Роберт Голдсборо - Murder in E Minor

“After she got inside, the rest was simple. She was familiar with the place, having been there many times to visit Stevens. She took the elevator up and rang the bell, and Stevens, on learning who it was, opened the door. They went back to the library, where he’d been working, and at some point when his back was turned, the former Miss Wald, doubtless wearing gloves, plunged the letter opener into his back. The first stab was enough to stagger him, and it was then easy for her, despite her size, to run the blade in a few more times to finish the job. Miss Radovich said she thought the letter opener was her uncle’s, so it’s possible Mrs. Forrester-Moore took it on an earlier visit to the apartment, with just such a use in mind. Anyway, after killing Stevens, she stayed in the apartment and waited for the call from the lobby announcing Milner. When it came, she probably muttered those few words I mentioned earlier, or a similar phrase. It would have been simple for her, a sometime actress, to approximate Stevens’s voice for just a short sentence. After talking to the hallman on the speaker, she had ample time to flee via the back way while Milner was going up in the elevator.”

Cramer started to say something to Lucinda, but she spoke first: “Mr. Wolfe, I’ve very stupidly underrated you. I really—”

“Lucinda, you don’t have to talk to him!” Meyerhoff shouted. “He’s just fishing. We don’t have to stay here and subject ourselves to this slander!”

“Charles, it’s done,” she said. “Over. Mr. Wolfe, I started to say that despite your reputation, I didn’t really think I was in jeopardy, particularly since you didn’t even take the trouble to see me yourself until tonight; you sent Archie instead. Not that I minded, you understand.” She turned to me with a sad smile, and for just an instant I wished Wolfe had made a mistake. “The only thing you were wrong about was my never having met Milan in Munich. I did meet him once — at my brother’s funeral, but he didn’t recognize me when we became acquainted here years later; my appearance had changed a good deal.” Her hand went reflexively to her hair. “I was glad he didn’t remember me, though, because almost from the beginning, I had made up my mind, as you said, to... take revenge. I’m not sorry I did it, either. But I am sorry about Mr. Milner. And I’m sorry about you, too, Charles,” she said, turning to Meyerhoff, “although your dislike for Milan had grown to be almost as great as mine, I think.”

Lucinda shifted to Maria Radovich. “You despise me, as you should. All I can tell you is your uncle had a side you probably never saw: He could be cold, cruel, hateful. He was that way to my brother — and to other members of the Munich orchestra, too. He killed Willy as surely as if he’d been steering the car. He humiliated him in front of the entire orchestra, called him names, derided him. You can see how he treated someone you cared for very much,” she said, nodding toward Milner. She sank back into her chair and looked at Wolfe.

“Madam, since you mentioned Mr. Goodwin, I should point out that his eyes and ears are every bit the equal of my own, and in some situations, considerably better. Also, I must tell you that your little speech rings hollow, particularly your solicitude toward Miss Radovich. I, too, know that the man you call Milan Stevens had a dark side, and may indeed have been capable of driving another person to his death. Let us even assume he was the direct cause of your brother’s fatal crash.”

Wolfe turned a hand over. “So, powered by revenge, you plotted and carried out his murder. Should that not have been enough for you? Indeed, an argument could be made for this act of retribution in the minds of many self-respecting citizens, if not in the eyes of the law. But you had to go further, conspiring to frame an innocent person. The easy assumption would be that you did this to avoid prosecution. I think not; rather, it was your hatred for Mr. Stevens, which was so overriding that you also sought to savage the life of the person he held dearest, his niece, by destroying the man she loved. And the irony is that this man” — he gestured toward Milner — “is of virtually the same station and age as your brother was at the time of his death. Madam, hatred has become your handmaiden.” Wolfe scowled and turned to Cramer.

“In case you’re wondering, Inspector, you’ll find that neither Mr. Meyerhoff nor Mrs. Forrester-Moore has a strong alibi for last Wednesday night. He said he was working late in his office in Symphony Hall, but claimed the guard didn’t see him when he left. And she was at a dinner party that evening, or at least told Mr. Goodwin she was. But at the time of the murder, she was supposedly in a cab trying to find an open florist shop. However, I suppose you’ll be checking all these things thoroughly.”

Cramer glowered at Wolfe, but didn’t say anything. There really wasn’t a hell of a lot he could say. After all, for the last two hours he and Purley Stebbins had watched their work being done for them.

After breakfast Thursday, I walked to a newsstand on Eighth Avenue and picked up the early edition of the Gazette. The banner read SURPRISE IN STEVENS CASE, and there was a column of type of the previous night’s events in the brownstone, plus pictures of Wolfe and me. I made a mental note to thank Lon for using the newer mug shots that I’d sent him.

It had been well after midnight when things settled down at home and I finally got around to calling him. He’d griped about the hour, but he had his exclusive, and the timing was perfect for the Gazette, an evening paper. Now the A.M.’S would be scrambling to catch up, but they were dead until their first editions for Friday hit the streets late Thursday night.

I got back to the house and laid the paper on Wolfe’s desk blotter along with his mail just as the elevator came down from the plant rooms. “Good morning, Archie, nice to see the sun today, isn’t it?” he said, positioning himself in his custom-made chair. I let him go through the mail and have a look at the paper before I turned to face him.

“By the time we got everybody out of here last night and I got through filling in Lon on the phone, it was too damn late to ask any questions, but I’ve got a few,” I said.

“Oh?” Wolfe raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah. For instance, why weren’t you suspicious about Alexandra Adjari? You didn’t seem concerned when she went back to London right in the middle of this mess, but how did you know she hadn’t come to New York earlier than she had said? She could have been here for several days before she came to see us, which would have made her a suspect.”

“That point occurred to me as well, and one morning I called Mr. Cohen from the plant rooms. Through his connections with the customs people, he determined that Miss Adjari did indeed arrive in New York on the day she came to see us.”

“Sneaking around behind my back again,” I said. “Speaking of Lon, I suppose he’s the ‘contacts in the press’ that you mentioned last night when you talked about Lucinda’s past?”

“Yes, another call to Mr. Cohen when you were out. Through the Gazette files and European correspondents, he confirmed what I suspected: that Lucinda Forrester-Moore was indeed a German émigré, and that her name had been Wald.”

“But you didn’t know that Willy was her brother?”

“No, I couldn’t establish that fact definitely, but it seemed almost a certainty. I felt confident in confronting her with it.”

I grinned. “There were several things about last night that I liked, but the one that tickled me most was the expression on Cramer’s face when he realized there were two of them in on it. I also noticed that you overcame your bashfulness about drinking a certain brand of beer in the presence of the heir. Which leads me to my last question: What would you have done if Remmers had been the murderer?”