Rex Stout - Three Witnesses

There was no police car at 29 Arbor, and no gathering. That was satisfactory. Entering the vestibule, I pushed the button under Meegan and put my hand on the knob. No click. Pushing twice more and still getting no response, I tried Aland’s button, and that worked. After a short wait the click came, and I shoved the door open, entered, mounted two flights, went to the door, and knocked with authority.

The squeaky voice came through. “Who is it?”

“Goodwin. I was just here with the others. I haven’t got the dog. Open up.”

The door swung slowly to a crack, and then wider. Jerome Aland was still in his gaudy pajamas. “For God’s sake,” he squeaked, “what do you want now? I need some sleep!”

I didn’t apologize. “I was going to ask you some questions when I was here before,” I told him, “but the dog complicated it. It won’t take long.” Since he wasn’t polite enough to move aside, I had to brush him, skinny as he was, as I went in. “Which way?”

He slid past me, and I followed him across to chairs. They were the kind of chairs that made Jewel Jones hate furnished apartments, and the rest of the furniture didn’t help any. He sat on the edge of one and demanded, “All right, what?”

It was a little tricky. Since he was assuming I was one of the Homicide personnel, it wouldn’t do for me to know either too much or too little. It would be risky to mention Jewel Jones, because the cops might not have got around to her at all.

“I’m checking some points,” I told him. “How long has Richard Meegan occupied the apartment below you?”

“Hell, I’ve told you that a dozen times.”

“Not me. I said I’m checking. How long?”

“Nine days. He took it a week ago Tuesday.”

“Who was the previous tenant? Just before him.”

“There wasn’t any. It was empty.”

“Empty ever since you’ve been here?”

“No, I’ve told you, a girl had it, but she moved out about three months ago. Her name is Jewel Jones, and she’s a fine artist, and she got me my job at the night club where I work now.” His mouth worked. “I know what you’re doing, you’re trying to make it nasty, and you’re trying to catch me getting my facts twisted. Bringing that dog here to growl at me-can I help it if I don’t like dogs?”

He ran his fingers, both hands, through his hair. When the hair was messed good he gestured like a night-club performer. “Die like a dog,” he said. “That’s what Phil did, died like a dog. Poor Phil, I wouldn’t want to see that again.”

“You said,” I ventured, “that you and he were good friends.”

His head jerked up. “I did not. Did I say that?”

“More or less. Maybe not in those words. Why, weren’t you?”

“We were not. I haven’t got any good friends.”

“You just said that the girl that used to live here got you a job. That sounds like a good friend. Or did she owe you something?”

“Not a damn thing. Why do you keep bringing her up?”

“I didn’t bring her up, you did. I only asked who was the former tenant in the apartment below you. Why, would you rather keep her out of it?”

“I don’t have to keep her out. She’s not in it.”

“Perhaps not. Did she know Philip Kampf?”

“I guess so. Sure she did.”

“How well did she know him?”

He shook his head. “Now you’re getting personal, and I’m the wrong person. If Phil was alive you could ask him, and he might tell you. Me, I don’t know.”

I smiled at him. “All that does, Mr. Aland, is make me curious. Somebody in this house murdered Kampf. So we ask you questions, and when we come to one you shy at, naturally we wonder why. If you don’t like talking about Kampf and that girl, think what it could mean. For instance, it could mean that the girl was yours, and Kampf took her away from you, and that was why you killed him when he came here yesterday. Or it could-”

“She wasn’t mine!”

“Uh-huh. Or it could mean that although she wasn’t yours, you were under a deep obligation to her, and Kampf had given her a dirty deal, or he was threatening her with something, and she wanted him disposed of, and you obliged. Or of course it could be merely that Kampf had something on you.”

He had his head tilted back so he could look down on me. “You’re in the wrong racket,” he asserted. “You ought to be writing TV scripts.”

I stuck with him only a few more minutes, having got all I could hope for under the circumstances. Since I was letting him assume that I was a city employee, I couldn’t very well try to pry him loose for a trip to Wolfe’s place. Also I had two more calls to make, and there was no telling when I might be interrupted by a phone call or a courier to one of them from downtown. The only further item I gathered from Jerome Aland was that he wasn’t trying to get from under by slipping in any insinuations about his co-tenants. He had no opinions or ideas about who had killed poor Phil. When I left he stood up, but he let me go and open the door for myself.

I went down a flight, to Meegan’s door, and knocked and waited. Just as I was raising a fist to make it louder and better there were footsteps inside, and the door opened. Meegan was still in his shirt sleeves and still uncombed.

“Well?” he demanded.

“Back again,” I said firmly but not offensively. “With a few questions. If you don’t mind?”

“You know damn well I mind.”

“Naturally. Mr. Talento has been called down to the District Attorney’s office. This might possibly save you another trip there.”

He sidestepped, and I went in. The room was the same size and shape as Aland’s, above, and the furniture, though different, was no more desirable. The table against a wall was lopsided-probably the one that Jewel Jones hoped they had fixed for him. I took a chair at its end, and he took another and sat frowning at me.

“Haven’t I seen you before?” he wanted to know.

“Sure, we were here with the dog.”

“I mean before that. Wasn’t it you in Nero Wolfe’s office yesterday?”

“That’s right.”

“How come?”

I raised my brows. “Haven’t you got the lines crossed, Mr. Meegan? I’m here to ask questions, not to answer them. I was in Wolfe’s office on business. I often am. Now-”

“He’s a fat, arrogant halfwit!”

“You may be right. He’s certainly arrogant. Now, I’m here on business.” I got out my notebook and pencil. “You moved into this place nine days ago. Please tell me exactly how you came to take this apartment.”

He glared. “I’ve told it at least three times.”

“I know. This is the way it’s done. I’m not trying to catch you in some little discrepancy, but you could have omitted something important. Just assume I haven’t heard it before. Go ahead.”

“Oh, my God.” His head dropped and his lips tightened. Normally he might not have been a bad-looking guy, with blond hair and gray eyes and a long bony face, but now, having spent the night, or most of it, with Homicide and the DA, he looked it, especially his eyes, which were red and puffy.