Death of a Dude

Chapter 11

At ten minutes past five Sunday afternoon a turnkey inserted a key in the lock of my cell door and turned it, opened the door, and said, “Someone for you.”

I did not respond with enthusiasm. It couldn’t possibly be Wolfe or Lily. Conceivably it was Luther Dawson, since Lily could be extremely energetic when she wanted to, but if so it would be only a courtesy call. One of the bets I had made with myself during the day was 20 to 1 that no judge would be available on an August Sunday for setting bail. It might be Sheriff Haight, but that would be no treat. He would merely try to get me to talk and I would merely try to think of bright remarks about standing mute. So I wasn’t bothering to guess as I crossed to the door, which took two and a half steps.

It was Ed Welch, and I raised a brow when I saw he had handcuffs. That must mean a trip, and to where? He snapped them on, jerked his head to the right, and said, “Take a walk,” and I headed down the corridor. Passing the door with the figure 12 on it I hoped Harvey wouldn’t look out and see me, since I couldn’t stop and explain how I got there. Welch used a key on a big barred door at the end of the corridor, and another one at the far side of the square room, and we were at the end of the side hall of the courthouse. So it would be the sheriffs office, and probably the sheriff. But it wasn’t. We went on by to the big lobby, across to the main stairs, and on up. I began to think I might have been wrong about judges, Lily and Dawson might have scared one up, but at the top of the stairs Welch steered me to the right and on to a door I had entered before. It was standing open, and a man appeared on the sill as we approached — the man whose name was on the door, County Attorney Thomas R. Jessup. We were still four paces away when he spoke.

“Why the handcuffs, Welch?”

“Why not?” Welch asked.

“Take them off.”

“If that’s an order, it’s your responsibility. He resisted arrest.”

“It’s an order. Take them off and take them with you. I’ll ring you when—”

“I’m not leaving. I have orders to stay with him.”

Jessup took a step into the hall. “Take off those handcuffs or give me the key. If you don’t know what the boundaries of authority are, Sheriff Haight does and I do. Don’t enter my office. I’ll ring you when to come for him. Give me the key.”

Welch had to do some more thinking. But it took him only a few seconds to decide he needed help on it, and the nearest help was downstairs. He got his key ring out, removed one of the keys, handed it to Jessup, and turned and marched off. It was a good performance. Better men than him, including me, have had trouble getting a key off of a ring, and he had done it, smooth and fast, under pressure.

Jessup motioned me in, followed, and shut the door. He was about as slim and trim as usual from the neck down, but his eyes were red and the lids puffed and he hadn’t shaved. There were a desk and a table in that room, but no one was at them, and there was no one in the inner room he ushered me to. There was good light from the three windows, and he looked at me and said, “I don’t see any marks.”

“None anywhere,” I said, “except maybe my shoulder where Welch kicked me. I resisted arrest by ducking when he swung a wide one.” I put my hands out, and as he used the key on the handcuffs and slipped them off he asked, “How much have you talked?”

“Not at all, except telling Welch what ‘stand mute’ means and saying I wanted to phone a lawyer named Jessup. That was around three o’clock this morning. Since then there has been no one to talk to.”

“Haight?”

“No sign of him.”

“Well, you’ll do some talking now, but first—” He pointed to a carton with cord around it on a chair. “That’s from Miss Rowan. A snack, she said. Do you want to eat first or talk first?”

I said I would rather get the talking done and take my time with the eating, and he went to his chair behind his desk. As I took one across from him he got an envelope from his breast pocket. “This explains itself,” he said, and offered it, and I reached to take it. It wasn’t sealed, and it held a single sheet of paper, Lily’s Bar JR letterhead, and the writing on it, in a hand I knew, said:

I folded it and put it in the envelope and stretched across to hand it back to Jessup. “I’d like to have it later,” I said, “as a souvenir, but Welch will frisk me again when he gets me back. Okay, I talk, but first a couple of questions. Where is Mr. Wolfe?”

“At Miss Rowan’s cabin. I have certified in writing that he is under arrest, that his movements are under my control, and that he is not to be molested without reference to me. The legal force of that document is questionable, but it will probably serve. Your other question?”

“What dented Sam Peacock’s skull?”

“A rock not much bigger than your fist. He was hit with it four or five times. It was found there on the ground about twenty feet from the car. Dr. Hutchins is sending it to the laboratory at Helena, but from his own examination he is certain it is the weapon. He says its surface is too rough for fingerprints. It could have been picked up anywhere. As you know, that’s rocky ground.”

“Has anybody got any ideas? Any you’ve heard about?”

“No. Except about you, of course. You were there, and you know how that is. In that note Wolfe says that you are irrevocably committed with me, and he thinks I am with you, and he’s right. I’m stuck with you, and I hope to God I don’t spend the rest of my life regretting it. After my talk with Wolfe I am completely satisfied that you didn’t kill Sam Peacock, but that doesn’t help much. It doesn’t help at all with the squeeze I’m in. Wolfe thinks the two murders are connected, Brodell and Peacock, and I suppose you do.”

“Certainly. Any odds you name, you’ve got a bet.”

“Why?”

“I’ll get to that.” I leaned back and crossed my legs. The chair was a big improvement on the stool in my cell. “Naturally you want to compare what I say with what Mr. Wolfe said. Starting where?”

“The day he came. If it’s more than I want, I’ll tell you.”

I talked. It required no special effort, since I was to reserve nothing relevant. The only point that needed consideration, as I went along, was whether this or that detail belonged in, and I gave most of them the benefit of the doubt and included them. One that I omitted was the phone calls to Saul Panzer; he was two thousand miles from Jessup’s jurisdiction. For the conversations, I gave him summaries of all of them except Wolfe’s with Sam Peacock Friday evening; I reported that verbatim. He was a good listener and interrupted with questions only twice, and he took no notes at all. I ended with the last two relevant conversations, mine with Peggy Truett on the dance floor and mine with Wolfe in the Museum.

“Then,” I said, “we went out to the car and opened the door, and there it was. I doubt if you need or want what happened next, since it’s relevant to me but not to the inquiry. I’m getting hoarse because my throat’s dry. The room service downstairs is none too good. Is there water handy?”

“I’m sorry. I apologize. I should have—” He was out of his chair. “Scotch or rye?”

I said just water would do but scotch would be welcome if it wanted in, and he went to a copper-colored refrigerator in a corner and took things out. A woman would have found only one flaw: he didn’t use a tray. I found none. When he returned to his chair there was on the desk in front of me a man-sized glass containing two ice cubes immersed in whisky, and a pitcher of water, and he had a glass too. I filled mine to the top, put the pitcher in his reach, took a healthy sip, and cleared my throat.

“That helps,” I said, and took another sip. “Now connecting the two murders. Of course the first point is that Mr. Wolfe and I want them to be connected, but there are other points. There at Farnham’s Friday evening Mr. Wolfe let them all hear him concentrate on Sam Peacock, and he made it obvious that he was by no means through with him. It could be that one of them knew that Sam had seen or heard something that Mr. Wolfe must not know about, but it doesn’t have to be. All of Farnham’s crowd were there last night, and one of them may have told somebody how Nero Wolfe had concentrated on Sam.” I took a swallow and put the glass down. “The shortest way to say what I’m saying is to repeat what Mr. Wolfe once told a man: ‘In a world of cause and effect, all coincidences are suspect.’ There were more than two hundred people there last night, maybe three hundred, and one of them was murdered, and which one was it? It was the man who had been alone with Brodell the two days before he was murdered and who was going to be worked on by an expert. I not only suspect that coincidence, I reject it.”

Jessup nodded. “So does Wolfe.”

“Sure. He thinks things through like me. Did my report match his fairly well?”

“Not fairly. Perfectly.”

“He has a good memory. This drink has reminded me that I’m hungry. When I smelled the Sunday dinner downstairs I decided to fast. Mr. Wolfe never talks business during a meal, but I do.” I rose. “May I open that carton?”

He said certainly, and I went and got it and put it on the desk. The knot looked complicated, and I borrowed his knife to cut the cord, opened the flaps, and unpacked. When I finished there was an imposing spread lined up on the desk:

I said I hoped he was hungry too, and he said he had told Miss Rowan that he would also have me brought on Monday, if circumstances permitted.

“Of course,” he said, “there will be people coming and going tomorrow and it would be a little complicated. Miss Rowan tried all morning to get Luther Dawson but couldn’t reach him. He’s not accessible weekends. He may not get to his office before noon tomorrow but Miss Rowan has his home telephone number, and it’s about a three-hour drive here from Helena. But there will be a judge available tomorrow at any hour. You realize that my position is a little — well, difficult. In a court proceeding in this county I represent the people of the State of Montana, and Haight will insist that I ask for high bail. He may even want me to ask that you be held without bail, but of course I won’t. I have explained the situation to Wolfe and Miss Rowan.”

My mouth was busy with deviled egg. I had the caviar jar open and was working on the pâté. I swallowed. “It’s not the being in that hurts,” I said, “it’s the not being out. After being completely useless for two weeks, I could now do some detective work with a real chance of ringing the bell if I wasn’t locked up.” I slid some of the items toward him. “Help yourself to something. Everything.”

“Thanks.” He reached for a slice of bread and the caviar. “What would you do if you were out?”

“What Haight should be doing but probably isn’t — and Welch too, instead of chaperoning me. Do you want me to describe it?”

“Yes.”

I spread caviar on bread. “I have it all in order after the hours I’ve spent looking at it. How did they get out there back of Vawter’s — Peacock and X? They arranged to meet there. In advance? No. After Peacock arrived, at nine minutes to eleven. They spoke, there on the dance floor, and arranged to meet outside. They left separately, not together, and—”

“That’s merely assumptions.”

“Certainly. That’s all you ever have to start, assumptions. You assume the probables and file the possibles for later if they’re needed. So three things happened there on the dance floor: Peacock and X spoke, and X left, and Peacock left. People saw those three things happen. Find those people. That’s what I would be doing if I were loose. It’s a kindergarten chore, but most detective work is. I said it’s what Haight should be doing, but actually, if he keeps his eyes open when he’s on duty, he shouldn’t have to. If he stayed where he was when I went in to Mr. Wolfe at a quarter past eleven, and that’s another probable, he was right there, not ten steps away from the door they left by. The reason I assume they left separately, I certainly assume that when X left he did not intend that Peacock would be coming back. He had probably already been out there behind Vawter’s for a look, and he may have had the rock in his hand when Peacock came. But those are just details to help pass the time when you’re sitting on a stool in a cell. The question is, who was seen talking with Peacock on the dance floor? And who left the dance floor between eleven-fifteen and midnight?” I knifed a gob of pâté onto a piece of bread and, having finished the whisky, poured milk.

Jessup was forking a second joint to a paper plate. “But,” he objected, “many people leave, don’t they?”

“I wouldn’t say many. Sure, some go out and most of them come back in, but that doesn’t queer it, it merely complicates it. May I have a sheet of paper and a pen or pencil? Anything — that scratch pad.”

He handed me the pad and a pen from his pocket. I chewed bread and pâté and drank milk, which was warm, while deciding how to put it, and then wrote:

I handed it to Jessup and said, “Read it, and the sooner he gets it the better.”

He read it, and then read it again. “Why this? Why not phone him?”

I shook my head. “That line may be tapped. From what I have been told about Haight and his feeling about you, it could even be that yours is tapped.”

“It’s a hell of a situation, Goodwin.”

“I agree.”

He looked at the sheet. “‘Now you have stirred him.’ Stirred him how?”

“My God, that’s obvious. Of course Peacock might have got killed anyway — for instance, if he was on a blackmail caper and overplayed it — but maybe not. He would probably still be alive if Mr. Wolfe hadn’t started in on him. Of course Haight should have done that long ago, or you should.”

He ignored the dig in his ribs. “Peggy Truett is the girl you were talking with when Peacock arrived.”

“Right. I reserved nothing relevant. If you prefer to get at her yourself I suppose it’s—”

“I don’t.” He looked at the sheet again. “You won’t have to go to St. Louis. A man named Saul Panzer is going. In fact” — he looked at his watch — “he’s there now if his plane was on time.”

“Oh.” I finished spreading an ample layer of caviar on a full slice of bread. “I don’t think I mentioned him, but evidently Mr. Wolfe did. He called him? When?”

“This morning. I drove him to Woody’s. He told Panzer to put another man on the job in New York — I forget his name—”

“Orrie Cather, probably.”

“That’s it. And he told Panzer to take the first available plane to St. Louis and gave him instructions. I think Wolfe has decided — no, not decided, assumed — that one of the persons at Farnham’s had a previous connection with Brodell. We went there when we returned from Woody’s — Wolfe and Miss Rowan and I — and I asked them to allow Miss Rowan to take pictures of them. With her camera. I know nothing about cameras, but apparently she does.”

I nodded. “She knows enough. Did any of them object?”

“No. Farnham didn’t like it, but of course he wouldn’t. She seemed quite expert. I brought the film and a man I know is developing it. I intended to take the prints to Miss Rowan later this evening, but with your message for Wolfe I’ll go now. Or as soon as the prints are ready. I like Miss Rowan’s conception of a snack. She seems to be aware that man cannot live by bread alone. She is leaving early in the morning for Helena to get the prints off to Panzer by air mail and to get Luther Dawson. She is not— You’ll remember that at our previous encounter she ordered me to leave.”

“She suggested that you go and sit in the car. This is good cheese. Have some.”

“And if I didn’t you would drag me. That episode is now forgotten by mutual consent. I’m going to repeat to you a confession that I made to her. Not for quotation. I think I funked it. I should have realized long ago that the conflict between Haight and me could be resolved only by the destruction, the political destruction, of one of us, and I should have seized the opportunity offered by his inefficient investigation of the murder of Philip Brodell. I said I’m stuck with you and Wolfe, and I’m glad I am. If we lose, it will finish me, but I don’t think we will.” He took some cheese.

“Did you say that to Mr. Wolfe?”

“No. I said it to Miss Rowan. His manner is... he doesn’t invite...”

“I know. I have known him quite a while. That’s a good way to put it, he doesn’t invite. Tell him and Miss Rowan that since they’re doing so well without me they don’t need to bother about bail, they might as well save the expense, and anyway I don’t like Dawson. Haight will probably turn me loose when they deliver X to him. Is there room in that refrigerator for what’s left?”

“Certainly. But there will be people here all day.”

“Wait until they’re gone. I probably won’t be hungry sooner anyhow. That disinfected cell doesn’t seem to whet a man’s appetite.” I picked up the can opener. “Plums, or pineapple?”