Homicide Trinity (25 page)

“Certainly.”

“Fine. I hope it’s not counterfeit.” I swiveled and got the phone and dialed Saul Panzer’s number.

I
was there at the beginning of the briefing session in Wolfe’s bedroom at eight o’clock Tuesday morning, but when the phone interrupted us a second time Wolfe told me to go down to the office and take it there. The first time it was a
Times
reporter wanting to speak with Wolfe, and when I told him Wolfe was busy and would I do, he said no and hung up. The second call, which I took in the office, was from Lon Cohen of the
Gazette,
who preferred me to Wolfe any day. He wanted to know when he could send a photographer to take a picture of the dirt Wolfe was going to feed the cops. Evidently one of the two who had carried Hattie out knew a newspaperman. Lon had other questions, naturally, but I told him the answers would have to wait until I found out what they were.

I was considering whether to rejoin the briefing session when the phone rang again. It was Nathaniel Parker. He was sorry he hadn’t been able to spring our client, but it had taken him three hours to find out where she was, and he hadn’t got to see her until midnight. He expected to have her out by noon.

At nine o’clock the trio came down. One of the reasons they are better than most is that none of them looks it. Saul Panzer, under-sized and wiry, with a big nose, could be a hackie. Fred Durkin, broad and burly and bald, could be a piano mover. Orrie Cather, tall and trim and dressy, could be an automobile salesman. They stepped into the office, and Saul said they had been told
to take three hundred dollars apiece in used bills. I said as I went to open the safe that even with inflation and even with janitors promoted to building superintendents, fifty bucks was the top price for one, and they would please return the change. Orrie said that if they had to buy clerks and elevator men and neighbors there wouldn’t be any change. Saul said they would each give me a ring every couple of hours or so.

When they had gone I went on with the morning chores—opening the mail, dusting the desks, filing the cards of propagation and performance records which Theodore puts on my desk every evening. That was just for my hands and eyes; my mind was busy with something else. Of all the things I do to earn my pay, from sharpening pencils to jumping a visitor before he can get his gun up, the most important is riding Wolfe, and he knows it. Sometimes it’s next to impossible to tell whether he’s working or only pretending to. That was the question that morning. If he was only stalling, if he had sent for Saul and Fred and Orrie just to keep from starting his brain going, the thing for me to do was to go up to the plant rooms and go to work on him. It was the same old problem, and the trouble was that that time I would have nothing to say when he narrowed his eyes at me, as he would, and inquired coldly, “What would you suggest?”

That was what my mind was on, and was still on when the doorbell rang a little after ten o’clock and I went to the hall for a look. It was Albert Leach, with his snap-brim hat down even closer to his ears than yesterday. I went and opened the door.

“Good morning,” he said, and slipped his hand inside his overcoat.

I supposed he was producing his credentials. “Don’t bother,” I said, “I recognize you.”

But it wasn’t credentials. His name came out with a folded paper. Extending it, he said, “Order of the Federal District Court.”

I took it, unfolded it, and read. I read it through. “You know,” I said, “this is a new experience. I can’t remember
that we have ever been served with an order from a Federal court. Mr. Wolfe will be glad to add it to his collection.” I stuck it in my pocket.

“You note,” he said, “that I am empowered to search for the object specified if necessary.”

“You won’t have to. You heard me tell Cramer yesterday that I put it in the safe, and it’s still there. Come in.” I gave him room.

He had excellent manners. He entered, removed his hat, stood while I shut the door, and followed me to the office. I swung the safe door open, got a corner of the wrapping paper with my thumb and forefinger, carried it dangling and put it on my desk, and went back and brought the lettuce and the string. “There you are,” I said. “I didn’t rewrap it after I lifted the prints.”

His lips tightened. “You said nothing to Inspector Cramer about lifting prints.”

“No? I thought I had. Of course that was routine after Miss Annis told us how and where she found it. You won’t find any except hers and mine. I couldn’t, and I was pretty thorough.”

“You tampered with evidence.”

“What was it evidence of—then?” My feelings were hurt. “Anyway, the prints are still there. I’ll give you a bag to carry it in, but first we’ll have to count it and I want a receipt. It’s still the property of Miss Hattie Annis.”

He opened his mouth and closed it again. It was a situation. He knew that I knew that he knew that I knew it was counterfeit, and therefore we both knew that Hattie would never see it again, but he was still keeping it off the record. “I’ll make a concession,” I offered. “We’ll weigh it on the postal scale. Put it on.”

He picked it up and put it on the scale, and we looked. Just under seventeen ounces. I brought a shopping bag from the kitchen and gave it to him, got at the typewriter, and tapped out a receipt for 16-11/12 oz. of twenty-dollar bills. I was tempted to add “in good condition,” but remembered that he had warned me not to try any fancy tricks with the Secret Service. As I
handed him the receipt and my pen the doorbell rang, and I stepped to the hall.

It was Inspector Cramer. I went and opened the door. He entered. I shut the door. When I turned his hand was emerging from inside his coat with a folded paper. He handed it to me. I read it through. It wouldn’t be worth keeping as a souvenir—just the State of New York.

“You’ll notice,” he said, “that I can search for it if I have to.”

“You won’t have to. You know where it is.”

He strode to the office door and on in. I stopped on the sill. Leach, at my desk, with the shopping bag in one hand and the bills in the other, turned.

“It’s a problem,” I said. “Leach has signed a receipt for it, but I can tear it up. Why don’t you split it half and half?”

Cramer stood at arm’s length from the T-man. A muscle in the side of his neck was twitching. “That’s evidence in a murder case,” he said. “I have a court order for it.”

“So have I,” Leach said. “From a Federal court.” He put the bills in the bag, taking his time, and tucked the bag under his arm. “If you’ll send a man to our office he’ll be allowed to examine it, Inspector. We are always ready to cooperate with the local authorities.”

He moved, detouring around Cramer. Cramer wheeled and followed him, and I stepped aside to let them by. As Cramer passed he gave me a glare that would have withered a lesser man. I didn’t cooperate by going to open the door because I wasn’t sure I could keep my face straight, and when they were out and the door had closed I quit trying. A whoop had wanted out the second Cramer produced the paper, and now I let it come. I laughed so loud and so long that Fritz appeared at the kitchen door to ask what had happened.

There was no point in disturbing Wolfe in the plant rooms, so I let it wait until he came down at eleven o’clock. He never whoops, but when I reported and showed him the court orders he allowed himself an
all-out chuckle and there was a twinkle in his eye. He said it was just as well he hadn’t been present, since Cramer would probably have accused him of staging it, and I agreed. I said I was glad the stuff was out of the house, and he agreed.

Calls came from Saul and Fred and Orrie during the next half hour. Nothing promising. Orrie had spoken with Max Eder, the janitor of the building, and three other tenants. Fred had bought a squirrel and a kangaroo and had spent an hour in the workroom in the rear of the shop. Saul hadn’t been inside the building that contained the Mushroom Theater. From the outside it looked as if it might collapse if you leaned against it. He had spent the two hours covering the neighborhood. When I relayed the reports to Wolfe, who was doing a crossword puzzle in the
London Observer,
all I got was a grunt. I had about decided it was time to go to work on him when the doorbell rang and I went to answer it.

It was our lawyer and our client. I hadn’t told him to bring her. I was in no mood for her, and Wolfe certainly wasn’t. All I could tell her was that Wolfe either had an inkling or hadn’t, and he was spending her money at the rate of fifty bucks an hour. I went and opened the door but occupied the threshold.

“Greetings,” I said heartily. “This is a relief! I’m sorry we couldn’t make it sooner, Hattie, but Mr. Parker did his best. You’ll take her home, Nat? I’m tied up here.”

“Don’t call me Hattie,” she said, “until I find what you’re up to.”

“I brought her here,” Parker said, “because she insisted.” He looked harassed. “I’ll be going. I’ve canceled two appointments and I’m late for another one. Let me know if you need me.” He went.

“Every time I come here,” Hattie said, “there you stand. What good does it do to open the door if you fill it up?”

I stood aside and she entered. She took off the gray woolen gloves and stuck them in her coat pocket, and unbuttoned her coat, and I certainly would have been
no good if I hadn’t helped her off with the coat, so I did, and put it on a hanger. By the time I had it on the rack she was at the office door, entering, and by the time I got to the office she was in the red leather chair and Wolfe was glowering at her.

“About that lawyer,” she said. “I’m not going to pay him too, and I told him so. When I told Buster I could pay forty-two thousand dollars that includes everything.”

Wolfe looked at me. I nodded. “All right. I told you I was under a spell. I scaled it down.”

He looked at her. “Very well, madam, I’ll pay the lawyer. You came to tell me that?”

“I told you before not to madam me. First I want to see that counterfeit money, then I’ll know I can trust you. Show it to me.”

Wolfe looked at me. I have seen him handle many a crisis, but that was too tough for him. “Archie?” he said.

I opened my desk drawer, took out three sheets of paper, and went and handed her one of them. “A cop named Cramer brought that,” I said. “Signed by a judge, ordering us to give him the bills and the wrapper. Cramer knows Mr. Wolfe and me and doesn’t like us. When he handed me that he sneered.”

“I thought so. You’re no good. So you—”

“Wait a minute. We had been afraid that would happen. The cop was too late.” I handed her another paper. “A man had already come with that, signed by a Federal judge, and I had turned the money over to him, so the cop was out of luck. I don’t say we had arranged it, but facts are facts. The cop was so sore he marched out without a word.” I handed her the third paper. “That’s the receipt the man signed.”

She hadn’t even glanced at any of the documents. She handed them back. “I wish I had been here,” she said.

“So do I, Miss Annis. You would have enjoyed it.”

“Call me Hattie.”

“With pleasure.” I returned the papers to the drawer and sat. “Did you have a hard night?”

“Not too hard. There was a couch and I got some
naps, but the woman that stayed with me wouldn’t turn the lights out, and every two hours they came back and started in again. Cops are too mean to live, and they’re too dumb. They might have known I wouldn’t speak to a cop.”

“Didn’t you speak at all?”

“No. Didn’t I say I wouldn’t?”

“Not a word?”

“No. The worst part was I was hungry. They brought some stuff twice last night and again this morning, but of course I wouldn’t touch it. I don’t know what kind of drug they had in it, something to make me talk.”

“You haven’t eaten at all?”

“Of course not.”

Wolfe grunted. “That’s ridiculous. We have a spare room that is comfortable. Mr. Goodwin will take you to it, and my chef will take you a tray. After your fast you should eat with caution. Have you a preference?”

She cocked her head. “You bet I have, Falstaff. Let the lady enjoy herself. I know about your chef. How about some lamb kidneys
bourguignonne?”

Wolfe doesn’t flabbergast easy, but that did it. He stared. “That would take time, mad—Miss Annis. At least two hours.”

“I don’t mind, I’ll take a nap. Is there a bathroom?”

“Certainly.”

“Then I can wash the smell of the cops off. But the other thing I want to know, what about the reward? We want that reward.”

“That’s problematical. I’ll keep it in mind. We have a more urgent matter to deal with. After you are refreshed—”

“What matter?”

“The job you hired me for. Investigation of the murder committed in your house.”

“I hired you to make the cops eat dirt, and you already have. The one named Cramer, is he a big one with a big red face and little blue eyes like a pig?”

“Pigs’ eyes are not blue. Otherwise the description fits.”

“Then you’ve already made him eat dirt. I wish I had been here. He was the first one in my room when they busted the door. That’s part of your job, to make them pay for that door. The murder, that’s their job. I’m surprised it was Tammy Baxter because I thought a counterfeiter would have more clothes, but of course when somebody came for the package and it wasn’t there he thought she had taken it and he killed her, but she should have known I had it because I told her yesterday morning—”

The phone rang and I swiveled and got it. A female said that Mr. Mandel wanted to speak to me, and after a wait he came on.

“Goodwin? Mandel of the District Attorney’s office. I want to see you. How soon can you be here?”

“Twenty minutes. If necessary.”

“It’s necessary. It’s ten minutes past twelve. I’ll expect you at twelve-thirty. Right?”

I told him yes, traffic permitting, hung up, and arose. “The DA’s office,” I announced. “I’m surprised it didn’t come sooner. You don’t need me anyway, you understand each other so well.”

I left them.

T
hey kept me at 155 Leonard Street five and a half hours. All I got out of it was two corned beef sandwiches, a piece of blueberry pie, and two glasses of milk, on the house, eaten at the desk of assistant DA Mandel. What they got out of it was doubtful. In addition to Mandel, I had conversations with another assistant DA named Lindstrom, two detectives attached to the DA’s office, and District Attorney Macklin himself.