Rex Stout - Trio for Blunt Instruments

“Why…” She looked at Kirk. Those eyes. “If he’s working for you…”

“I’ve told him,” Kirk blurted. “About Bonny and Paul. He asked and I told him. But you stay out of it.”

“Nonsense,” Wolfe snapped. “She has been questioned by the police. And she’s your friend?”

Her hand went out again, and that time reached him. “You go, Martin,” she said. “Whatever it is he wants. But you’ll come back?”

He said he would and headed for the hall, and I went to see him out. When I returned Mrs. Fougere was in the red leather chair, which would have held two of her, and Wolfe, leaning back, was regarding her without enthusiasm. He would rather tackle almost any man than any woman on earth.

“Let’s get a basis,” he growled. “Do you think Mr. Kirk killed his wife?”

She was sitting straight, her hands curled over the ends of the chair arms, her eyes meeting his. “You’re working for him,” she said.

“Yes. I think he didn’t. What do you think?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care. I know how that sounds, but I don’t care. I’m very-well, say very practical. You’re not a lawyer?”

“I’m a licensed private detective. Allowing for the strain you’re under, you look twenty. Are you older?”

She did not look twenty. I would have guessed twenty-eight, but I didn’t allow enough for the strain, for she said, “I’m twenty-four.”

“Since you’re practical you won’t mind blunt questions. How long have you lived in that house?”

“Since my marriage. Nearly three years.”

“Where were you Monday afternoon from one o’clock to eight?”

“Of course the police asked that. I had lunch with Martin Kirk and walked to his office building with him about half past two. Then I went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at costumes. I do some stage costumes. I was there about two hours. Then I-”

“That will do. What did you say when the police asked if you were in the habit of lunching with Mr. Kirk?”

“It wasn’t a habit. He had left his wife and he-he needed friends.”

“You’re strongly attached to him?”

“Yes.”

“Is he attached to you?”

“No.”

Wolfe grunted. “If this were a hostile examination your answers would be admirable, but for me they’re a little curt. Do you know how your husband spent Monday afternoon?”

“I know how he says he did. He went to Long Island City to look at some equipment and got back too late to go to the office. He went to a bar and had drinks and came home a little before seven, and we went out to a restaurant for dinner.” She made a little gesture. “Mr. Wolfe, I don’t want to be curt. If I thought I knew anything that would help Martin, anything at all, I’d tell you.”

“Then we’ll see what you know. What if I establish that your husband killed Mrs. Kirk?”

She took a moment. “Do you mean if you proved it? If you got him arrested for it?”

Wolfe nodded. “That would probably be necessary to clear Mr. Kirk.”

“Then I would be glad for Martin, but sorry for my husband. No matter who killed Bonny Kirk, I would be sorry for him. She deserved- No, I won’t say that. I believe it, but I won’t say it.”

“Pfui. More people saying what they believe would be a great improvement. Because I often do I am unfit for common intercourse. You were aware of your husband’s intimacy with Mrs. Kirk?”

“Yes.”

“They knew you were?”

“Yes.”

“You were complacent about it?”

“No.” It came out a whisper, and she repeated it. “No.” Her mouth began working, and she clamped her jaw to stop it. “Of course,” she said, “you think I might have killed her. If I had, it would have been on account of Martin, not my husband. She was ruining Martin’s life, making it impossible for him. But she couldn’t ruin my husband’s life because he’s too-well, too shallow.”

She stopped, breathed, and went on, “I wouldn’t have dreamed that I would ever be saying things like this, to anyone, but I said some of them even to the police. Now I would say anything if it would help Martin. I wasn’t complacent about Paul and Bonny; it just didn’t matter, because nothing mattered but Martin. I was an ignorant little fool when I married Paul, I thought I might as well because I had never been in love and I thought I never would be. When they began asking me questions yesterday I decided I wouldn’t try to hide how I feel about Martin, and anyway, I don’t think I could, now. I did before.”

Wolfe looked at the clock. Twenty to one. Thirty-five minutes till lunch. “You say she couldn’t have ruined your husband’s life because he’s too shallow. Do you utterly reject the possibility that he killed her?”

She took a breath. “I don’t- That’s too strong. If he was there with her and she said something or did something… I don’t know.”

“Do you know if he had in his possession some of the personal stationery of James Neville Vance? A letterhead, an envelope?”

Her eyes widened. “What? Jimmy Vance?”

“Yes. That’s relevant because of a circumstance you don’t know about, but Mr. Kirk does. It’s a simple question. Did you ever see a blank unused letterhead or envelope, Mr. Vance’s, in your apartment?”

“No. Not a blank one. One he had written on, yes.”

“You have been in his apartment.”

“Certainly.”

“Do you know where he keeps his stationery?”

“Yes, in a desk in his studio. In a drawer. You say this is relevant?”

“Yes. Mr. Kirk may explain if you ask him. How well do you know Mr. Vance?”

“Why… he owns that house. We see him some socially. There’s a recital in his studio about every month.”

“Did he kill Mrs. Kirk?”

“No. Of course I’ve asked myself that. I’ve asked myself everything. But Jimmy Vance-if you knew him-why would he? Why did you ask about his stationery?”

“Ask Mr. Kirk. I am covering some random points. Did Mrs. Kirk drink vodka?”

“No. If she did I never saw her. She didn’t drink much of anything, but when she did it was always gin and tonic in the summer and Bacardis in the winter.”

“Does your husband drink vodka?”

“Yes. Now, nearly always.”

“Does Mr. Kirk?”

“No, never. He drinks scotch.”

“Does Mr. Vance?”

“Yes. He got my husband started on it. The police asked me all this.”

“Naturally. Do you drink vodka?”

“No. I drink sherry.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand-maybe you’ll tell me. All the questions the police asked me-they seem to be sure it was one of us, Martin or Paul or Jimmy Vance or me. Now you too. But it could have been some other man that Bonny… or someone, a burglar or something-couldn’t it?”