In the Best Families

Chapter 4

Having been given by Leeds my choice of driving over — three minutes — or taking a trail through the woods, I voted for walking. The edge of the woods was only a hundred yards to the rear of the kennels. It had been a warm day for early April, but now, with the sun gone over the hill, the sharp air made me want to step it up, which was just as well because I had to, to keep up with Leeds. He walked as if he meant it. When I commented on the fact that we ran into no fence anywhere, neither in the woods nor in the clear, he said that his place was merely a little corner of Mrs. Rackham’s property which she had let him build on some years ago.

The last stretch of our walk was along a curving gravel path that wound through lawns, shrubs, trees, and different-shaped patches of bare earth. Living in the country would be more convenient if they would repeal the law against paths that go straight from one place to another place. The bigger and showier the grounds are, the more the paths have to curve, and the main reason for having lots of bushes and things is to compel the paths to curve in order to get through the mess. Anyhow, Leeds and I finally got to the house, and entered without ringing or knocking, so apparently he was more or less a member of the household too.

All six of them were gathered in a room that was longer and wider than Leeds’ whole house, with twenty rugs to slide on and at least forty different things to sit on, but it didn’t seem as if they had worked up much gaiety, in spite of the full stock of the portable bar, because Leeds and I were greeted as though nothing so nice had happened in years. Leeds introduced me, since I wasn’t supposed to have met Mrs. Rackham, and after I had been supplied with liquid, Annabel Frey gave a lecture on how I worked. Then Oliver A. Fierce, the statesman, wanted me to demonstrate by grilling each of them as suspected dog poisoners. When I tried to beg off they insisted, so I obliged. I was only so-so.

Pierce was a smooth article. His manner was, of course, based on the law of nature regulating the attitude of an elected person toward everybody old enough to vote, but his timing and variations were so good that it was hard to recognize it, although he was only about my age. He was also about my size, with broad shoulders and a homely honest face, and a draw on his smile as swift as a flash bulb. I made a note to look up whether I lived in his assembly district. If he got the breaks the only question about him was how far and how soon.

If in addition to his own equipment and talents he acquired Lina Darrow as a partner, it would probably be farther and sooner. She was, I would have guessed, slightly younger than Annabel Frey — twenty-six maybe — and I never saw a finer pair of eyes. She was obviously underplaying them, or rather what was back of them. When I was questioning her she pretended I had her in a corner, while her eyes gave it away that she could have waltzed all around me if she wanted to. I didn’t know whether she thought she was kidding somebody, or was just practicing, or had some serious reason for passing herself off as a flub.

Barry Rackham had me stumped and also annoyed. Either I was dumber than Nero Wolfe thought I was, and twice as dumb as I thought I was, or he was smarter than he looked. New York was full of him, and he was full of New York. Go into any Madison Avenue bar between five and six-thirty and there would be six or eight of him there: not quite young but miles from being old; masculine all over except the fingernails; some tired and some fresh and ready, depending on the current status; and all slightly puffy below the eyes. I knew him from A to Z, or thought I did, but I couldn’t make up my mind whether he knew what I was there for, and that was the one concrete thing I had hoped to get done. If he knew, the question whether he was on Zeck’s payroll was answered; if he didn’t, that question was still open.

And I still hadn’t been able to decide when, at the dinner table, we had finished the dessert and got up to go elsewhere for coffee. At first I had thought he couldn’t possibly be wise, when I had him sized up for a dummy who had had the good luck to catch Mrs. Rackham’s eye somewhere and then had happened to take the only line she would fall for, but further observation had made me reconsider. His handling of his wife had character in it; it wasn’t just yes or no. At the dinner table he had an exchange with Pierce about rent control, and without seeming to try he got the statesman so tangled up he couldn’t wiggle loose. Then he had a good laugh, took the other side of the argument, and made a monkey out of Dana Hammond.

I decided I’d better start all over.

On the way back to the living room for coffee, Lina Darrow joined me. “Why did you take it out on me?” she demanded.

I said I didn’t know I had.

“Certainly you did. Trying to indict me for dog poisoning. You went after me much harder than you did the others.” Her fingers were on the inside of my arm, lightly.

“Certainly,” I conceded. “Nothing new to you, was it? A man going after you harder than the others?”

“Thanks. But I mean it. Of course you know I’m just a working girl.”

“Sure. That’s why I was tougher with you. That, and because I wondered why you were playing dumb.”

The statesman Pierce broke us up then, as we entered the living room, and I didn’t fight for her. We collected in the neighborhood of the fireplace for coffee, and there was a good deal of talk about nothing, and after a while somebody suggested television, and Barry Rackham went and turned it on. He and Annabel turned out lights. As the rest of us got settled in favorably placed seats, Mrs. Rackham left us. A little later, as I sat in the semi-darkness scowling at a cosmetic commercial, some obscure sense told me that danger was approaching and I jerked my head around. It was right there at my elbow: a Doberman pinscher, looking larger than normal in that light, staring intently past me at the screen.

Mrs. Rackham, just behind it, apparently misinterpreting my quick movement, spoke hastily and loudly above the noise of the broadcast. “Don’t try to pat him!”

“I won’t,” I said emphatically.

“He’ll behave,” she assured me. “He loves television.” She went on with him, farther forward. As they passed Calvin Leeds the affectionate pet halted for a brief sniff, and got a stroke on the head in response. No one else was honored.

Ninety minutes of video got us to half-past ten, and got us nothing else, especially me. I was still on the fence about Barry Rackham. Television is raising hell with the detective business. It used to be that a social evening at someone’s house or apartment was a fine opportunity for picking up lines and angles, moving around, watching and talking and listening; but with a television session you might as well be home in bed. You can’t see faces, and if someone does make a remark you can’t hear it unless it’s a scream, and you can’t even start a private inquiry, such as finding out where a young widow stands now on skepticism. In a movie theater at least you can hold hands.

However, I did finally get what might have been a nibble. The screen had been turned off, and we had all got up to stretch, and Annabel had offered to drive Leeds and me home, and Leeds had told her that we would rather walk, when Barry Rackham moseyed over to me and said he hoped the television hadn’t bored me too much. I said no, just enough.

“Think you’ll get anywhere on your job for Leeds?” he asked, jiggling his highball glass to make the ice tinkle.

I lifted my shoulders and let them drop. “I don’t know. A month’s gone by.”

He nodded. “That’s what makes it hard to believe.”

“Yeah, why?”

“That he would wait a month and then decide to blow himself to a fee for Nero Wolfe. Everybody knows that Wolfe comes high. I wouldn’t have thought Leeds could afford it.” Rackham smiled at me. “Driving back tonight?”

“No, I’m staying over.”

“That’s sensible. Night driving is dangerous, I think. The Sunday traffic won’t be bad this time of year if you leave early.” He touched my chest with a forefinger. “That’s it, leave early.” He moved off.

Annabel was yawning, and Dana Hammond was looking at her as if that was exactly what he had come to Birchvale for, to see her yawn. Lina Darrow was looking from Barry Rackham to me and back again, and pretending she wasn’t looking anywhere with those eyes. The Doberman pinscher was standing tense, and Pierce, from a safe ten feet — one more than springing distance — was regarding it with an expression that gave me a more sympathetic feeling for him than I ever expected to have for a statesman.

Calvin Leeds and Mrs. Rackham were also looking at the dog, with a quite different expression.

“At least two pounds overweight,” Leeds was saying. “You feed him too much.”

Mrs. Rackham protested that she didn’t.

“Then you don’t run him enough.”

“I know it,” she admitted. “I will from now on, I’ll be here more. I was busy today. I’ll take him out now. It’s a perfect night for a good walk — Barry, do you feel like walking?”

He didn’t. He was nice about it, but he didn’t. She broadened the invitation to take in the group, but there were no takers. She offered to walk Leeds and me home, but Leeds said she would go too slow, and he should have been in bed long ago since his rising time was six o’clock. He moved, and told me to come on if I was coming.

We said good night and left.

The outdoor air was sharper now. There were a few stars but no moon, and alone with no flashlight I would never have been able to keep that trail through the woods and might have made the Hillside Kennels clearing by dawn. For Leeds a flashlight would have been only a nuisance. He strode along at the same gait as in the daytime, and I stumbled at his heels, catching my toes on things, teetering on roots and pebbles, and once going clear down. I am not a deerstalker and don’t want to be. As we approached the kennels Leeds called out, and the sound came of many movements, but not a bark. Who wants a dog, let alone thirty or forty, not even human enough to bark when you come home?

Leeds said that since the poisoning he always took a look around before going to bed, and I went on in the house and up to the little room where I had put my bag. I was sitting on the bed in pajamas, scratching the side of my neck and considering Barry Rackham’s last-minute remarks, when Leeds entered downstairs and came up to ask if I was comfortable. I told him I soon would be, and he said good night and went down the short hall to his room.

I opened a window, turned out the light, and got into bed; but in three minutes I saw it wasn’t working. My practice is to empty my head simultaneously with dropping it on the pillow. If something sticks and doesn’t want to come out I’ll give it up to three minutes but no more. Then I act. This time, of course, it was Barry Rackham that stuck. I had to decide that he knew what I was there for or that he didn’t, or, as an alternative, decide definitely that I wouldn’t try to decide until tomorrow. I got out of bed and went and sat on a chair.

It may have taken five minutes, or it could have been fifteen; I don’t know. Anyhow it didn’t accomplish anything except getting Rackham unstuck from my head for the night, for the best I could do was decide for postponement. If he had his guard up, so far I had not got past it. With that settled, I got under the covers again, took ten seconds to get into position on a strange mattress, and was off this time...

Nearly, but not quite. A shutter or something began to squeak. Calling it a shutter jerked me back part way, because there were no shutters on the windows, so it couldn’t be that. I was now enough awake to argue. The sound continued, at brief intervals. It not only wasn’t a shutter, it wasn’t a squeak. Then it was a baby whining; but it wasn’t, because it came from the open window, and there were no babies out there. To hell with it. I turned over, putting my back to the window, but the sound still came, and I had been wrong. It was more of a whimper than a whine. Oh, nuts.

I rolled out of bed, switched on a light, went down the hall to Leeds’ door, knocked on it, and opened it.

“Well?” he asked, full voice.

“Have you got a dog that whimpers at night?”

“Whimpers? No.”

“Then shall I go see what it is? I hear it through my window.”

“It’s probably — turn on the light, will you?”

I found the wall switch and flipped it. His pajamas were green with thin white stripes. Giving me a look which implied that here was one more reason for disapproving of my being there, he padded past me into the hall and on into my room, me following. He stood a moment to listen, crossed and stuck his head out the window, pulled it in again, and this time went by me with no look at all and moving fast. I followed him downstairs and to the side door, where he pushed a light switch with one hand while he opened the door with the other, and stepped across the sill.

“By God,” he said. “All right, Nobby, all right.”

He squatted.

I take back none of my remarks about Doberman pinschers, but I admit that that was no time to expand on them, nor did I feel like it. The dog lay on its side on the slab of stone with its legs twitching, trying to lift its head enough to look at Leeds; and from its side that was up, toward the belly and midway between the front and hind legs, protruded the chased silver handle of a knife. The hair around was matted with blood.

The dog had stopped whimpering. Now suddenly it bared its teeth and snarled, but weakly.

“All right, Nobby,” Leeds said. He had his palm against the side, forward, over the heart.

“He’s about gone,” he said.

I discovered that I was shivering, decided to stop, and did.

“Pull the knife out of him?” I suggested. “Maybe—”

“No. That would finish him. I think he’s finished anyhow.”

He was. The dog died as Leeds squatted there and I stood not permitting myself to shiver in the cold night breeze. I could see the slender muscular legs stretch tight and then go loose, and after another minute Leeds took his hand away and stood up.

“Will you please hold the door open?” he asked. “It’s off plumb and swings shut.”

I obliged, holding it wide and standing aside to let him through. With the dog’s body in his arms, he crossed to a wooden bench at one side of the little square hall and put the burden down. Then he turned to me. “I’m going to put something on and go out and look around. Come or stay, suit yourself.”

“I’ll come. Is it one of your dogs? Or—”

He had started for the stairs, but halted. “No. Sarah’s — my cousin’s. He was there tonight, you saw him.” His face twitched. “By God, look at him! Getting here with that knife in him! I gave him to her two years ago; he’s been her dog for two years, but when it came to this it was me he came to. By God!”

He went for the stairs and up, and I followed. Over the years there have been several occasions when I needed to get some clothes on without delay, and I thought I was fast, but I was still in my room with a shoe to lace when Leeds’ steps were in the hall again and he called in to me, “Wait downstairs. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I called that I was coming, but he didn’t halt. By the time I got down to the little square hall he was gone, and the outside door was shut. I opened it and stepped out and yelled, “Hey, Leeds!”

His voice came from somewhere in the darkness. “I said wait!”

Even if he had decided not to bother with me there was no use trying to dash after him, with my handicap, so I settled for making my way around the corner of the house and across the graveled rectangle to where my car was parked. Getting the door unlocked, I climbed in and got the flashlight from the dash compartment. That put me, if not even with Leeds for a night outdoors in the country, at least a lot closer to him. Relocking the car door, I sent the beam of the flash around and then switched it off and went back to the side door of the house.

I could hear steps, faint, then louder, and soon Leeds appeared within the area of light from the hall’s window. He wasn’t alone. With him was a dog, a length ahead of him, on a leash. As they approached I courteously stepped aside, but the dog ignored me completely. Leeds opened the door and they entered the hall, and I joined them.

“Get in front of her,” Leeds said, “a yard off, and stand still.”

I obeyed, circling.

“See, Hebe.”

For the first time the beast admitted I was there. She lifted her head at me, then stepped forward and smelled my pants legs, not in haste. When she had finished Leeds crossed to where the dead dog lay on the bench, made a sign, and Hebe went to him.

Leeds passed his fingertips along the dead dog’s belly, touching lightly the smooth short hair. “Take it, Hebe.”

She stretched her sinewy neck, sniffed along the course his fingertips had taken, backed up a step, and looked up at him.

“Don’t be so damn sure,” Leeds told her. He pointed a finger. “Take it again.”

She did so, taking more time for it, and again looked up at him.

“I didn’t know they were hounds,” I remarked.

“They’re everything they ought to be.” I suppose Leeds made some signal, though I didn’t see it, and the dog started toward the door, with her master at the other end of the leash. “They have excellent scent, and this one’s extraordinary. She’s Nobby’s mother.”

Outside, on the slab of stone where we had found Nobby, Leeds said, “Take it, Hebe,” and when she made a low noise in her throat as she tightened the leash, he added, “Quiet, now. I’ll do the talking.”

She took him, with me at their heels, around the corner of the house to the graveled space, across that, along the wall of the main outbuilding, and to a corner of the enclosed run. There she stopped and lifted her head.

Leeds waited half a minute before he spoke. “Bah. Can’t you tell dogs apart? Take it!”

I switched the flashlight on, got a reprimand, and switched it off. Hebe made her throat noise again, got her nose down, and started off. We crossed the meadow on the trail to the edge of the woods and kept going. The pace was steady but not fast; for me it was an easy stroll, nothing like the race Leeds had led me previously. Even with no leaves on the trees it was a lot darker there, but unless my sense of direction was completely cockeyed we were sticking to the trail I had been over twice before.

“We’re heading straight for the house, aren’t we?” I asked.

For reply I got only a grunt.

For the first two hundred yards or so after entering the woods it was a steady climb, not steep, and then a leveling off for another couple hundred of yards to the start of the easy long descent to the edge of the Birchvale manicured grounds. It was at about the middle of the level stretch that Hebe suddenly went crazy. She dashed abruptly to one side, off the trail, jerking Leeds so that he had to dance to keep his feet, then whirled and came back into him, with a high thin quavering noise not at all like what she had said before.

Leeds spoke to her sharply, but I don’t know what he said. By then my eyes had got pretty well accommodated to the circumstances. However, I am not saying that there in the dark among the trees, at a distance of twenty feet, I recognized the blob on the ground. I do assert that at the instant I pressed the button of the flashlight, before the light came, I knew already that it was the body of Mrs. Barry Rackham.

This time I got no reprimand. Leeds was with me as I stepped off the trail and covered the twenty feet. She was lying on her side, as Nobby had been, but her neck was twisted so that her face was nearly upturned to the sky, and I thought for a second it was a broken neck until I saw the blood on the front of her white sweater. I stooped and got my fingers on her wrist. Leeds picked up a dead leaf, laid it on her mouth and nostrils, and asked me to kneel to help him keep the breeze away.

When we had gazed at the motionless leaf for twenty seconds he said, “She’s dead.”

“Yeah.” I stood up. “Even if she weren’t, she would be by the time we got her to the house. I’ll go—”

“She is dead, isn’t she?”

“Certainly. I’ll—”

“By God.” He got erect, coming up straight in one movement. “Nobby and now her. You stay here—” He took a quick step, but I caught his arm. He jerked loose, violently.

I said fast, “Take it easy.” I got his arm again, and he was trembling. “You bust in there and there’s no telling what you’ll do. Stay here and I’ll go—”

He pulled free and started off.

“Wait!” I commanded, and he halted. “But first get a doctor and call the police. Do that first. I’m going to your place. We left that knife in the dog, and someone might want it. Can’t you put Hebe on guard here?”

He spoke, not to me but to Hebe. She came to him, a darting shadow, close to him. He leaned over to touch the shoulder of the body of Mrs. Barry Rackham and said, “Watch it, Hebe.” The dog moved alongside the body, and Leeds, with nothing to say to me, went. He didn’t leap or run, but he sure was gone. I called after him, “Phone the police before you kill anybody!” stepped to the trail, and headed for Hillside Kennels.

With the flashlight I had no trouble finding my way. This time, as I approached, the livestock barked plenty, and, hoping the kennel doors were all closed tight, I had my gun out as I passed the runs and the buildings. Nothing attacked me but noise, and that stopped when I had entered the house and closed the door. Apparently if an enemy once got inside it was then up to the master.

Nobby was still there on the bench, and the knife was still in him. With only a glance at him in passing, I made for the little living room, where I had previously seen a phone on a table, turned on a light, went to the phone, and got the operator and gave her a number. As I waited a look at my wristwatch showed me five minutes past midnight. I hoped Wolfe hadn’t forgotten to plug in the line to his room when he went up to bed. He hadn’t. After the ring signal had come five times I had his voice.

“Nero Wolfe speaking.”

“Archie. Sorry to wake you up, but I need orders. We’re minus a client. Mrs. Rackham. This is a quick guess, but it looks as if someone stabbed her with a knife and then stuck the knife in a dog. Anyhow, she’s dead. I’ve just—”

“What is this?” It was almost a bellow. “Flummery?”

“No, sir. I’ve just come from where she’s lying in the woods. Leeds and I found her. The dog’s dead too, here on a bench. I don’t—”

“Archie!”

“Yes, sir.”

“This is insupportable, under the circumstances.”

“Yes, sir, all of that.”

“Is Mr. Rackham out of it?”

“Not as far as I know. I told you we just found her.”

“Where are you?”

“At Leeds’ place, alone. I’m here guarding the knife in the dog. Leeds went to Birchvale to get a doctor and the cops and maybe to kill somebody. I can’t help it. I’ve got all the time in the world. How much do you want?”

“Anything that might help.”

“Okay, but in case I get interrupted here’s a question first. On two counts, because I’m here working for you and because I helped find the body, they’re going to be damn curious. How much do I spill? There’s no one on this line unless the operator’s listening in.”

A grunt and a pause. “On what I know now, everything about Mrs. Rackham’s talk with me and the purpose of your trip there. About Mrs. Rackham and Mr. Leeds and what you have seen and heard there, everything. But you will of course confine yourself strictly to that.”

“Nothing about sausage?”

“Absolutely nothing. The question is idiotic.”

“Yeah, I just asked. Okay. Well, I got here and met dogs and people. Leeds’ place is on a corner of Mrs. Rackham’s property, and we walked through the woods for dinner at Birchvale. There were eight of us at dinner...”

I’m fairly good with a billiard cue, and only Saul Panzer can beat me at tailing a man or woman in New York, but what I am best at is reporting a complicated event to Nero Wolfe. With, I figured, a probable maximum of ten minutes for it, I covered all the essentials in eight, leaving him two for questions. He had some, of course. But I think he had the picture well enough to sleep on when I saw the light of a car through the window, told him good-by, and hung up. I stepped from the living room into the little hall, opened the outside door, and was standing on the stone slab as a car with STATE POLICE painted on it came down the narrow drive and stopped. Two uniformed public servants piled out and made for me. I only hoped neither of them was my pet Westchester hate, Lieutenant Con Noonan, and had my hope granted. They were both rank-and-file.

One of them spoke. “Your name Goodwin?”

I conceded it. Dogs had started to bark.

“After finding a dead body you went off and came here to rest your feet?”

“I didn’t find the body. A dog did. As for my feet, do you mind stepping inside?”

I held the door open, and they crossed the threshold. With a thumb I called their attention to Nobby, on the bench.

“That’s another dog. It had just crawled here to die, there on the doorstep. It struck me that Mrs. Rackham might have been killed with that knife before it was used on the dog, and that you guys would be interested in the knife as is, before somebody took it to slice bread with, for instance. So when Leeds went to the house to phone I came here. I have no corns.”

One of them had stepped to the bench to look down at Nobby. He asked, “Have you touched the knife?”

“No.”

“Was Leeds here with you?”

“Yes.”

“Did he touch the knife?”

“I don’t think so. If he did I didn’t see him.”

The cop turned to his colleague. “We won’t move it, not now. You’d better stick here. Right?”

“Right.”

“You’ll be getting word. Come along, Goodwin.”

He marched to the door and opened it and let me pass through first. Outdoors he crossed to his car, got in behind the wheel, and told me, “Hop in.”

I stood. “Where to?”

“Where I’m going.”

“I’m sorry,” I said regretfully, “but I like to know where. If it’s White Plains or a barracks, I would need a different kind of invitation. Either that or physical help.”

“Oh, you’re a lawyer.”

“No, but I know a lawyer.”

“Congratulations.” He leaned toward me and spoke through his nose. “Mr. Goodwin, I’m driving to Mrs. Rackham’s house, Birchvale. Would you care to join me?”

“I’d love to, thanks so much,” I said warmly and climbed in.