Murder in E Minor

11

Friday was among the more memorable days in the recent history of the old brownstone, for a variety of reasons. It started out in a frustrating way, which I attribute to the rustiness of idle machinery, and Wolfe and I had been idle for a long time.

To start with, I slept longer than I should have, but I was still catching up on what I’d lost two nights ago. At eight-forty-five I hit the kitchen after having stopped in the South Room, where our guest was not only in one piece, but was working on a breakfast tray nearly as well filled as Wolfe’s. I told him to stay in his room until further notice, as we might be having visitors, and he nodded between bites of a blueberry muffin.

The phone rang when I was barely halfway through my first cup of coffee and still on page one of the Times. Fritz answered on the kitchen extension and cupped the receiver: “For you, Archie. Mr. Cohen.”

I said a word that made Fritz blush and told him I’d take it in the office. The top item on my instructions from Wolfe had been to call Lon. “You’re not going to believe this,” I said into the phone at my desk, “but right here in my notebook is a numeral ‘one’ and after it a notation to call Lon Cohen first thing Friday morning.”

“You’re right, I don’t believe it,” came the reply. “Archie, how long have we known each other? Don’t I rate a few breaks from you?” I started to say something, but Lon went right on. “One of our beat guys — admittedly a few hours late — discovered this morning that Milner’s out on bond and that the bail was posted by your old friend Nathaniel Parker. More than coincidence, I’d say. Milner’s not at his apartment in Queens. And we’ve already tried to reach Parker, too, but there’s no answer at his office and his wife says he’s already left home for work. So, on the off-chance you might know something about this, I decided to—”

“Okay, all right, I get your point,” I said. “If you’ll let me have a turn now, maybe you’ll get something that satisfies you. First, I apologize for not calling you earlier this morning. I know you’re on deadline and that you get to work at an inhuman hour of the morning. End of apology. It’s true that we sprung Milner; Parker got him out yesterday afternoon. Wolfe’s convinced he didn’t kill Stevens, and we’re continuing the investigation for our client, Miss Maria Radovich.” Following my instructions from last night, I gave Lon a few more sentences, including a couple of quotes from Wolfe. It was enough for a solid second-day lead on the story. Of course Lon also wanted to know where Milner was, and I suggested Maria might have the answer. “But we can’t find her, either,” he complained. “Where’ve you got them stashed?”

“You already have yourself a good story,” I said. “And by the way, if you’re planning to use our pictures again, I’ve got some more recent ones here of both Wolfe and me. If you send a messenger over, I’ll have them ready.”

Lon’s response also would have made Fritz blush, and he hung up before I was able to tell him the rest of my instructions under “one” were to talk only to the Gazette. As I walked back to the kitchen to inform Fritz that I wasn’t home to any reporters, the phone rang again. When I got there, he’d already answered. “It’s for Mr. Wolfe,” he whispered. “A man named Remmers.”

I shook my head and blinked. My second notebook item was to call Jason Remmers. I did an about-face to the office. “Keep breakfast warm,” I said over my shoulder. “I’d like to eat it before lunch.

“Nero Wolfe’s office, Archie Goodwin speaking,” I said into the receiver.

“Yes, Mr. Goodwin,” came the deep response, “this is Jason Remmers of the New York Symphony. Is Mr. Wolfe in?”

“I’m sorry, but he’s not available right now. However, I can speak for him. And coincidentally, I was going to call you this morning.”

“Oh?” Remmers said. “Well, I’m aware from the papers that Mr. Wolfe has a strong interest in the death of Mr. Stevens, and I was hoping to make an appointment to see him today.”

“Precisely what I was going to talk to you about. Mr. Wolfe would like to see you, too. And as you may be aware, he doesn’t leave his office on business. Would it be possible for you to be here this morning? Say, at eleven-fifteen?”

“Yes, that would be no problem at all. I assume your address is correct as shown in the directory?” I said it was and hung up, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. It was only nine o’clock, and already I was batting two-for-two on the day’s instructions. Or was it zero-for-two? I hadn’t done a damn thing so far except answer calls. Maybe our strategy should be just to sit and wait for the phone to ring.

I called Wolfe in the plant rooms.

“Well?” He always sounds disgusted when he’s interrupted up there.

“Just reporting in. I’ve talked to Cohen, and Remmers will be here at eleven-fifteen.”

“Satisfactory,” he growled, hanging the phone up harder than he needed to.

I went back to the kitchen and had at least five bites of breakfast before the doorbell rang. “Whoever it is, tell them there’s nobody home,” I said to Fritz. “Tell them Wolfe and I have quit because of the pressure and have started a mink ranch up in Nova Scotia. Tell them anything that comes into your mind.”

He disappeared down the hall and was back a few moments later. “Archie, it is Inspector Cramer. I didn’t open the door, but he looks very determined.”

I pushed the plate of sausage links and buckwheat cakes away. “Fritz, this wasn’t meant to be eaten. Okay, I’ll go and try to handle the inspector. But I’m still not home to any reporters.”

Through the one-way panel, I could see that Cramer indeed looked determined. I cracked the door as far as the chain allowed. “We’re not open for business yet,” I said through the opening.

“Balls!” Cramer shot back. “I know Wolfe’s up playing with his flowers, but you’ll do. This is important.”

“I’m flattered you’d come all the way up here to see me,” I said, swinging open the door. With his usual manners, Cramer brushed by me and into the office without bothering to take his overcoat off, and he headed straight for the red leather chair. I followed and, since my own desk is across the room from where he’d plopped down, I sat behind Wolfe’s. “I’m only half his weight,” I conceded, “but this chair has strange and wondrous powers. Whenever I sit in it, I feel transformed, as if all the truths of the universe are within my grasp.”

“I know I’ve said it before, but by God, you’ll clown your way to the grave,” Cramer snarled, jamming an unlit cigar into his mouth. “Listen, Archie, this is serious, or I wouldn’t be here.” Whenever he calls me Archie, I know he’s being earnest, or making a pretense of it, so I put on a somber face.

Cramer leaned forward, resting an elbow on the corner of the desk. “Now, I know Wolfe got Milner out on bond — don’t interrupt. Parker won’t tell us anything more than that he’s representing Milner, and that’s his right, but I know damn well that whenever I find Nathaniel Parker involved in anything big in this town, Wolfe’s there as well. Okay, so Milner’s out, and that’s his right, too. I don’t know what Wolfe’s game is, but I’ll tell you this, Archie: He’s playing with a loaded grenade this time.” Cramer jabbed a finger in my direction and went on. “We’ve got Milner cold, and if Wolfe’s trying to drum up business by convincing that Radovich girl that somebody else did it—”

“Come on, Inspector. I know you and Mr. Wolfe have gone to the mat plenty through the years, and that you’ve accused each other of everything from incompetence and bad faith to high treason and murder, but he has never tried to manufacture business without a solid reason, and you know it. The problem is that you’ve got a weak suspect.”

“Weak?” Cramer slapped the arm of his chair. “Point one,” he said, holding out a finger. “Milner and Stevens got into it over Maria Radovich backstage at the concert hall. Half a dozen people heard it, and they all say Stevens insulted and humiliated Milner. Point two, Milner was the only person who entered Stevens’s apartment the night of the murder — he was positively identified by the hallman. Point three, we found Milner’s prints four places in the apartment, including the library. Point four, Milner admits he was in the apartment. And point five, he has no alibi whatever for his whereabouts at any time during the evening of the murder, up to the moment my men arrested him coming home to his place in Queens. And you call that weak?”

“Did you find his prints on those notes Stevens got?” I asked.

“No, although everybody else’s were on them,” Cramer said with a scowl. “Stevens’s own, of course, and Maria Radovich’s — and yours. But he probably had the presence of mind to wear gloves when he printed them.”

“But he didn’t have the presence of mind to wear gloves in Stevens’s apartment?”

“I can’t answer for his actions,” Cramer said, raising his voice, “but I do know there’s enough on him now to put him away. I also know the pressure to clean up the case is coming all the way from Albany, and if Wolfe gets the least bit out of line on this one, his license is gone like that.” Cramer snapped his fingers. “And yours too. You damn near lost it on the Cather thing, you know. Someday I’ll tell you why you didn’t.

“Look, Archie” — Cramer leaned forward and lowered his voice — “I like you, in spite of everything in the past. And I even kind of like Wolfe, although I can’t talk to him without blowing up; that’s why I came at this hour. I can reason with you — at least I think I can. I’m telling you that the commissioner and the D.A. are really watching Wolfe on this one. They’d like nothing better than an excuse to lift his license. As a friend, I’m asking you to talk Wolfe out of going on with this. Yeah, I know you’ll say you don’t have any influence over him, but we both know damn well that he listens to you. Don’t let him make a fool of himself on this one.”

“Inspector, as a friend I’m telling you that even if I did have the kind of influence over Wolfe you think I do, I wouldn’t try to whistle him off, and for a very simple reason: I don’t think Gerald Milner killed Stevens either.”

Cramer stood up and threw his cigar at the wastebasket. It went in for the first time I can remember, and he headed for the hall. “I tried,” he said as he opened the front door. “Just don’t say I didn’t try.” I started to answer, but he’d already slammed the door, and by the time I looked through the panel, he was climbing into the unmarked car that had been waiting at the curb.