Might as Well Be Dead (10 page)

“I’ve told you. I won’t do that.”

Hearing her tone, and seeing her eyes and her jaw, he started to glare but decided it wouldn’t work. So he turned to me. “Archie.”

I did the glaring, at him, and then toned the glare down as I transferred it to her. “Mrs. Molloy,” I said, “Mr. Wolfe is a genius, but geniuses have their weak spots, and one of his is that he pretends to believe that attractive young women can refuse me nothing. It comes in handy when an attractive young woman says no to something he wants, because it’s an excuse for passing the buck to me, which he just did. I don’t know what to do with it and he can’t expect me to—he just said himself that when feeling takes over sense is impotent, so what good will it do to try to reason with you? But may I ask you a question?”

She said yes.

“Suppose no good grounds for a retrial or an appeal are found, and the sentence is carried out, and Peter Hays dies in the electric chair, and some time later, when a court gets around to it, that safe-deposit box is opened and it contains something that starts an investigation and leads to evidence that someone else committed the murder. What would your feeling be then?”

She had her lip pinned again, and had to release it to say, “I don’t think that’s a fair question.”

“Why not? All I did was suppose, and it wasn’t inconceivable. That box may be empty, but it
could
contain what I said. I think the trouble is that you don’t believe there is any evidence, in that safe-deposit box or anywhere else, that will clear Peter Hays, because he’s guilty, so why should you do something you don’t want to do?”

“That’s not true! It’s not true!”

“You know damn well it’s true.”

Her head went down, forward, and her hands came up to cover her face. Wolfe glowered at me. From that room he has walked out on a lot of different people, but when a woman goes to pieces he doesn’t walk out, he runs. I shook my head at him. I didn’t think Selma Molloy was going to slip the bit.

She didn’t. When she finally raised her head her eyes met mine and she said calmly, “Listen, Mr. Goodwin. Didn’t I help all I could yesterday and didn’t I come today? You know I did. But how can I claim any rights as Mike Molloy’s widow when for two years I bitterly regretted I was his wife? Don’t you see it’s impossible? Isn’t there some other way? Can’t I ask for someone else to be administrator and he can have rights?”

“I don’t know,” I told her. “That’s a legal question.”

“Get Mr. Parker,” Wolfe snapped.

I turned and pulled the phone to me and dialed. Since Nathaniel Parker had answered some ten thousand legal questions for us over the years I didn’t have to look up the number. While I was getting him Saul Panzer asked Wolfe if he should leave, and was told to wait until there was some place for him to leave for. When I had Parker, Wolfe took his phone.

I had to admire his performance. He would have liked to tell Parker that we were being obstructed by a perverse and capricious female, but with her sitting there that would have been inadvisable, so he merely said that for reasons of her own the widow refused to assert her claims, and put the legal problem. From there on his part was mostly grunts.

When he hung up he turned to the female. “Mr. Parker says it’s complicated, and since it’s urgent he wants to ask you some questions. He will be here in twenty minutes. He says it will expedite matters if you will decide whom you would like to suggest as administrator. Have you anyone in mind?”

“Why—no.” She frowned. She looked at me, and back at him. “Could it be Mr. Goodwin?”

“My dear madam.” Wolfe was exasperated. “Use your faculties. You met Mr. Goodwin yesterday for the first time, in his capacity as a private investigator. It would be highly inappropriate, and the court would find it so. It should be someone you know well, and trust. What about the man who closed the office and took the cartons to your apartment? Thomas Irwin.”

“I don’t think—” She considered it. “I don’t think I’d want to ask him to do this. His wife wouldn’t like it. But I wouldn’t mind asking Pat Degan. He might say no, but I could ask him.”

“Who is he?”

“Patrick A. Degan. He’s the head of the Mechanics Alliance Welfare Association. His office isn’t far from here, on Thirty-ninth Street. I could call him now.”

“How long have you known him?”

“Three years, since I was married. He was a friend of my husband’s, but he always—I mean, he really is my friend, I’m sure he is. Shall I call him? What will I say?”

“Tell him you wish to request a favor of him, and ask him to come here. Now, if possible. If he asks questions tell him you would rather not discuss it on the phone. And I venture a suggestion, in case he comes and consents to act. Legal services will be required, and he may want to name the lawyer to be engaged to perform them. I urge you not to agree. From a legal standpoint it will be your interests the lawyer will represent, whether you wish to renounce them or not, and it will be proper and desirable for you to choose him.”

“Why can’t I choose the lawyer he names?”

“Because I wouldn’t trust him. Because I suspect Mr. Degan of having killed your husband.”

She goggled at him. “You suspect Pat Degan? You never heard of him until just now!”

Wolfe nodded. “I made it sensational. Purposely. I suspect each and all of your husband’s associates, as I must until I have reason to discriminate, and Mr. Degan is one of them. I advise you not to let him name the lawyer. If you are at a loss to choose one, I suggest Nathaniel Parker, who will be here shortly. I have dealt with him many years, and I recommend him without reservation. As for trusting me, either you believe that I am earnestly seeking an end you desire or it is folly for you to be here at all.”

It was a good pitch, but it didn’t do the job—not completely. She looked at me, looking the question instead of asking it.

I gave her a strictly professional smile. “Parker is as good as they come, Mrs. Molloy.”

“All right, then.” She arose. “May I use the phone?”

Chapter 9

S
INCE PATRICK A. DEGAN was the first suspect we had laid eyes on, unless you want to count Albert Freyer or Delia Brandt, naturally I gave him some attention, and I had plenty of opportunity during the hour that the conference lasted. In appearance I wouldn’t have called him sinister—a medium-sized specimen in his early forties with a fair start on a paunch, round face, wide nose, and dark brown eyes that moved quickly and often. He greeted Selma Molloy as a friend, taking her hand in both of his, but not as one who had been bewitched by her into shooting her husband and framing her P.H. for it. I had him mostly in profile during the conference, since he was on a yellow chair facing Wolfe, with Nathaniel Parker on another one between Degan and me. After making the phone call, Mrs. Molloy had returned to the red leather chair. Saul Panzer had retired to one in the rear, over by the bookshelves.

When the situation had been explained to Degan by Mrs. Molloy and she had asked the favor, he wasted five minutes trying to get her to change her mind. When he saw that was no go, he said he would be willing to do what she wanted provided it was legally feasible, and on that point he would have to consult his lawyer. She said of course he would want to ask his lawyer about it, but her lawyer, Mr. Parker, was right there and would explain how it could be done. Not bad for a girl who wasn’t using her faculties. Degan turned his quick brown eyes on Parker, polite but not enthusiastic. Parker cleared his throat and started in. That was the first he had heard that he was Mrs. Molloy’s counsel, since he had had only a minute or two with us before Degan arrived, but he didn’t raise the point.

From there on it got highly technical, and I had a notion, rejected as unprofessional, to give Mrs. Molloy’s faculties a recess by taking her up to the plant rooms and showing her the orchids. Anyone sufficiently interested can call Parker at his office, Phoenix 5-2382, and get the details. What it boiled down to was that there were three different ways of handling it, but one would be much too slow, and which of the other two was preferable? Degan made two phone calls to his lawyer, and finally they got it settled. Parker would start the ball rolling immediately, and Degan agreed to be available for an appearance before a judge on short notice. Parker thought we might get a look at the inside of the safe-deposit box by Monday, and possibly sooner. He was just getting up to go when the phone rang and I answered it.

It was Sergeant Purley Stebbins of Homicide West. He told me some news, and I asked a few questions, and when he asked me a question I decided I didn’t know the answer and asked him to hold the wire. Covering the transmitter, I turned to Wolfe.

“Stebbins. At eleven-forty-eight last night a man was hit by a car on Riverside Drive in the Nineties, and killed. The body has been identified as that of John Joseph Keems. About an hour ago the car that hit him was found parked on upper Broadway, and it’s hot. It was stolen last night from where it was parked on Ninety-second Street. The fact that it was a stolen car makes Purley think it may have been premeditated murder, possibly in connection with a case Keems was working on, and, knowing that Johnny Keems often does jobs for you, he asks if he was working for you last night. I told him you sometimes hire an operative without telling me, and I’d ask you. I’m asking you.”

“Tell him I’m engaged and you’ll call him back.”

I did so, hung up, and swiveled. Wolfe’s lips were tight, his eyes were half closed, and his temple was twitching. He met my eyes and demanded, “You knew him. How much chance is there that he would have let a car kill him by inadvertence?”

“Practically none. Not Johnny Keems.”

Wolfe’s head turned. “Saul?”

“No, sir.” Saul had got to his feet while I was reporting to Wolfe. “Of course it could happen, but I agree with Archie.”

Wolfe’s head turned more, to the left. “Mrs. Molloy, if Mr. Goodwin was correct when he said that you believe there can be no evidence that will clear Peter Hays, this bitter pill for me is not so bitter for you. Not only can there be such evidence, there will be. Johnny Keems was working for me last night, on this case, and he was murdered. That settles it. You have been told that I thought it likely that Peter Hays is innocent; now I know he is.”

His head jerked right. “Mr. Parker, the urgency is now pressing. I beg you to move with all possible speed. Well?”

I wouldn’t say that Parker moved with all possible speed, but he moved. He made for the hall and was gone.

Degan, lifted from his chair by Wolfe’s tone and manner, had a question. “Do you realize what you’re saying?”

“Yes, sir, I do. Why? Do you challenge it?”

“No, I don’t challenge it, but you’re worked up and I wondered if you realized that you were practically promising Mrs. Molloy that Peter Hays will be cleared. What if you’re giving her false hopes? What if you can’t make good on it? I think I have the right to ask, as an old friend of hers.”

“Perhaps you have.” Wolfe nodded at him. “I concede it. It’s a stratagem, Mr. Degan, directed at myself. By committing myself to Mrs. Molloy, before witnesses, I add to other incentives that of preserving my self-conceit. If the risk of failure is grave for her it is also grave for me.”

“You didn’t have to make it so damned positive.” Degan went to Mrs. Molloy and put a hand on her shoulder. “I hope to God he’s right, Selma. It’s certainly rough on you. Anything more I can do?”

She said no and thanked him, and I went to the hall to let him out. Back in the office, Saul had moved back to a seat up front, presumably by invitation, and Wolfe was lecturing Mrs. Molloy.

“… and I’ll answer your question, but only on condition that henceforth you confide in no one. You are to tell no one anything you may learn of my surmises or plans. If I suspected Mr. Degan, as I did and do, I now have better reason to suspect other friends of yours. Do you accept the condition?”

“I’ll accept anything that will help,” she declared. “All I asked was what he was doing—the man that was killed.”

“And I want to tell you because you may be of help, but first I must be assured that you will trust no one. You will repeat nothing and reveal nothing.”

“All right. I promise.”

Regarding her, he rubbed the end of his nose with a finger tip. It was a dilemma that had confronted him many times over the years. There were very few men whose tongues he had ever been willing to rely on, and no women at all, but she might have facts he needed and he had to risk it. So he did.

“Mr. Keems left here shortly after seven o’clock last evening with specific instructions, to see the three people who were with you at the theater the evening of January third. He was to learn—What’s the matter?”

Her chin had jerked up and her lips had parted. “You might have told me that you suspect me too. I suppose you did, when you said you suspect all of my husband’s associates.”

“Nonsense. His target was not your alibi. He was to learn all the circumstances of the invitation you got to use an extra theater ticket. That was what got you away from your apartment for the evening. Whoever went there to kill your husband certainly knew you were safely out of the way; and not only that, he may have arranged for your absence. That was what Mr. Keems was after. He had the names and addresses of Mr. Irwin and Mr. and Mrs. Arkoff, and he was to report to me at once if he got any hint that the invitation to you was designed. He didn’t report, but he must have got a hint or someone thought he did; and it must have been a betraying hint, since to suppress it someone stole an automobile and killed him with it. That is not palpable, but it’s highly probable, and it’s my assumption until it’s discredited.”

“But then—” She shook her head. “I just don’t believe—Did he see them? Who did he see?”

“I don’t know. As I say, he didn’t report. We’ll find out. I want all you can tell me about that invitation. It came from Mrs. Arkoff?”

“Yes. She phoned me.”

“When?”

“At half-past seven. I told all about it on the—at the trial.”

“I know you did, but I want it first-hand. What did she say?”