more careful.”

“Your reaction is normal,” Wolfe said, laying a hand palm down on his blotter, “and it would be mine as well. But whoever killed Milan Stevens detested him so intensely that the notes were used as additional means of inflicting discomfort. And the murderer was so confident of ultimate success that he — or she — felt this extra measure of sadistic satisfaction outweighed any dangers.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Try again to get Miss Radovich.”

I turned to dial the number while Wolfe picked up his receiver. This time I got rings instead of a busy signal, and a female voice I didn’t recognize answered.

“I’m sorry, but Miss Radovich is resting right now and can’t be disturbed,” she said.

“Can you please tell her it’s Mr. Goodwin?”

“Really, she isn’t—”

“Please, at least tell her and let her decide for herself.”

The woman left the phone. After about a minute, Maria was on the line. “I know you’ve been through hell in the last twelve hours,” I said, “but Mr. Wolfe is anxious to see you. Can you come this afternoon?”

“Yes — I was going to call you. I took sleeping pills, and just now got up. I want badly to see you and talk about Jerry. What time should I come?” she asked in a fuzzy voice.

“Three?” I asked. It was as much a question to Wolfe as to Maria. He nodded, and she said she’d be there. I hung up and turned to say something to him, but his nose was in a book, where it would stay until Fritz announced lunch.

After finishing lunch, I walked over to Eighth Avenue and picked up the afternoon papers. Both the Gazette and the Post played the murder as the banner, and each had a big picture of Stevens on the front page. The Gazette story jumped inside to a page that also had articles on Stevens’s career and violence in New York today. There was a mention of Wolfe’s role and pictures of both of us. Most of what I’d fed to Lon was in the main story, along with a diagram of the library, showing the position of Stevens’s body when we found it. Maria wasn’t quoted anywhere, though — the story said she was “in seclusion.”

No mention was made of Gerald Milner in either paper, but each said the police commissioner and the district attorney had scheduled a joint press conference for three o’clock “to announce a major development in the case.” In the meantime, citizens’ groups were making noise, and the head of one had asked in print: “What kind of city is this that not even one of its most prominent and highly respected residents is safe in his own home?” The mayor called the murder “a terrible, senseless tragedy,” but said he had complete confidence that the police would move with dispatch to find the murderer.

Wolfe was at his desk reading when I got back. “It’s all over the papers now,” I said, laying them in front of him. “By the way, I think we need to give out new pictures to the press. Yours doesn’t do justice to your graying temples. Mine on the other hand makes me look older than I really—”

“Archie, shut up!”

“Yes, sir. Anyway, the commissioner and the D.A. have called a press conference for three — the same time Maria will be here. It’s sure to be on Milner, after what Cramer told us. Shall I get Lon and ask him to call us when his reporter phones in with the story?”

Wolfe nodded as he opened the papers and began reading. Like almost everyone else, he likes to see his name in print, and he turned quickly to the page with our pictures. He read for a minute, then looked up. “Assuming Mr. Milner is to be charged with murder, will a bail be set?”

“Probably,” I answered, “although it’s likely to be a big one.”

I had expected Maria to be early, so when the doorbell rang at seven minutes to three, I wasn’t surprised. Through the one-way glass, I could see she was alone and wearing sunglasses, despite the overcast day. I opened the door, gave her a sympathetic smile, and helped her off with her coat.