Rex Stout - And Four to Go

I turned my face to the audience. “Born in Ohio. Public high school, pretty good at geometry and football, graduated with honor but no honors. Went to college two weeks, decided it was childish, came to New York and got a job guarding a pier, shot and killed two men and was fired, was recommended to Nero Wolfe for a chore he wanted done, did it, was offered a full-time job by Mr. Wolfe, took it, still have it. Personally, was more entertained than bothered by Holt’s trying to get union dues out of Fritz Brenner. Otherwise no connection with him or about him.”

“You may,” Wolfe told them, “question us later if you wish. Miss Korby?”

“Well-” Flora said. She glanced at her father, and, when he nodded, she aimed at Wolfe and went on, “My autobiography doesn’t amount to much. I was born in New York and have always lived here. I’m twenty years old. I didn’t kill Phil Holt and had no reason to kill him.” She turned her palms up. “What else?”

“If I may suggest,” H. L. Griffin offered, “if there’s a witness as Wolfe says, if there is such a witness, they’ll dig everything up. For instance, about you and Phil.”

She gave him an eye. “What about us, Mr. Griffin?”

“I don’t know. I’ve only heard talk, that’s all, and they’ll dig up the talk.”

“To hell with the talk,” Dick Vetter blurted, the whipped cream sounding sour.

Flora looked at Wolfe. “I can’t help talk,” she said. “It certainly is no secret that Phil Holt was-well, he liked women. And it’s no secret that I’m a woman, and I guess it’s not a secret that I didn’t like Phil. For me he was what you called him, a nuisance. When he wanted something.”

Wolfe grunted. “And he wanted you?”

“He thought he did. That’s all there was to it. He was a pest, that’s all there is to say about it.”

“You said you had no reason to kill him.”

“Good heavens, I didn’t! A girl doesn’t kill a man just because he won’t believe her when she says no!”

“No to what? A marriage proposal?”

Her father cut in. “Look here,” he told Wolfe, “you’re barking up the wrong tree. Everybody knows how Phil Holt was about women. He never asked one to marry him and probably he never would. My daughter is old enough and smart enough to take care of herself, and she does, but not by sticking a knife in a man’s back.” He turned to Griffin. “Much obliged, Harry.”

The importer wasn’t fazed. “It was bound to come out, Jim, and I thought it ought to be mentioned now.”

Wolfe was regarding Korby. “Naturally it raises the question how far a father might go to relieve his daughter of a pest.”

Korby snorted. “If you’re asking it, the answer is no. My daughter can take care of herself. If you want a reason why I might have killed Phil Holt you’ll have to do better than that.”

“Then I’ll try, Mr. Korby. You are the president of your union, and Mr. Holt was an important figure in it, and at the moment the affairs of unions, especially their financial affairs, are front-page news. Have you any reason to fear an investigation, or had Mr. Holt?”

“No. They can investigate as much as they damn please.”

“Have you been summoned?”

“No.”

“Had Mr. Holt been summoned?”

“No.”

“Have any officials of your union been summoned?”

“No.” Korby’s pudgy face and bald top were pinking up a little. “You’re barking up the wrong tree again.”

“But at least another tree. You realize, sir, that if Mr. Delaney starts after us in earnest, the affairs of the United Restaurant Workers of America will be one of his major concerns. For the murder of Philip Holt we all had opportunity, and the means were there at hand; what he will seek is the motive. If there was a vulnerable spot in the operation of your union, financial or otherwise, I suggest that it would be wise for you to disclose it now for discussion.”

“There wasn’t anything.” Korby was pinker. “There’s nothing wrong with my union except rumors. That’s all it is, rumors, and where’s a union that hasn’t got rumors with all the stink they’ve raised? We’re not vulnerable to anything or anybody.”

“What kind of rumors?”

“Any kind you want to name. I’m a crook. All the officers are crooks. We’ve raided the benefit fund. We’ve sold out to the big operators. We steal lead pencils and paper clips.”

“Can you be more specific? What was the most embarrassing rumor?”

Korby was suddenly not listening. He took a folded handkerchief from his pocket, opened it up, wiped his face and his baldness, refolded the handkerchief at the creases, and returned it to his pocket. Then his eyes went back to Wolfe.

“If you want something specific,” he said, “it’s not a rumor. It’s a strictly internal union matter, but it’s sure to leak now and it might as well leak here first. There have been some charges made, and they’re being looked into, about kickbacks from dealers to union officers and members. Phil Holt had something to do with some of the charges, though that wasn’t in his department. He got hot about it.”

“Were you the target of any of the charges?”

“I was not. I have the complete trust of my associates and my staff.”

“You said ‘dealers.’ Does that include importers?”

“Sure, importers are dealers.”

“Was Mr. Griffin’s name mentioned in any of the charges?”

“I’m not giving any names, not without authority from my board. Those things are confidential.”

“Much obliged, Jim,” H. L. Griffin said, sounding the opposite of obliged. “Even exchange?”

“Excuse me.” It was Dick Vetter, on his feet. “It’s nearly twelve o’clock and Miss Korby and I have to go. We’ve got to get some lunch and I can’t be late for that conference. Anyway, I think it’s a lot of hooey. Come on, Flora.”

She hesitated a moment, then left her chair, and he moved. But when Wolfe snapped out his name he turned. “Well?”

Wolfe swiveled his chair. “My apologies. I should have remembered that you are pressed for time. If you can give us, say, five minutes?”

The TV star smiled indulgently. “For my autobiography? You can look it up. It’s in print- TV Guide a couple of months ago, or Clock magazine, I don’t remember the date. I say this is hooey. If one of us is a murderer, okay, I wish you luck, but this isn’t getting you anywhere. Couldn’t I just tell you anything I felt like?”

“You could indeed, Mr. Vetter. But if inquiry reveals that you have lied or have omitted something plainly relevant that will be of interest. The magazine articles you mentioned-do they tell of your interest in Miss Korby?”

“Nuts.” Many of his twenty million admirers wouldn’t have liked either his tone or his diction.

Wolfe shook his head. “If you insist, Mr. Vetter, you may of course be disdainful about it with me, but not with the police once they get interested in you. I asked you before if you and Miss Korby are friends, and you asked what that had to do with it, and I said possibly nothing. I now say possibly something, since Philip Holt was hounding her-how savagely I don’t know yet. Are you and Miss Korby friends?”