If Death Ever Slept

Chapter 13

I would say that Inspector Cramer and Sergeant Stebbins weigh about the same, around one-ninety, and little or none of it is fat on either of them, so you would suppose their figures would pretty well match, but they don’t. Cramer’s flesh is tight-weave and Stebbins’ is loose-weave. On Cramer’s hands the skin follows the line of the bones, whereas on Stebbins’ hands you have to take the bones for granted, and presumably they are like that all over, though I have never played with them on the beach and so can’t swear to it. I’m not sure which of them would be the toughest to tangle with, but some day I may find out, even if they are officers of the law.

That was not the day, that Monday evening. They were there by invitation, to get a handout, and after greeting Wolfe and sitting — Cramer in the red leather chair and Purley near him, against the wall, on a yellow one — they wore expressions that were almost neighborly. Almost. Cramer even tried to be jovial. He asked Wolfe how he was making out with his acceptable process of reason.

“Not at all,” Wolfe said. He had swiveled to face them and wasn’t trying to look or sound cordial. “My reason has ceased to function. It has been swamped in a deluge of circumstance. My phone call, to tell you that I have information for you, was dictated not by reason but by misfortune. I am sunk and I am sour. I just returned a retainer of ten thousand dollars to a client. Otis Jarrell. I have no client.”

You might have expected Cramer’s keen gray eyes to show a gleam of glee, but they didn’t. He would swallow anything that Wolfe offered only after sending it to the laboratory for the works. “That’s too bad,” he rumbled. “Bad for you but good for me. I can always use information. About Eber and Brigham, you said.”

Wolfe nodded. “I’ve had it for some time, but it was only today, a few hours ago, that I was forced to acknowledge the obligation to disclose it. It concerns an event that occurred at Mr. Jarrell’s home last Wednesday, witnessed by Mr. Goodwin, who reported it to me. Before I tell you about it I need answers to a question or two. I understand that you learned from Mr. Jarrell that he had hired me for a job, and that it was on that job that Mr. Goodwin went there as his secretary under another name. I also understand that he declines to tell you what the job was, on the ground that it was personal and confidential and has no relation to your inquiry; and that the police commissioner and the district attorney have accepted his position. That you have been obliged to concur is obvious, since you haven’t been pestering Mr. Goodwin and me. Is that correct?”

“It’s correct that I haven’t been pestering you. The rest, what you understand, I can’t help what you understand.”

“But you don’t challenge it. I understand that too. I only wanted to make it clear why I intend to tell you nothing about the job Mr. Jarrell hired me for, though he is no longer my client. I assume that the police commissioner and the district attorney wouldn’t want me to, and I don’t care to offend them. Another question, before I— Yes, Mr. Stebbins?”

Purley hadn’t said a word. He had merely snarled a little. He set his jaw.

Wolfe resumed to Cramer. “Another question. It’s possible that my piece of information is bootless because your attention is elsewhere. If so, I prefer not to disclose it. Have you arrested anyone for either murder?”

“No.”

“Have you passable grounds for suspicion of anyone outside of the Jarrell family?”

“No.”

“Now a multiple question which can be resolved into one. I need to know if any discovered fact, not published, renders my information pointless. Was someone, presumably the murderer, not yet identified, seen entering or leaving the building where Eber lived on Thursday afternoon? The same for Brigham. According to published accounts, it is assumed that someone was with him in the backseat of his car, which was parked at some spot not under observation, that the someone shot him, covered the body with the rug, drove the car to Thirty-ninth Street near Seventh Avenue, from where the subway was easily and quickly accessible, parked the car, and decamped. Is that still the assumption? Has anyone been found who saw the car, either en route or while being parked, and can describe the driver? To resolve them into one: Have you any promising basis for inquiry that has not been published?”

Cramer grunted. “You don’t want much, do you? You’d better have something. The answer to the question is no. Now let’s hear it.”

“When I’m ready. I am merely taking every advisable precaution. My information carries the strong probability that the two murders were committed by Otis Jarrell, his wife, Wyman Jarrell, his wife, Lois Jarrell, Nora Kent, or Roger Foote. Or two or more of them in conspiracy. So another question. Do you know anything that removes any of those people from suspicion?”

“No.” Cramer’s eyes had narrowed. “So that’s what it’s like. No wonder you got from under. No wonder you gave him back his retainer. Let’s have it.”

“When I’m ready,” Wolfe repeated. “I want something in return. I want a cushion for my chagrin. You will be more than satisfied with what I give you, and you will not begrudge me a crumb of satisfaction for myself. After I give you my information I want some from you. I want a complete report of the movements of the seven people I named, and I want the report to cover a considerable period: from two o’clock Thursday afternoon to three o’clock Sunday afternoon. I want to know everywhere they went, with an indication of what has been verified by your staff and what has not. I’m not asking for—”

“Save it,” Cramer rasped. “You asking! You’re in a hell of a position to ask. You’ve been withholding material evidence, and it’s got too hot for you and you’ve got to let go. Okay, let go!”

He might not have spoken as far as Wolfe was concerned. He took up where he left off. “I’m not asking for much. You already have some of that and will now be getting the rest of it, and all you need to do is let Mr. Goodwin copy the reports of their movements. That will reveal no departmental secrets, and that’s all I want. I’m not haggling. If you refuse my request you’ll get what you came for anyway; I have no choice. I make the request in advance only because as soon as I give you the information you’ll be leaving. You’ll have urgent business and you wouldn’t wait to hear me. Will you oblige me?”

“I’ll see. I’ll consider it. Come on, spill it.”

Wolfe turned to me. “Archie?”

Since I had been instructed I didn’t have to ask him what to spill. I was to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth about the gun, and that was all. I did so, beginning with Jarrell dashing into my room at 6:20 Wednesday afternoon, and ending twenty-four hours later in Wolfe’s office, with my report to him. When I finished Purley was on the edge of his chair, his jaw clamped, looking holes through me. Cramer was looking at Wolfe.

“Goddamn you,” he said. “Four days. You’ve had this four days.”

“Goodwin’s had it five days,” Purley said.

“Yeah.” Cramer transferred to me. “Okay, go on.”

I shook my head. “I’m through.”

“Like hell you’re through. You’ll be surprised. If you—”

“Mr. Cramer,” Wolfe cut in. “Now that you have it, use it. Railing at us won’t help any. If you think a charge of obstructing justice will hold, get a warrant, but I advise against it. I think you’d regret it. As soon as the possibility became a probability I acted. And when it was merely a possibility I explored it. I had them all here, on Friday, including Mr. Brigham, and told them that the gun must be produced. Yesterday, when the news came about Brigham, it was touch and go. Today, when Mr. Goodwin learned about the bullets, it became highly probable, but I felt that I owed my client at least a gesture, and I had them here again. It was fruitless. I repaid Mr. Jarrell’s retainer, dismissed them, and phoned you. I will not be squawked at. I have endured enough. Either get a warrant, or forget me and go to work on it.”

“Four days,” Cramer said. “When I think what we’ve been doing those four days. What are you hanging on to? What else have you got? Which one was it?”

“No, sir. If I had known that I would have called you here, not to give it up but to deliver a murderer. I would have been exalted, not mortified. I haven’t the slightest notion.”

“It was Jarrell himself. It was Jarrell, and he was your client, and you cut him loose, but you wouldn’t deliver him on account of your goddamn pride.”

Wolfe turned. “Archie. How much cash is in the safe?”

“Thirty-seven hundred dollars in the reserve and around two hundred in petty.”

“Bring me three thousand.”

I went and opened the door of the safe, unlocked the cash drawer and opened it, counted three grand from the reserve sack, and stepped to Wolfe’s desk and handed it to him. With it in his fist he faced Cramer.

“The wager is that when this is over and the facts are known you will acknowledge that at this hour, Monday evening, I had no inkling of the identity of the murderer, except that I had surmised that it was one of the seven people I have named, and I have told you that. Three thousand dollars to three dollars. One thousand to one. You have three dollars? Mr. Stebbins can hold the stakes.”

Cramer looked at Stebbins. Purley grunted. Cramer looked at me. I grinned and said, “For God’s sake grab it. A thousand to one? Give me that odds and I’ll bet you I did it myself.”

“That’s not as funny as you think it is, Goodwin. You could have.” Cramer looked at Wolfe. “You know I know you. You know I never yet saw you open a bag and shake it out without hanging on to a corner that had something in it you were saving for yourself. If you’re backing clear out, if you’ve got no client and no fee in sight, why do you want the reports on their movements from two o’clock Thursday to three o’clock Sunday?”

“To exercise my brain.” Wolfe put the stack of bills on the desk and put a paperweight — a chunk of jade that a woman had once used to crack her husband’s skull — on top. “It needs it, heaven knows. As I said, I want a crumb of satisfaction for myself. Do you believe in words of honor?”

“I do when the honor is there.”

“Am I a man of honor?”

Cramer’s eyes widened. He was flabbergasted. He started to answer and stopped. He had to consider. “You may be, at that,” he allowed. “You’re tricky, you’re foxy, you’re the best liar I know, but if anybody asked me to name something you had done that was dishonorable I’d have to think.”

“Very well, think.”

“Skip it. Say you’re a man of honor. What about it?”

“Regarding the reports I have asked for, to exercise my brain on. I give you my word of honor that I have no knowledge, withheld from you, which can be applied to those reports; that when I inspect them I’ll have no relevant facts that you don’t have.”

“That sounds good.” Cramer stood up. “I was going home, and now this. I’ve heard you sound good before. Who’s at my desk, Purley? Rowcliff?”

“Yes, sir.” Stebbins was up too.

“Okay, let’s get started. Come on, Goodwin, get your hat if you’ve got one big enough.”

I knew that was coming. It would probably go on all night, and my style would be cramped because if they got exasperated Wolfe wouldn’t get the reports to exercise his brain on. I didn’t even remark that I didn’t wear a hat when I went slumming.