Homicide Trinity Read online

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  further. Certainly within a week, he said, and possibly

  tomorrow. So I knew I had to do something, and I was

  afraid to go to Mr. Otis because his heart has been

  worse lately, and I wouldn't go to another firm member.

  I even thought of going to the opposing counsel, but of

  course that wouldn't do. Then I thought of Nero Wolfe,

  and I put on my hat and coat and came. Now it's urgent.

  You can see it's urgent?"

  I nodded. "It could be. Depending on the kind of case

  8 Rex Stout

  The Homicide Trinity 9

  involved. Mr. Wolfe might agree to take the job before

  you name the alleged traitor, but he would have to

  know first what the case is about—your firm's case.

  There are some lands he won't touch, even indirectly.

  What is it?"

  "I don't want . . ." She let it hang. "Does he have to

  know that?"

  "Certainly. Anyhow, you've told me the name of your

  firm and it's a big important case and the opposing

  client is a woman, and with that I could—but I don't

  have to. I read the papers. Is your client Morton

  Sorell?"

  "Yes."

  "And the opposing client is Rita Sorell, his wife?"

  "Yes."

  I glanced at my wrist watch and saw 5:39, left my

  chair, told her, "Cross your fingers and sit tight," and

  headed for the hall and the stairs. Two new factors had

  entered and now dominated the situation: that if our

  first bank deposit of the new year came from the Sorell

  pile it would not be hay; and that one of the kind of jobs

  Wolfe wouldn't touch, even indirectly, was divorce

  stuff. It would take some doing, and as I mounted the

  three flights to the roof of the old brownstone my brain

  was going faster than my feet. In the vestibule of the

  plant rooms I paused, not for breath but to plan the

  approach, decided that was no good because it would

  depend on his mood, and entered. You might think it

  impossible to go down the aisles between the benches of

  those three rooms—cool, tropical, and intermediate—

  without noticing the flashes and banks of color, but that

  day I did, and then was in the potting room.

  Wolfe was over at the side bench peering at a pseudo-

  bulb through a magnifying glass. Theodore Horstmann,

  the fourth member of the household, who was exactly

  half Wolfe's weight, 137 to 270, was opening a bag of

  osmundine. I crossed over and told Wolfe's back, "Ex-

  cuse me for interrupting, but I have a problem."

  He took ten seconds to decide he had heard me, then

  removed the glass from his eye and demanded, "What

  time is it?"

  "Nineteen minutes to six."

  "It can wait nineteen minutes."

  "I know, but there's a snag. If you came down and

  found her there in the office with no warning it would be

  hopeless."

  "Find whom?"

  "A woman named Bertha Aaron. She came unin-

  vited. She's in a hole, and it's a new kind of hole. I came

  up to describe it to you so you can decide whether I go

  down and shoo her out or you come down and give it a

  look."

  "You have interrupted me. You have violated our

  understanding."

  "I know it, but I said excuse me, and since you're

  already interrupted I might as well tell you. She is the

  private secretary of LamontOtis, senior partner . . ."

  I told him, and at least he didn't go back to the

  pseudo-bulb with the glass. At one point there was

  even a gleam in his eye. He has made the claim, to me,

  that the one and only thing that impels him to work is

  his desire to live in what he calls acceptable circum-

  stances in the old brownstone on West 35th Street,

  Manhattan, which he owns, with Fritz as chef and

  Theodore as orchid tender and me as goat (not his

  word), but the gleam in his eye was not at the prospect

  of a big fee, because I hadn't yet mentioned the name

  Sorell. The gleam was when he saw that, as I had said, it

  was a new kind of hole. We had never looked into one

  just like it.

  Then came the ticklish part. "By the way," I said,

  "there's one little detail you may not like, but it's only a

  side issue. In the case in question her firm's client is

  Morton Sorell. You know."

  "Of course."

  "And the opposing client she saw a member of the

  firm with is Mrs. Morton Sorell. You may remember

  that you made a comment about her a few weeks ago

  after you had read the morning paper. What the paper

  10 Rex Stout

  The Homicide Trinity

  11

  said was that she was suing him for thirty thousand a

  month for a separation allowance, but the talk around

  town is that he wants a divorce and her asking price is a

  flat thirty million bucks, and that's probably what Miss

  Aaron calls the case. However, that's only a detail.

  What Miss Aaron wants is merely—"

  "No." He was scowling at me. "So that's why you

  pranced in here."

  "I didn't prance. I walked."

  "You knew quite well I would have nothing to do with

  it."

  "I knew you wouldn't get divorce evidence, and nei-

  ther would I. I knew you wouldn't work for a wife

  against a husband or vice versa, but what has that got

  to do with this? You wouldn't have to touch—"

  "No! I will not. That marital squabble might be the

  central point of the matter. I will not! Send her away."

  I had flubbed it. Or maybe I hadn't; maybe it had

  been hopeless no matter how I handled it; but then it

  had been a flub to try, so in any case I had flubbed it. I

  don't like to flub, and it wouldn't make it any worse to

  try to talk him out of it, or rather into it, so I did, for a

  good ten minutes, but it neither changed the situation

  nor improved the atmosphere. He ended it by saying

  that he would go to his room to put on a necktie, and I

  would please ring him there on the house phone to tell

  him that she had gone.

  Going down the three flights I was tempted. I could

  ring him not to say that she was gone but that we were

  going; that I was taking a leave of absence to haul her

  out of the hole. It wasn't a new temptation; I had had it

  before; and I had to admit that on other occasions it had

  been more attractive. To begin with, if I made the offer

  she might decline it, and I had done enough flubbing for

  one day. So as I crossed the hall to the office I was

  arranging my face so she would know the answer as

  soon as she looked at me. Then as I entered I rear-

  ranged it, or it rearranged itself, and I stopped and

  stood. Two objects were there on the rug which had

  been elsewhere when I left: a big hunk of jade which

  Wolfe used for a paperweight, which had been on his

  desk, and Bertha Aaron, who had been in a chair.

  She was on her side, with one leg straight and one

  bent at the knee. I went to her and squatted. Her lips

&nbs
p; were blue, her tongue was showing, and her eyes were

  open and popping; and around her neck, knotted at the

  side, was Wolfe's necktie. She was gone. But if you get

  a case of strangulation soon enough there may be a

  chance, and I got the scissors from my desk drawer.

  The tie was so tight that I had to poke hard to get my

  finger under. When I had the tie off I rolled her over on

  her back. Nuts, I thought, she's gone, but I picked

  pieces of fluff from the rug, put one across her nose and

  one on her mouth, and held my breath for twenty sec-

  onds. She wasn't breathing. I took her hand and

  pressed on a fingernail, and it stayed white when I

  removed the pressure. Her blood wasn't moving. Still

  there might be a chance if I got an expert quick enough,

  say in two minutes, and I went to my desk and dialed

  the number of Doc Vollmer, who lived down the street

  only a minute away. He was out. "To hell with it," I said,

  louder than necessary since there was no one but me to

  hear, and sat to take a breath.

  I sat and stared at her a while, maybe a minute, just

  feeling, not thinking. I was too damn sore to think. I

  was sore at Wolfe, not at me, the idea being that it had

  been ten minutes past six when I found her, and if he

  had come down with me at six o'clock we might have

  been in time. I swiveled to the house phone and buzzed

  his room, and when he answered I said, "Okay, come on

  down. She's gone," and hung up.

  He always uses the elevator to and from the plant

  rooms, but his room is only one flight up. When I heard

  his door open and close I got up and stood six inches

  from her head and folded my arms, facing the door to

  the hall. There was the sound of his steps, and then him.

  He crossed the threshold, stopped, glared at Bertha

  Aaron, shifted it to me, and bellowed, "You said she was

  gone!"

  "Yes, sir. She is. She's dead."

  12 Rex Stout

  "Nonsense!"

  "No, sir." I sidestepped. "As you see."

  He approached, still glaring, and aimed the glare

  down at her, for not more than three seconds. Then he

  circled around her and me, went to his oversized made-

  to-order chair behind his desk, sat, took in air clear

  down as far as it would go, and let it out again. "I

  presume," he said, not bellowing, "that she was alive

  when you left her to come up to me."

  "Yes, sir. Sitting in that chair." I pointed. "She was

  alone. No one came with her. The door was locked, as

  always. As you know, Fritz is out shopping. When I

  found her she was on her side and I turned her over to

  test for breathing—after I cut the necktie off. I phoned

  Doc—"

  "What necktie?"

  I pointed again. "The one you left on your desk. It

  was around her throat. Probably she was knocked out

  first with that paperweight"—I pointed again—"but it

  was the necktie that stopped her breathing, as you can

  see by her face. I cut—"

  "Do you dare to suggest that she was strangled with

  my necktie?"

  "I don't suggest, I state. It was pulled tight with a

  slipknot and then passed around her neck again and

  tied with a granny." I stepped to where I had dropped it

  on the rug, picked it up, and put it on his desk. "As you

  see. I do dare to suggest that if it hadn't been here

  handy he would have had to use something else, maybe

  his handkerchief. Also that if we had come down a little

  sooner—"

  "Shut up!"

  "Yes, sir."

  "This is insupportable."

  "Yes, sir."

  "I will not accept it."

  "No, sir. I could bum the tie and we could tell Cramer

  that whatever he used he must have waited until he

  was sure she was dead and then removed it and took

  it—"

  The Homicide Trinity 13

  "Shut up. She told you that nobody knew she came

  here."

  "Bah," I said. "Not a chance and you know it. We're

  stuck. I put off calling until you came down only to be

  polite. If I put it off any longer that will only make it

  worse because I'll have to tell them the exact time I

  found her." I looked at my wrist. "It's already been

  twenty-one minutes. Would you rather make the call

  yourself?"

  No reply. He was staring down at the necktie, with

  his jaw set and his mouth so tight he had no lips. I gave

  him five seconds, to be polite, and then went to the

  kitchen, to the phone on the table where I ate breakfast,

  and dialed a number.

  Chapter 2

  Inspector Cramer of Homicide West finished the

  last page of the statement I had typed and signed,

  put it on top of the other pages on the table, tapped

  it with a finger, and spoke. "I still think you're lying,

  Goodwin."

  It was a quarter past eleven. We were in the dining

  room. The gang of scientists had finished in the office

  and departed, and it was no longer out of bounds, but I

  had no special desire to move back in. For one thing,

  they had taken the rug, along with Wolfe's necktie and

  the paperweight and a few other items. Of course they

  had also taken Bertha Aaron, so I wouldn't have to see

  her again, but even so I was perfectly willing to stay in

  the dining room. They had brought the typewriter

  there after the fingerprint detail had finished with it, so

  I could type the statement.

  Now, after nearly five hours, they were gone, all

  except Sergeant Purley Stebbins, who was in the office

  14 Rex Stout

  using the phone, and Cramer. Fritz was in the kitchen,

  on his third bottle of wine, absolutely miserable. Added

  to the humiliation of a homicide in the house he kept

  was the incredible fact that Wolfe had passed up a meal.

  He had refused to eat a bite. Around eight o'clock he

  had gone up to his room, and Fritz had gone up twice

  with a tray, and he had only snarled at him. When I had

  gone up at 10:30 with a statement for him to sign, and

  told him they were taking the rug, he made a noise but

  had no words. With all that for background in addition

  to my personal reactions, it was no wonder that when

  Cramer told me he still thought I was lying I was

  outspoken.

  "I've been trying for years," I said, "to think who it is

  you remind me of. I just remembered. It was a certain

  animal I saw once in a cage. It begins with B. Are you

  going to take me down or not?"

  "No." His big round face is always redder at night,

  making his gray hair look whiter. "You can save the

  wisecracks. You wouldn't lie about anything that can

  be checked, but we can't check your account of what she

  told you. She's dead. Accepting your statement, and

  Wolfe's, that you have never had any dealings with her

  or anyone connected with that law firm, you might still

  save something for your private use—or change some-

  thing. One thi
ng especially. You ask me to believe that

  she told—"

  "Excuse me. I don't care a single measly damn what

  you believe. Neither does Mr. Wolfe. You can't name

  anything we wouldn't rather have done than report

  what happened, but we had no choice, so we reported it

  and you have our statements. If you know what she said

  better than I do, that's fine with me."

  "I was talking," he said.

  "Yeah. I was interrupting."

  "You say that she gave you all those details, how she

  saw a member of the firm in a cheap restaurant or

  lunchroom with an opposing client, the day she saw

  him, her telling him about it this afternoon, all the rest

  of it, including naming Mrs. Sorell, but she didn't name

  The Homicide Trinity 15

  the member of the firm. I don't believe it." He tapped

  the statement and his head came forward. "And I'm

  telling you this, Goodwin. If you use that name for your

  private purposes and profit, and that includes Wolfe, if

  you get yourselves hired to investigate this murder and

  you use information you have withheld from me to solve

  the case and collect a fee, I'll get you for it if it costs me

  an eye!"

  I cocked my head. "Look," I said. "Apparently you

  don't realize. It's already been on the radio, and tomor-

  row it will be in the papers, that a woman who had come

  to consult Nero Wolfe was murdered in his office, stran-

  gled with his necktie, while he was up playing with his

  orchids and chatting with Archie Goodwin. I can hear