The Last Coincidence

Fourteen

Polly Mars was still on her soapbox trumpeting Michael James as the Great American Avenger when I left her apartment. I did stay around long enough to see her pull herself together, helped by a shot of brandy I poured from an unopened bottle she and Noreen kept in a kitchen cabinet, and I reassured her that her story would go no further than the brownstone unless absolutely necessary. “Do whatever it takes to help Michael,” were her parting words as I left and descended the dark hallways to the street, where light rain was now falling. Miraculously, I landed a cab in less than a half-minute, which meant I got home in plenty of time to clean up, take a twenty-minute catnap, and put on a fresh shirt before sitting down to a dinner of capon Souvaroff.

Fritz’s capon was so good that it almost made me forget we had a nine-o’clock business engagement. It came back to me when Wolfe and I were in the office with coffee, though, and he asked for a fill-in on my visit with Polly. I gave him the usual verbatim of the conversation as he leaned back, eyes closed and fingers interlaced over his middle mound. After I finished he made no comment, but did ring for beer.

It was ten after nine when the front doorbell rang. Peering out through the one-way glass, I saw a frowning Noreen James standing in the rain on the stoop with a dark-haired, square-shouldered, square-jawed young man I took to be her brother. He had what I would label a pleasant, honest face, but at least at that moment it totally lacked animation. “Come in,” I said in my best host’s voice, pulling the door toward me and stepping aside.

“Mr. Goodwin — I mean Archie, I’m sorry we’re late; we had a horrific time getting a cab, what with the rain and all,” Noreen said, shaking her umbrella. “This is my brother, Michael.” She smiled weakly while I hung up his raincoat and offered him a paw, which was returned firmly but without enthusiasm or words. Michael wore gray slacks, a white open-collared sport shirt, and a light blue sport coat, and he looked like he’d rather be just about anyplace but where he was.

“I know I’m not even supposed to be here,” Noreen half-whispered in the front hall, her eyes jumping from Michael to me and back again like she was watching a tennis match. “Where do you want me to go?”

“Come into the office first, then we’ll get you settled in the front room,” I told her with a smile, steering both of them toward a meeting with Wolfe. He gave us a bland expression as we walked in, setting his book down and leaning back. I introduced Michael, directing him to the red leather chair, then escorted Noreen to the front room, where, I told her, Fritz would soon arrive to look after her refreshment needs. I then made with a quick detour to the kitchen to tell Fritz our female guest warranted a visit.

I got back to the office just as Wolfe was starting in. “Mr. James, you’re in a pickle. However—”

“Look,” Michael said, sticking out his dandy chin and running a hand through thick, curly hair, “I’m only here because my sister begged me to come, really begged me. I couldn’t believe it when I heard she had hired you. I mean, for God’s sake, I killed the...” He paused, groping for a noun, then pronounced it with relish.

“So I sit in the company of a murderer,” Wolfe intoned softly, placing an index finger on the side of his nose. “As long as you already are here, however, I would be interested, given my profession, in what impelled you to this action.”

Michael looked puzzled. “Wait a minute — Noreen told me you knew all about everything,” he blurted.

“She discussed various facets of what I choose to term her incident with Mr. Linville,” Wolfe said. “But at the moment I am interested in your own perspective on the events.”

“Huh!” Michael tugged at his belt and arranged his smooth, strong face into a sour smile. “The jerk — Linville, that is — he, well... you know what he did.”

“I know what I have been told he did. How did you learn of this?”

“I hadn’t seen Nor for a few weeks,” Michael muttered belligerently. “Then, when Mother got home from France, we had a get-together to welcome her back, and it was obvious that Nor was... well, she looked like hell. Anyway, Mother didn’t take long — that’s the way she is — to learn exactly what happened. I mean with Linville. That’s when we all found out.” Michael leaned back and turned his palms up, as though that explained everything.

“So you, being the noble sibling, exacted the ultimate vengeance?”

Michael scowled at Wolfe, lowering the brows over his dark eyes. “Listen, nobody messes with my sister without answering to me.”

“Boldly said, sir. Did you inform anyone outside of the family circle of what had happened to your sister?”

“Well, in a way,” he answered tentatively, allowing his eyes to move around the room.

“Oh?”

“The next day, I sort of mentioned something about it to Doug Rojek — he’s a guy I know down on Wall Street, maybe Nor told you about him. They’ve gone out a fair amount the last few months.”

“How did you ‘sort of mention’ something to him?” Wolfe asked.

Michael slouched in the chair. “Well, I had lunch with him in Battery Park — a couple of times a week we get a soda and a hot dog and eat them on a bench. Anyway, I guess it just sort of came out when we talked. I was still really hot about it and... hell, I know I shouldn’t have said anything to him, but I did. For God’s sake, please don’t tell Nor.”

“How did Mr. Rojek react to this revelation?” Wolfe probed, ignoring the entreaty.

“He got, well, real quiet, didn’t say anything for the rest of the lunch. I started to wish I hadn’t opened my big mouth. I guess it really depressed him.”

“Did you share with him any plans you had regarding Mr. Linville?”

“God, no, Doug didn’t have anything to do with what happened,” Michael said tensely. “This was my thing, and why in the hell my mother and father want to spend a fortune on a lawyer for me is more than I can figure. Same with Nor wanting to spend another fortune getting you to try to—”

Wolfe cut him off sharply. “Exactly when did you plot Mr. Linville’s demise?” he snapped.

“I guess from the minute I heard what he did to Nor. Although at first, I didn’t plan to kill him, just rough him up good, mess up that smirky face, you know?”

“When did assault turn to murder in your mind?” Wolfe asked.

He shrugged. “I dunno. I suppose when I followed him and that damn Porsche of his into the garage and spotted the tire iron on the floor.”

“You were stalking him at the time?”

“If you want to call it that. I had gone around to a few bars and places where he hung around.”

“Had you met him before?”

“No — although I’d seen him in Orion three or four times. He was hard to miss. He was always the loudest guy anyplace he went.”

Wolfe paused to sip his beer, then asked Michael if he wanted anything to drink. The answer was a shake of the head.

“Did you know before this week that Mr. Linville had had social engagements with your sister?”

“Dammit, no! If I had, I would have stopped it right then,” he growled, making a fist and shaking it at a nonexistent target.

“Oh?” Wolfe raised his eyebrows. “Is Miss James accustomed to having you dictate to her in that manner?”

Older brother sat upright and gave Wolfe another one of his low-eyebrow looks, then turned toward me. He got only my blandest expression. He swung back toward Wolfe, tight-lipped. “Okay, maybe she would have listened to me, maybe she wouldn’t. But at least I’d have had my say about that... jerk.” I knew he had any one of several stronger words in mind, but he settled for a tame one.

“Mr. James,” Wolfe said with a sigh, “what did you say to Mr. Linville before you dispatched him?”

“God, you know, I’ve been through all this with the cops, Cramer, and the others.”

“I appreciate that, sir. But I ask your indulgence. The police are not accustomed to sharing their information with Mr. Goodwin and me.”

“Okay,” Michael said, kneading his hands. “I saw Linville drive into the garage where he parks and—”

“Excuse me, but I’m curious as to how far that garage is from Mr. Linville’s building.”

“How far? Hell, it’s about three, maybe four doors west,” Michael snapped irritably.

“Had you known that was where he kept his automobile?”

“I... No, I didn’t. Why?”

“Then how did you happen to be there when he arrived?” Wolfe asked.

“It was... just good timing.”

“Or bad timing,” Wolfe remarked dryly, eyes on the ceiling. “So you followed him into the garage on foot?”

“You got it,” Michael said. “And it looks like I’m going to have a lot of time to think about what I did once I got in there, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed. Tell me again, please, about the tire iron.”

“What’s to tell? It was on the floor, just inside the big door, which Linville had unlocked before he drove in. The door was still up when I walked in behind him, and I just spotted it among a pile of tools.”

“What other tools were there?”

Michael’s forehead wrinkled. “It was dark, but I think a jack, some wrenches, and at least one of those four-sided things to take lugs off a tire, and... well, that’s all I noticed.”

“Understandable,” Wolfe said. “After all, as you say, it was dark. And now, a hypothetical question, if you don’t mind: Let us assume for a moment that there had been no tools piled inside the door, no tire iron. How do you think you would have proceeded against Mr. Linville in that situation?”

“I probably would have popped him a few times, but I did some boxing in college, so even my punches might have killed him,” Michael said in a smug tone.

“But you reached for the tire iron, with specific intent to use it?”

“Damn right,” Michael shot back. “And I’m not sorry.”

“Evidently. Did you engage Mr. Linville in conversation before you delivered the coup de grace?”

“As he was getting out of the car, I hollered to him — I called his name. He looked at me, sort of puzzled. I mean, he’d never met me before, although I’d seen him a couple times around town, like in Orion. Anyway, I walked up to him and said my name. It didn’t register, so then I told him I was Nor’s brother, and he gave me a funny smile, like he was all of a sudden figuring things out.”

“Did he appear to be intoxicated?” Wolfe asked.

“Hard to tell. Maybe. Anyway, he started to laugh, and that’s when I lost it and called him a bastard and swung the tire iron. I don’t even know how many times I hit him.” His expression was impassive.

Wolfe drank beer, then set his glass down, frowning at it. “What was Mr. Linville wearing?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Michael snarled.

“Just my curiosity,” Wolfe said. “What did you do after striking him down?”

Michael fidgeted irritably. “Like I said, I’ve told all this to the cops already. I ran out the door.”

“Where did you go?”

“Home.”

“Via what route?”

“I went west on Seventy-seventh and caught a cab on Second Avenue.”

“What about the tire iron?”

“Like I told the cops, Cramer and the others, I thought I dropped it in the garage, but I honestly can’t remember. But they say they didn’t find it in the garage, so maybe I carried it with me.”

“To Second Avenue?” Wolfe asked.

“All I know is that I didn’t have it with me when I got into the damn cab. Everything is kind of hazy about that time, you know. Look, the lawyer they got for me doesn’t want me to talk to anyone, and the only reason I’m even here is because of Noreen. I know you’ve got a reputation as some kind of genius, but that’s not going to do me any good. Face it, I’m dead meat.”

Wolfe eyed our visitor for several seconds without stirring. “Sir, you may indeed be, as you term it, ‘dead meat.’ And my services may patently be superfluous. Your sister, however, seems unswerving in her conviction of your innocence.”

“What would you expect of a sister?” Michael asked, smiling sourly. “I mean, she’s not about to hang me out to dry.”

“But you appear more than willing to hang yourself out to dry,” Wolfe remarked.

“What can I say? I bashed the guy, and I’m not sorry about it. He did something — all three of us here know exactly what it was — and then I did something. I’d do it all over again, with a tire iron, or with my hands, or with anything else I could find. Now, I know guys like you make out big on retainers, which is fine, I guess. And I also know that Nor can afford you, but she’s wasting her time. Give her back her money, and I’ll pay you the same amount, and then you can drop all of this because, believe me, it’s hopeless. They got the right guy.”

“Mr. James, yours is not an unattractive proposal,” Wolfe conceded. “Indeed, given certain circumstances, I might be inclined to consider such an offer, but I must in this situation respectfully decline.”

“What’s the matter — don’t you believe I have the money?” Michael challenged.

“On the contrary, Mr. James. I don’t doubt for a moment that you do.”

“Then what’s the problem? You said under certain circumstances, you’d be — what? — ‘inclined to consider the offer,’ I think, is the way you put it. What the hell are the circumstances?”

Wolfe readjusted his bulk. “Borrowing loosely from the language of the Bible, the first and great circumstance under which I would ponder such a proposition is if its giver were guilty. And you, sir, are manifestly not guilty.”

Michael James started to get up, glared at Wolfe, who glared back, and then sat down again. “Listen, Wolfe, you may be a genius, but you’ve blown it this time. Do you mean to say that even with me admitting to offing Linville, you guys are going to go ahead and take my sister’s money? I think that stinks.”

I must interrupt here to report that “stinks” is not the word young James used, but my practice is to keep these narratives relatively free from what Wolfe has referred to as “the desecration of the language.” So “stinks” will have to do, and if you think another word works better, feel free to make the substitution — you might even be correct.

Anyway, after Wolfe got told off, he looked at James and sniffed. “I am of the opinion that your sister is firmly in the possession of her faculties. Were I a charlatan, she would doubtless see through me in an instant and react accordingly. However, you may wish to share your analysis of my motives with her.”

“You’re damn right I will,” Michael yapped, this time getting up in earnest. “Where is she?”

I steered him toward the front room, leaving Wolfe to his devices — which is to say, beer and a book — and ushered him down the hall to the front room, opening it ahead of him. Noreen popped to her feet as he entered, and brother and sister just looked at each other for several seconds.

I finally broke the spell, telling them they were free to remain in the front room and discuss the situation together. I think Noreen would have stayed, but Michael was in no mood to hang around the brownstone for another minute. The rain had stopped, but the smell of dampness was in the air as he hustled her out the front door and down the steps to the street. She turned back to me with an “I’m-sorry-but-that’s-Michael-for-you” look as I stood in the doorway.

“Well, what do you think of our young suspect?” I asked Wolfe back in the office.

“Pah. The man is as diaphane as a pane of plate glass,” he huffed.

“Uh-huh. If he ever set foot in that garage, then I’m a nuclear physicist.”

Wolfe made a face at my phrasing and opened his new book, A Brief History of Time, by Stephen W. Hawking. For him, the working day, such as it was, had ended, and I was in no mood to badger him any further. After all, I already had my assignments for tomorrow, and he was just perverse enough to cancel them if I became what he terms an insufferable nuisance.