The Missing Heiress

Chapter 20

After dropping Saul off at his apartment on Thirty-Eighth Street, I got home to find that Fritz had left a note on my desk informing me that Lily had called.

“Goodwin reporting,” I said when she answered.

“I talked to Sofia a little while ago to see how she was,” Lily said in a subdued tone, “and she was extremely upset.”

“Uh-oh. Has she heard from Maureen?”

“If she has, she didn’t say so. No, it is more that she is worried about her husband and his... troubles.”

“What kind of troubles?”

“It seems that Stan has been gambling away his paychecks on the horses.”

“Shades of the late Everett Carr.”

“That occurred to me, too,” Lily said. “It’s possible they may have known each other, although I doubt that they met through Maureen, given that she and her brother have seen so little of each other in recent years.”

“I don’t know a lot about the world of horseplayers, but it’s possible they tend to gravitate toward one another, trading information. And someone, I can’t remember who, told me once that the bookies like to introduce gamblers to one another because it increases their own traffic. Did Sofia say what she plans to do about her husband’s problem?”

“No, but right now she is far more concerned about Stan Jurek’s addiction than about Maureen. I think she’s particularly worried about their financial condition. She says her husband is frittering away money. And right now, she is not contributing because she hasn’t had any income from Maureen for several weeks.”

“Yeah, a tough situation. Has she even talked to him about it?”

“Yes, and according to her, he doesn’t see that he has a problem, and he gets angry whenever she raises the subject.”

“Alcoholics, gamblers, they don’t always recognize or admit reality. I am sorry to hear about this, but it doesn’t help us any in our hunt for Maureen Carr.”

“I know, and I wish I had an idea that might aid us. Did Saul get any inkling from Elaine Musgrove as to why Maureen might have wanted to leave her Park Avenue place and go to Greenwich Village?”

“He did not, although he of course asked, hoping their longtime friendship might have made Miss Musgrove a close confidante of Maureen’s.”

“What do you plan to do now?” Lily asked.

“What I always do when I’m stumped: push Wolfe to figure things out.”

“Over the long haul, that has seemed to work out quite well, wouldn’t you say?”

“It has, but sometimes the challenge is to keep him focused. As I have told you before, he’s been known to run off the rails on occasion and go on an eating binge in frustration.”

“Well, I wish you luck. I don’t envy you.”

“I don’t envy me, either, at least as far as this particular situation is concerned. However, I do envy myself regarding the upcoming evening, when I will be dancing with an adorable partner at the Churchill.”

“Anybody ever tell you what a good fellow you are? See you later,” Lily said, and before I responded, the line went dead.

No more than five minutes later, Wolfe’s elevator brought him down from the plant rooms, and he settled in at his desk. Just after he had rung for beer, I gave him a verbatim report on my conversation with Lily.

After I finished, he sat, eyes closed and arms folded. There was a chance he would begin that lip exercise that invariably leads to a solution, or that he would go into one of his funks. Neither occurred.

“Archie, get Saul, Fred, and Orrie. I want them here at nine p.m. tonight.”

“Any special instructions?”

“No, I will give them instructions when they arrive.”

“Because this is getting to be such a regular thing, maybe I should set up a schedule in which all three of them would come to the brownstone at the same time every day. I think that would—”

“Archie, shut up!”

“Yes, sir,” I said as I turned to my telephone and Wolfe picked up his current book. By the time we went into the dining room for dinner, I had gotten okays from Fred and Orrie for nine and had left a message with Panzer’s answering service.

Just after we finished eating and returned to the office, Saul called and said he could make it at nine but was puzzled as to what the meeting was for. “Sorry,” I told him, “I am only the errand boy here. Be patient; you will have to wait to get your curiosity satisfied.”

The trio were prompt as always, with Saul seated in the red leather chair and Fred and Orrie parked in the yellow ones as Wolfe considered them. “Archie suggests, facetiously, that because these conferences have become increasingly frequent, we should make them part of an ongoing schedule. However, as pleased as I am to see you all here, I also realize that because you are independent operatives and have other projects, I only have a limited claim upon your time.”

“Understood, Mr. Wolfe,” Saul said. “But I believe I can speak for Fred and Orrie in saying we all try to be available when you need us.”

“Satisfactory. Now to a project that may take a good deal of your time in upcoming days. I would again like to have around-the-clock surveillance, but this time of a different residence. Archie, what is the address of the apartment building in Morningside Heights where Sofia Jurek and her husband reside?”

I tried to not show my surprise as I gave him the street number. “It’s a four-story brick walk-up in a block full of similar structures and is in the second block west of Broadway. For the record, the Jureks live on the third floor, unit 317.”

“Who are we supposed to be watching?” Saul asked. “There must be at least a couple of dozen tenants in the building.”

“I am interested in the activities of both of the Jureks — his name is Stanley,” Wolfe said. “And I realize none of you has seen them, so Archie can supply descriptions.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Wolfe,” Fred said, tentative as always in my boss’s presence. “I also have seen Mr. Jurek.”

“Of course, my apologies,” Wolfe said, the corner of his mouth twitching in his version of a smile. “Not only has Mr. Durkin seen the man, he has taught him an excellent, if somewhat violent, lesson in manners, which Archie and I appreciated. You must tell your colleagues about it sometime, Fred. Describe Mr. Jurek to them.”

Durkin cleared his throat. “This Jurek is a big guy, stocky with a beer gut, about six feet, light brown hair, crew cut, square face. That sound about right to you, Archie?” I said I agreed and added that he walks with a swagger.

“Okay, but what about the wife, what’s her name, Sofia?” Orrie asked.

“She’s petite, maybe one hundred ten pounds, no more than five foot two, short dark hair, almost black, a turned-up nose, and dark eyes, set close together,” I said. “Also, she is somewhat hunched over, which seems odd for someone in her twenties, but then, she’s been through a lot. Displaced from her home in Poland during the war, she was taken in by the British, where she met her GI husband. She seems meek, but some of that may be because that husband of hers is the domineering and overprotective type.”

“All right, that’s a start,” Orrie said. “But what is it that we’re looking for? Do we follow them when they leave the building? The man goes to work every day, in Brooklyn, isn’t that right?”

“Let him go off to work, Orrie. I am more interested in the woman right now,” Wolfe said, “and who, if anyone, she is with when she emerges from the building.”

“Who would she be with?” Saul posed. “They have no children.”

“This may well amount to nothing,” Wolfe conceded, “but I would like to keep watch on the address, perhaps for several days. Do any of you feel this to be an imposition?”

Three men shook their heads, almost in unison. As is the case with most private ops, money is always welcome.

Saul said, “I will arrange the schedule, and” — he looked at Fred and Orrie — “before either of you start to complain, we will rotate in taking the graveyard shift, starting with me tonight. Any other instructions, Mr. Wolfe?”

“Report to Archie daily, or more often if events warrant it. And do not allow yourselves to be seen.”

Wolfe really was chasing rainbows this time, but I wasn’t about to tell him so, because he would have said to me, as he has in the past, Do you have a better idea?

I didn’t, and as I saw the boys out of the brownstone, they looked as puzzled by this assignment as I was — even Saul, who rarely is puzzled about anything.