Homicide Trinity (20 page)

She had lifted her head and I had put a cushion under it. “I appreciate it,” she said. “A wonderful day. Buster carries me in and Falstaff gives me two minutes—and here’s another one with coffee!”

Fritz coming with the coffee eased the situation. To Wolfe anyone having food or drink in his house is a guest, and guests have to be humored, within reason. He couldn’t tell me to bounce her while I was bringing a stand for the tray and Fritz was filling her cup. So he stood and scowled. When she had taken a sip he spoke.

“Mr. Goodwin said you have something that you think is good for a reward. What is it?”

She had sat up and taken off the woolen gloves. She took another sip. “That’s good coffee,” she said. “First I’ll tell you how I got it. I own that house on Forty-seventh Street. I was born in it.” Another sip. “Do you happen to know that all stage people are crazy?”

Wolfe grunted. “They have no monopoly.”

“Maybe not, but theirs is a special kind. I’m not saying I like them, but they give me a feeling. My father owned a theater. My house is only an eight-minute walk from Times Square, and I only need one room and a kitchen, so they can live there whether they can pay or not. Five of them are living there now—three men and two girls—and they use the kitchen. They’re supposed to make their beds and keep their rooms decent, and
some of them do. I never go in their rooms. My room is the second floor front—”

“If you please.” Wolfe was curt. “To the point.”

“I’ll get there, Falstaff. Let the lady talk.” She took a sip. “Good coffee. The ground floor front is the parlor. Nobody goes in there much since my mother died years ago, but once a week I go in and look around, and when I went in yesterday afternoon a mouse ran out from under the piano and went in back of the bookshelves. Do you believe a mouse could run up a woman’s leg?”

“No.” Wolfe was emphatic.

“Neither do I. I got my umbrella from the hall and poked behind the shelves, but he didn’t come out. There’s no back to the shelves, so if I took the books out I’d have him. The bottom shelf has a
History of the Thirteen Colonies
in ten volumes and a set of Macaulay with the backs coming off. I took them all out, but the mouse wasn’t there. He must have moved while I was getting the umbrella. But in back of the books was a little package I had never seen before, and I opened it, and that’s what I’ve got. If I took it to the cops, good-by. We can split the reward three ways, you and me and Buster here.”

“What’s in it?”

Her head turned. “Open it, Buster.”

I took it from my pocket, sat on a chair, untied the string, and unwrapped the paper. It was a stack of new twenty-dollar bills. I flipped through it at a corner and then at another corner. All twenties.

“Imagine handing that to the cops,” Hattie said. “Of course he knew I had it and he tried to kill me.”

Wolfe grunted. “How much, Archie?”

“About two inches thick. Two hundred and fifty to the inch. Ten thousand dollars, more or less.”

“Madam. You say he tried to kill you. Who?”

“I don’t know which one.” She put her cup down and picked up the pot to pour. “It could be one of the girls, but I’d rather not. If he hadn’t tried to kill me I would just as soon—”

The doorbell rang. After putting the lettuce and paper and string on the chair, I went to the hall and took a look. It was a medium-sized round-shouldered stranger in a dark gray overcoat and a snap brim nearly down to his ears. Before opening the door I shut the one to the front room.

“Yes, sir?”

He took a leather fold from a pocket, flipped it open, and offered it. I took it, Treasury Department of the United States. Secret Service Division. Albert Leach. In the picture he had no hat on, but it was probably him. I handed it back.

“My name is Albert Leach,” he said.

“Check,” I said.

“I’d like to speak with Mr. Wolfe and Mr. Goodwin.”

“Mr. Wolfe isn’t available. I’m Goodwin.”

“May I come in?”

It was a little ticklish. Of course I had smelled a rat the second I saw his credentials. The walls and doors on that floor were all soundproofed, but with Wolfe and Hattie in there together there was no telling, and I didn’t want him inside. But it had started to snow and the stoop had no roof, and I certainly wanted to know what was on his mind.

I have him room and he stepped in. “I’m sorry,” I said, “but Mr. Wolfe is busy and I’m helping him with something, so if you’ll tell me—”

“Certainly.” He had removed his hat. His hair was going, but it would be a couple of years before he could be called bald. “I want to ask about a woman named Baxter. Tamiris Baxter or Tammy Baxter. Is she here?”

“No. Around twenty-five? Five feet four, light brown hair, hazel eyes, hundred and twenty pounds, fur coat and fuzzy turban?”

He nodded. “That fits her.”

“She was here this morning. She came at twenty minutes past ten, uninvited and unexpected, and left at ten-thirty.”

“Has she been back?”

“No.”

“Has she phoned?”

“No.”

“Another woman named Annis, Hattie Annis. Has she been here?”

I cocked my head. “You know, Mr. Leach, I don’t mind being polite, but what the hell. Mr. Wolfe is a licensed private detective and so am I, and we don’t answer miscellaneous questions just to pass the time. I’ve heard of Hattie Annis because Miss Baxter asked if she had been here, and I told her no. She asked me to phone her if she came, but I probably won’t. What if this Hattie Annis comes and hires Mr. Wolfe to do a job? She might not want anyone to know she had been here. So skip it.”

“I’m an officer of the law, Goodwin. I’m an agent of the United States government.”

“So you are. And?”

“I want to know if Hattie Annis has been here today.”

“Ask her. Miss Baxter gave me the phone number. Do you want it?”

“I have it.” He put his hat on. “I know your reputation, Goodwin, and Wolfe’s. You may get away with fancy tricks with the New York Police Department, but I advise you not to try any with the Secret Service.” He turned and went, leaving the door open.

I shut the door and then went to the office. I got the best glass from a drawer of Wolfe’s desk and a new twenty-dollar bill from the safe, and proceeded to the front room. Wolfe was still standing, scowling down at her, and she was talking. She broke off as I entered and turned to me. “You’re just in time, Buster. He’s trying to tell me there may be no reward, and I never heard of—what are you doing?”

I had picked up the stack of bills and was going to a window. Putting the one on top side by side with the one I had taken from the safe, one minute with the glass settled it. I took the one from the bottom of the stack, and one from the middle, and used the glass on them.
The same. I stuck the good one in my pocket and crossed to them.

“There’ll probably be an award,” I told her. “Official. They’re phonies. Counterfeit.”

I
told a friend of mine about this incident one day a few weeks later, and when I got this far I asked her to guess what Hattie’s reaction had been. “That’s easy,” my friend said. “She accused you of taking good bills from the package and substituting bad ones. You should have known she would.” My friend couldn’t have been more wrong, but I admit it was my fault. I hadn’t drawn Hattie true to life. What Hattie actually said was, “Of course they’re counterfeit. Why would he hide real money in my parlor? And why would I bring it to Nero Wolfe?”

“You knew they were phonies?” I demanded.

“I knew they must be.”

“You didn’t mention it.”

“Why should I? To you two great detectives? You knew it too or you wouldn’t have examined them with a magnifying glass.”

I shook my head. “I didn’t know it, I only suspected it. I suspected it when I answered the bell just now and found a T-man at the door. A T-man is a Secret Service agent of the Treasury Department. He wanted to know if a woman named Tamiris Baxter was here. I told him no, that she was here this morning for ten minutes and left her—”

“Tammy Baxter? Tammy was here?”

“Right. She wanted to know if you had been here and I told her no. She left her phone number and asked me to ring her if you came. Then the T-man asked if Hattie
Annis had been here, and I told him I was against answering miscellaneous questions, which is true, but the thing was I had got curious about this stack of bills and wanted to take a look. So he left and I came and looked. Now you say you knew they were counterfeit.”

“Archie.” Wolfe was gruff. “You saw that man’s credentials?”

“Of course.”

“He asked for Miss Annis?”

“He asked if she had been here.”

“Why didn’t you bring him in?”

“Because he wanted to look at the bills. If they were okay I saw no reason to let the T-man disturb a guest of yours who appreciates Fritz’s coffee.”

The trouble was, she had finished with the coffee. “Very well,” he said, “you have looked at them. Does the Secret Service have a New York office?”

“Yes.” A list of the things any two-bit dick knows and he doesn’t would fill a book.

“Call them and report. If Miss Annis leaves before they arrive keep the bills, and of course they will want the wrapping paper. Give her a receipt if she wants one.” He turned and made for the office, shutting the door.

It didn’t stay shut long. I admit I could have stopped her, by taking a step and stretching an arm, but I thought he might at least have given her a chance to thank him for the coffee. So I didn’t take the step until she had the door open, and then went only to the sill. Wolfe was in his chair behind his desk before he knew she was there.

“Did you mean that?” she demanded. “Call the cops and hand it over?”

“Not the cops, madam.” He was sharp. “The Secret Service. I have a responsibility as a citizen. Counterfeit money is contraband. I can’t let you walk out of my house with it.”

She put a hand on the desk edge for a prop. “Bootlicker,” she said. “The great detective Nero Wolfe just a flunky for the cops. If Falstaff was here I’d apologize to him. Maybe he wasn’t much of a hero, but he was no toady. You can’t glare me down, the lady’s going to talk.
I found that stuff in my house, and I thought, I’d rather just burn it than turn it over to the cops. I thought the thing to do was find out who put it there and then go to a newspaper. Finding a counterfeiter ought to call for a reward. But I didn’t know how to find out because my mind doesn’t work like that, so I thought I would get a detective and split the reward with him, and I might as well get the best, so I go to Nero Wolfe, and this is what happens. Counterfeit money may be contraband, but it’s not your counterfeit money, it’s mine, I found it in my house, but what do you care, you want to suck up to the cops, so you tell him to call them and report, and keep the bills, and swaggle out. I spit at you. I don’t spit, but I spit at you.” She about-faced. “You too, Buster? Is this what you carried me in for?”

“Madam,” Wolfe said.

She whirled back. “Don’t madam me!”

“You have a point,” Wolfe said. “I reject your charge of servility, but you have a point, and an interesting one. I am not an officer of the law. Has a private citizen the right to confiscate contraband? I doubt it. Even if he has the right, is it a duty? Surely not. That counterfeit money is yours until it is seized by public authority. I confess to error, but I was prompted by expedience, not sycophancy. I merely wanted to get clear of a muddle. Now, confound it, you have raised a point I can’t ignore, but neither can I ignore my obligation as a citizen. I offer a suggestion: Mr. Goodwin will put the bills in my safe and go with you to your house and investigate. You say you wanted to engage me to identify and expose the counterfeiter; he will decide if that is feasible without prolonged and expensive inquiry. If it isn’t I’ll return your property to you, but I shall notify the Secret Service that I am doing so. In either case, I shall expect no fee. You are not my client. I am merely wriggling out of a muddle. Well?”

“We split the reward three ways,” she said.

“I have no interest in a reward.” He flipped a hand, discarding it. “There probably won’t be any.”

“There had better be. I don’t need it, I’ve got enough
to go on and then some, but I’ve never earned any money and this is my chance. Keeping it in your safe, that’s all right. I’m not going to apologize for what I said until I see what happens.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to. Archie?”

I moved. The bills were still in my hand, but the wrapping paper and string were on the chair. I went and brought them, holding the paper by the corner. “A question,” I said. “Since he hid it where it might possibly be found he might have had sense enough not to leave prints, but he might not. If not, I’ve got him right here. I can find out in ten minutes, but it would be tampering with evidence, and the question is, do I?”

“Of course,” Hattie said. “I thought of that but I didn’t know how.”

“You can’t test it without leaving traces,” Wolfe said.

“No.”

“Then don’t. That can wait.”

Of course my prints were already there, on both the bills and the paper, but there was no point in adding more, so I took care putting them in the safe. I asked Wolfe if he had any instructions, and he said no, I knew what the situation required. I got Hattie’s bag and gloves from the front room; she hadn’t taken her coat off. I thought I might as well try her pulse, but she wouldn’t let me. When I showed her to the lavatory to look in the mirror she had to admit her face could stand some attention, and when she came out the smudge was gone and she had even tucked her hair in some.

Walking to Tenth Avenue for a taxi she limped a little, but she said it was nothing, just that her hip had a sore spot. When we were stopped by a red light at 38th Street the sight of a harness bull on the sidewalk prompted her to explain why she was so down on him and his. I got it that her father had been shot by one without provocation, but she seemed a little hazy about the details, and I was more interested in something else: what did she know of Tammy Baxter? She must be involved somehow, since the T-man wanted her. Hattie said no, it couldn’t be Tammy, because she only had one
suit, two dresses, three blouses, and two skirts, and her fur coat was rabbit, and if she were a counterfeiter she would have more clothes. I conceded that that was pretty decisive, but why was the T-man interested in her? How long had she been living in Hattie’s house? Three weeks. What did Hattie know of her background and history? Nothing. Hattie never asked for references. When someone came and wanted a place to sleep she just sized him up. Or her.