Rex Stout - A Right to Die

"You're damn right I reject it." Oster turned to WhippIe. "He's impossible. Listen to him. Impossible!"

"You're a bungler," Wolfe said, not clashing, just stating a fact.

Oster goggled at him, speechless.

"Even if you repudiate my assumption," Wolfe said, "as the man reponsible for Dunbar Whipple's defense you should want to know why I make it. It's tentative, merely a place to start; I must start somewhere. The most pointed known fact about the murderer is that he knew about that apartment, and that Miss Brooke was there or probably was. Since her money and jewelry were not taken, he was not a random marauder; moreover, he didn't try to pose as one by taking them. I don't suppose there were many people who knew of the apartment; apparently, from accounts and hints in the newspapers, there were very few. In an effort to find them, the most likely place should be tried first. I have a question. Dunbar Whipple is your client. If you could clear him only by exposing the real culprit, and if the culprit were someone connected with the organization of which you are the counsel, and if you had it in your power to expose him, would you do so?"

Of course he had to say yes. He added, "But that's three ifs."

"Not the first one, though I said 'if.' Come, Mr. Oster, let's be realistic. Yesterday at this hour a police inspector was sitting in that chair, and we talked at length. I believe that your client is in grave jeopardy unless we produce a substitute. Don't you?"

"Was it Cramer?"

"Yes."

"That damned Cossack."

"Not by definition." Wolfe flipped it aside. "I won't press you for an answer; your reputation for acumen is answer enough." Vinegar, then butter. "Dunbar Whipple entered that apartment shortly after nine o'clock and remained there continuously until the police arrived some forty minutes later; he says so. The only feasible method of proving that Susan Brooke died before he arrived is to produce the person who killed her. Let's find him. The ROCC is not the place to look, certainly. Your report, Archie?"

I got it from a drawer. He asked, "You have an extra copy?"

I nodded. "I made three."

"Give it to Mr. Oster. That, sir, is a complete report, omitting nothing that could possibly be pertinent, of the investigation of Susan Brooke undertaken by me at the request of Mr. Paul Whipple. I haven't studied it yet, but I shall. I suggest that you do the same. Any hint it contains, however slight, will of course be considered. But as soon as possible I must see-"

He stopped short. He slapped the desk blotter. "Confound it. I'm a ninny. I haven't asked you: have you in mind a ready and cogent defense?"

Oster was flipping the pages of the report. He looked up. "Not… I wouldn't say… not ready, no."

"Have you any knowledge or suspicion, however vague, of the identity of the murderer?"

"No."

"Have you, Mr. Whipple?"

"No," Whipple said. "Absolutely none. But I have a question. Not just curiosity, my son wants to know, and I told him I'd ask you. A lawyer will defend a man even if he thinks he's guilty, but you won't. You must think, you must be fairly sure, that my son is innocent. He wants to know why."

"Does it matter?"

"It does to him."

"Pfui. Tell him because he's a Negro and Susan Brooke was a white girl That should satisfy him. To satisfy you: partly the absence of a known motive for him, but mostly what he said and did in this room Tuesday afternoon. Either it was an inspired performance or he is innocent, and I don't think he is inspired. I think he's a callow stripling. Please tell him so." Wolfe went back to Oster. "I tried baiting a hook this morning. Have you seen today's Gazette? "

"No."

Wolfe picked it up from his desk and stretched his arm. "Here. It's open to the page. Third column, my name in the headline."

Oster took it and read it, taking his time, and reached to hand it to Whipple. "Damn it, you're worse than arbitrary," he told Wolfe. "You know damn well you should have cleared it with me. Bait? Where's the hook?"

Wolfe nodded. "I'm merely showing you that the assumption you reject is not exclusive. As for the bait and hook, I thought it worth trying. It's barely possible that someone, satisfied and apparently secure because the police have settled on Dunbar Whipple, will be disquieted by the news that I am taking a hand and will do something. Remote, certainly."

"It certainly is. How conceited can you get? Understand this, Wolfe: you're under my direction. I'm glad to have this report; that's fine. But anything you do must first have my approval. Understand?"

Wolfe shook his head. "I don't work that way, but let it pass for the moment. For what I intend to do first I need not only your approval but your assistance. Tomorrow evening at nine o'clock I would like to see, here, the entire staff of the office of the Rights of Citizens Committee. Including Mr. Henchy, the executive director."

Oster smiled, a broad smile. "Listen, Wolfe. You began by trying to get a rise out of me, and you got it. Once is enough. Go soak your head."

"Not now. I'm using it. If you don't approve and won't help, I'll get those people here myself. I must see them."

"If you try that, you're through." Oster stood up. "In fact, you're through now. You're out." He turned to Whipple. "Come on, Paul. He's impossible. Come on."

"No," Whipple said.

"What do you mean, no? You heard him! He's impossible!"

"But he…" Whipple let it hang. "I think you should consider it, Harold. Isn't it reasonable, his wanting to see them and ask them questions? It isn't-"

"I have seen them and asked them questions! I know them! Come on! If we need a detective, there are others!"

"Not like him," Whipple said. "No, Harold. You're being hasty. If you don't want to ask them to come, all right, I will. I'm sure Tom Henchy will see that it's reasonable. He's a-"

"You do that, Paul, and you'll get another lawyer, you and Dunbar. I'm warning you. I'm telling you."

"You're being hasty, Harold."

"I'm telling you!"

"You certainly are." Whipple's head was tilted back. I had his profile, and for the first time I saw in him the cocky college boy at Kanawha Spa years and years back. "I know you're a good lawyer, Harold, but I don't know if you're good enough to get Dunbar out of this trouble. I'm being frank, and I doubt it. If anybody can, Nero Wolfe can. If it has to be you or Nero Wolfe, I'll see Dunbar in the morning and tell him what I think, and he'll agree. I'm sure he will." His eyes went to Wolfe. "Mr. Wolfe, it's not only the impression you made on me long ago when I was a raw kid. I've followed your career. As far as I'm concerned, you're in charge." Back to Oster: "Don't go, Harold. Sit down."

Oster was chewing his lip. "It's ridiculous," he said. "I'm an attorney-at-law, a respected member of the bar. He's a-a gurnshoe."

"Mr. Oster," Wolfe said.

"What?"

"I suggest that Mr. Whipple's extravagance should be ignored. Let's put it that the legal defense of Dunbar Whipple is in your hands, and the search for evidence to support that defense is in my hands. I knew we would clash, and we have. There are no casualties. Oblige me by sitting down. Naturally I expected, and expect, you to be present at the conference tomorrow evening. If you wish to object to anything I say or do, you have a tongue. You have indeed. I don't wonder that you tried to drum me out; I'm difficult, though not really impossible. If you wish to debate it with Mr. Whipple, you can do so later." He looked at the clock. "No doubt you have information for me, and suggestions, and in less than half an hour it will be dinnertime. If you and Mr. Whipple will dine with us, we'll have the evening for it. Wild duck with Vatel sauce-wine vinegar, egg yolk, tomato paste, butter, cream, salt and pepper, shallots, tarragon, chervil, and peppercorns. Is any of those distasteful to you?"