Might as Well Be Dead (8 page)

We kept at it for nearly two hours, and she did her best. She enjoyed none of it, and some of it was really painful, when we were on the latter part of the year, the period when she was cottoning to Molloy, or thought she was, and was making up her mind to marry him. She would have preferred to let the incidents of that period stay where they were, down in the cellar. I won’t say it hurt me as much as it did her, since with me it was strictly business, but it was no picnic. Finally she said she didn’t think she could go on, and I said we had barely started.

“Then tomorrow?” she asked. “I don’t know why, but this seems to be tougher than it was with the police and the District Attorney. That seems strange, since they were enemies and you’re a friend—you are a friend, aren’t you?”

It was a trap, and I dodged it. “I want what you want,” I told her.

“I know you do, but I just can’t go on. Tomorrow?”

“Sure. Tomorrow morning. But I’ll have some other errands, so it will have to be with Mr. Wolfe. Could you be at his office at eleven o’clock?”

“I suppose I could, but I’d rather go on with you.”

“He’s not so bad. If he growls just ignore it. He’ll dig up something quicker than I would, in order to get rid of you. He doesn’t appreciate women, and I do.” I got out a card and handed it to her. “There’s the address. Tomorrow at eleven?”

She said yes, and got up to see me to the door, but I told her that with a friend it wasn’t necessary.

Chapter 7

W
HEN I GOT BACK to 35th Street it was half-past six and the conference was in full swing.

I was pleased to see that Saul Panzer was in the red leather chair. Unquestionably Johnny Keems had made a go for it, and Wolfe himself must have shooed him off. Johnny, who at one time, under delusions of grandeur, had decided my job would look better on him or he would look better on it, no matter which, but had found it necessary to abandon the idea, was a pretty good operative but had to be handled. Fred Durkin, big and burly and bald, knows exactly what he can expect of his brains and what he can’t, which is more than you can say for a lot of people with a bigger supply. Orrie Cather is smart, both in action and in appearance. As for Saul Panzer, I thoroughly approve of his preference for free-lancing, since if he decided he wanted my job he would get it—or anybody else’s.

Saul, as I say, was in the red leather chair, and the others had three of the yellow ones in a row facing Wolfe’s desk. I got greetings and returned them, and circled around to my place. Wolfe remarked that he hadn’t expected me so early.

“I tired her out,” I told him. “Her heart was willing but her mind was weak. She’ll be here at eleven in the morning. Do you want it now?”

“If you got anything promising.”

“I don’t know whether I did or not. We were at it nearly two hours, and mostly it was just stirring up the dust, but there were a couple of things, maybe three, that you might want to hear. One day in the fall of nineteen fifty-two, she thinks it was October, a man called at the office, and there was a row that developed into combat. She heard a crash and went in, and the caller was flat on the floor. Molloy told her he would handle it, and she returned to the other room, and pretty soon the caller came out on his feet and left. She doesn’t know his name, and she didn’t hear what the row was about because the door between the rooms was shut.”

Wolfe grunted. “I hope we’re not reduced to that. And?”

“This one was earlier. In the early summer. For a period of about two weeks a woman phoned the office nearly every day. If Molloy was out she left word for him to call Janet. If Molloy was in and took the call he told her he couldn’t discuss the matter on the phone and rang off. Then the calls stopped and Janet was never heard from again.”

“Does Mrs. Molloy know what she wanted to discuss?”

“No. She never listened in. She wouldn’t.”

He sent me a sharp glance. “Are you bewitched again?”

“Yes, sir. It took four seconds, even before she spoke. From now on you’ll pay me but I’ll really be working for her. I want her to be happy. When that’s attended to I’ll go off to some island and mope.” Orrie Cather laughed, and Johnny Keems tittered. I ignored them and went on. “The third thing was in February or March nineteen fifty-three, not long before they were married. Molloy phoned around noon and said he had expected to come to the office but couldn’t make it. His ticket for a hockey game that night was in a drawer of his desk, and he asked her to get it and send it to him by messenger at a downtown restaurant. He said it was in a small blue envelope in the drawer. She went to the drawer and found the envelope, and noticed that it had been through the mail and slit open. Inside there were two things: the hockey ticket and a blue slip of paper, which she glanced at. It was a bill from the Metropolitan Safe Deposit Company for rent of a safe-deposit box, made out to Richard Randall. It caught her eye because she had once thought she might marry a man named Randall but had decided not to. She put it back in the envelope, which was addressed to Richard Randall, but if she noticed the address she has forgotten it. She had forgotten the whole incident until we dug it up.”

“At least,” Wolfe said, “if it’s worth a question we know where to ask it. Anything else?”

“I don’t think so. Unless you want the works.”

“Not now.” He turned to the others. “Now that you’ve heard Archie, you gentlemen are up to date. Have you any more questions?”

Johnny Keems cleared his throat. “One thing. I don’t get the idea of Hays being innocent. I only know what I read in the papers, but it certainly didn’t take the jury very long.”

“You’ll have to take that from me.” Wolfe was brusque. You have to be brusque with Johnny. He turned to me. “I’ve explained the situation to them in some detail, but I have not mentioned our client’s name or the nature of his interest. We’ll keep that to ourselves. Any more questions?”

There were none.

“Then we’ll proceed to assignments. Archie, what about phone booths in the neighborhood?”

“The drugstore that Freyer mentioned is the nearest place with a booth. I didn’t look around much.”

He went to Durkin. “Fred, you will try that. The phone call to Peter Hays, at nine o’clock, was probably made from nearby, and the one to the police, at nine-eighteen, had to be made as quickly as possible after Peter Hays was seen entering the building. The hope is of course forlorn, since more than three months have passed, but you can try it. The drugstore seems the likeliest, but cover the neighborhood. If both phone calls were made from the same place, it’s possible you can jog someone’s memory. Start this evening, at once. The calls were made in the evening. Any questions?”

“No, sir. I’ve got it.” Fred never takes his eyes off of Wolfe. I think he’s expecting him to sprout either a horn or a halo, I’m not sure which, and doesn’t want to miss it. “Shall I go now?”

“No, you might as well stay till we’re through.” Wolfe went to Cather. “Orrie, you will look into Molloy’s business operations and associates and his financial standing. Mr. Freyer will see you at his office at ten in the morning. He’ll give you whatever information he has, and you will start with that. Getting access to Molloy’s records and papers will be rather complicated.”

“If he kept books,” I said, “they weren’t in his office. At least Mrs. Molloy never saw them, and there was no safe.”

“Indeed.” Wolfe’s brows went up. “A real-estate brokerage business and no books? I think, Archie, I’d better have a full report on the dust you stirred up.” He returned to Orrie. “Since Molloy died intestate, as far as is known, his widow’s rights are paramount in such matters as access to his records and papers, but they should be exercised as legal procedure provides. Mr. Freyer says that Mrs. Molloy has no attorney, and I’m going to suggest to her that she retain Mr. Parker. Mr. Freyer thinks it inadvisable to suggest him, and I agree. If Molloy kept no records in his office you will first have to find them. Any questions?”

Orrie shook his head. “Not now. I may have after I’ve talked with Freyer. If I do I’ll phone you.”

Wolfe made a face. Except in emergencies the boys never call between nine and eleven in the morning or four and six in the afternoon, when he is up in the plant rooms, but even so the damn phone rings when he’s deep in a book or working a crossword or busy in the kitchen with Fritz, and he hates it. He went to Keems.

“Johnny, Archie will give you names and addresses. Mr. Thomas L. Irwin and Mr. and Mrs. Jerome Arkoff. They were Mrs. Molloy’s companions at the theater; it was Mrs. Arkoff who phoned Mrs. Molloy that she had an extra ticket and invited her to join them. That may have no significance; X may merely have been awaiting an opportunity and grasped it; but he must have known that Mrs. Molloy would be out for the evening, and it is worth inquiry. Two investigators looked into it for Mr. Freyer, but they were extraordinarily clumsy, judging by their reports. If you get any hint that the invitation to Mrs. Molloy was designed, confer with me at once. I have known you to overstrain your talents.”

“When?” Johnny demanded.

Wolfe shook his head. “Some other time. Will you communicate with me if you find cause for suspicion?”

“Sure. If you say so.”

“I do say so.” Wolfe turned to Saul Panzer. “For you, Saul, I had something in mind, but it can wait. It may be worth the trouble to learn why Molloy had in his possession an envelope addressed to Richard Randall, containing a bill for rental of a safe-deposit box, even though it was more than three years ago. If it were a simple matter to get information from the staff of a safe-deposit company about a customer I wouldn’t waste you on it, but I know it isn’t. Any questions?”

“Maybe a suggestion,” Saul offered. “Archie might phone Lon Cohen at the
Gazette
and ask him to give me a good print of a picture of Molloy. That would be better than a newspaper reproduction.”

The other three exchanged glances. They were all good operatives, and it would have been interesting to know, as a check on their talents, whether they had all caught the possibility as quickly as Saul had that Molloy had himself been Richard Randall. There was no point in asking them, since they would all have said yes.

“That will be done,” Wolfe told him. “Anything else?”

“No, sir.”

Wolfe came to me. “Archie. You’ve gone through Mr. Freyer’s file and seen the report on Miss Delia Brandt, Molloy’s secretary at the time of his death. You know where to find her.”

“Right.”

“Please do so. If she has anything we can use, get it. Since you are working for Mrs. Molloy you may need her approval. If so, get that.”

Saul smiled. Orrie laughed. Johnny tittered. Fred grinned.

Chapter 8

I
JOINED WOLFE in the dining room at seven-fifteen as usual, and sat at table, but I didn’t really dine because I had an eight-thirty date down in the Village and had to rush it some. Par for Wolfe from clams to cheese is an hour and a half.

Dating Delia Brandt hadn’t been any strain on my talents. I had got her on the phone at the first try, given her my own name and occupation, and told her I had been asked by a client to see her and find out if she could supply enough material on Michael M. Molloy, her late employer, for a magazine article under her by-line, to be ghosted by the client. The proceeds would be split. After a few questions she said she would be willing to consider it and would be at home for me at eight-thirty. So I hurried a little with the roast duckling and left Wolfe alone with the salad.

It wouldn’t have hurt the house at 43 Arbor Street any to get the same treatment as the one at 171 East 52nd. The outside could have used some paint, and a do-it-yourself elevator would have been a big improvement on the narrow, dingy wooden stairs. Three flights up, she was not waiting on the threshold to greet me, and, finding no button to push, I tapped on the door. From the time it took her you might have thought she had to traverse a spacious reception hall, but when the door opened the room was right there. I spoke.

“My name’s Goodwin. I phoned.”

“Oh,” she said, “of course. I had forgotten. Come in.”

It was one of those rooms that call for expert dodging to get anywhere. God knows why the piano bench was smack in the main traffic lane, and He also knows why there was a piano bench at all, since there was no piano. Anyway it was handy for my hat and coat. She crossed to a couch and invited me to sit, and since there was no chair nearby I perched on the couch too, twisting around to face her.

“I really had forgotten,” she said apologetically. “My mind must have been soaring around.” She waved a hand to show how a mind soars.

She was young, well shaped and well kept, well dressed and well shod, with a soft, clear skin and bright brown eyes, and well-cut fine brown hair, but a mind that soared…

“Didn’t you say you were a detective?” she asked. “Something about a magazine?”

“That’s right,” I told her. “This editor thinks he’d like to try a new slant on a murder. There have been thousands of pieces about murderers. He thinks he might use one called ‘The Last Month of a Murdered Man’ or ‘The Last Year of a Murdered Man.’ By his secretary.”

“Oh, not my name?”

“Sure, your name too. And, now that I’ve seen you, a good big picture of you. I wouldn’t mind having one myself.”

“Now don’t get personal.”

It was hard to believe, the contrast between what my eyes saw and my ears heard. Any man would have been glad to walk down a theater aisle with her, but there would have to be an understanding that she would keep her mouth shut.

“I’ll try not to,” I assured her. “I can always turn my back. The idea is this: you’ll tell me things about Mr. Molloy, what he said and did and how he acted, and I’ll report to the editor, and if he thinks there’s an article in it he’ll come and talk with you. How’s that?”

“Well, it couldn’t be called ‘The Last Year of a Murdered Man.’ It would have to be called ‘The Last Ten Months of a Murdered Man’ because I only worked for him ten months.”

“Okay, that’s even better. Now. I understand—”