Nero Wolfe 16 - Even in the Best Families (24 page)

“Not mine, sister. I’m not a cop.”

She turned to the others. “Yours, then!”

This would have been a good moment for me to take time out to read my signed statement, since I could have used a few minutes for some good healthy thinking. Here was a situation that was new to me. About all that Barry Rackham’s ticket to the electric chair needed was my endorsement, and I thought he had it coming to him. All I had to do was tell the truth. I could say that I had no knowledge whatever of the phone call Nero Wolfe was purported to have made to Mrs. Rackham, but that it was conceivable that he had made such a call without mentioning it to me, since he had often withheld information from me regarding his actions and intentions. You couldn’t
beat that for truth. On various occasions I had used all my wits to help pin it on a murderer, and here it would take no wit at all, merely tossing in a couple of facts.

But if I let it go at that, it was a cinch that before the sun went down, Rackham would be locked up, and that would ruin everything. The program sunk, the months all wasted, the one chance gone, Zeck sailing on with the authority of his superior intellect, and Wolfe and me high and dry. My wits had a new job, and quick. I liked to think that they had done their share once or twice in getting a murderer corralled: now it was up to them to do more than their share in keeping a murderer running loose and free to keep appointments. Truth was not enough.

There was no time to draw a sketch and see how I liked it. All three of them were looking at me, and Archer was saying, “You can see, Goodwin, why I wanted you to read your statement and see if you left anything out.”

“Yeah.” I was regretful. “I can also see you holding your breath, and I don’t blame you. If I now say that’s right, I forgot, Wolfe did phone Mrs. Rackham that Friday evening and tell her that, you’ve got all you need and hallelujah, I would love to help out, but I like to stick to the truth as far as practical.”

“The truth is all I’m asking for. Did you call on Rackham at his apartment yesterday afternoon?”

That punch had of course been telegraphed. “Yes,” I said.

“What for?”

“On a job for a client. At first it was a tailing job, and then when Rackham spotted me my client thought I might learn something by chatting with him.”

“Why is your client interested in Rackham?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Who’s the client?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think that would help you any. He’s a man who came here recently from the West Coast, and I suspect he’s connected with gambling or rackets or both, but my suspicions are no good at the bank. Let’s table it for now.”

“I want the name, Goodwin.”

“And I want to protect my client within reason. You can’t connect him up with the murder you’re investigating. Go ahead and start the rigmarole. Charge me again as a material witness and I get released on bail. Meanwhile I’ll be wanting my lawyer present and all that runaround. What will it get you in the long run?”

Ben Dykes said in a nasty voice, “We don’t want to be arbitrary about it. We wouldn’t expect you to name a client if you haven’t got one. West Coast, huh?”

“Is Rackham your client?” Archer asked.

“No.”

“Have you done any work for him?”

“No.”

“Has he given you or paid you any money in the past week?”

That was enough and to spare. I was hooked good, and if the best I could do was flop around trying to wriggle off, the outlook was damn thin. “Oh,” I said, “so that’s it.” I gave Lina Darrow an appreciative look and then transferred it to Archer. “This narrows it down. I’ve collected for withholding evidence against a murderer. That’s bad, isn’t it?”

No one answered. They just looked at me.

So I went on. “First, I hereby state that I have no
money from Rackham, and that’s all on that for now. Second, I’m a little handicapped because although I know what Miss Darrow has in her mind, I don’t know how it got there. She’s framing Rackham for murder or trying to, but I’m not sure whether it’s her own idea or whether she has been nudged. I would have to find out about that first before I could decide how I stand. I know you’ve got to give me the works, and that’s all right, it’s your job, you’ve got all day and all night for it, but you can take your pick. Either I clam up as of now, and I mean clam, and you start prying at me, or first I am allowed to have a talk with Miss Darrow—with you here, of course. Then you can have the rest of the week with me. Well?”

“No,” Archer said emphatically.

“Okay. May I borrow some adhesive tape?”

“We know everything Miss Darrow has to say.”

“Sure you do. I want to catch up. I said with you here. You can always stop it if you get bored.”

Archer looked at Dykes. I don’t know whether he would have rather had Dykes nod his head or shake it, but he got neither. All Dykes did was concentrate.

“You gentlemen,” I said, “want only one thing, to crack the case. It certainly won’t help if I shut my trap and breathe through my nose. It certainly won’t hurt if I converse with Miss Darrow in your presence.”

“Let him,” Lina said belligerently. “I knew he would deny it.”

“What do you want to ask her?” Archer demanded.

“The best way to find that out is to listen.” I turned to Lina. “When I saw you yesterday afternoon, coming out of his apartment, I thought something
was stirring. It was rude the way you went right by me.”

She met my gaze but had no comment.

“Was it yesterday,” I asked, “that he treated you badly?”

“Not only yesterday,” she said evenly. “But yesterday he refused definitely and finally to marry me.”

“Is that so bad? I mean, a guy can’t marry everyone.”

“He had said he would—many times.”

“But hadn’t you been keeping your fingers crossed? After all, it was kind of a special situation. He knew that you knew something that would get him arrested for murder if you spilled it—not to mention other criminal things, whatever they were. Didn’t it occur to you that he might be kidding you along for security reasons?”

“Yes, I—yes, it did, but I didn’t want to believe it. He said he loved me. He made love to me—and I wanted him for my husband.” She decided that wasn’t adequate and improved on it. “I wanted him so much!” she exclaimed.

“I’ll bet you did.” I tried not to sound sarcastic. “How do you feel about it now? Do you think he ever loved you?”

“No, I don’t! I think he was heartless and cruel. I think he was afraid of me. He just wanted me not to tell what I knew. And I began to suspect—the way he acted—and yesterday I insisted that we must be married immediately, this week, and when I insisted he lost his temper and he was—he was hateful.”

“I know he’s got a temper. Was there any urgent reason for wanting to get married quick, like expecting a visitor from heaven, for instance a baby?”

She flushed and appealed to Archer. “Do I have to let him insult me?”

“I beg your pardon,” I said stiffly, “but you seem to be pretty sensitive for a woman who was hellbent to marry a murderer. Did—”

“I didn’t know he was a murderer! I only knew if I told about what Mrs. Rackham told me and what he told me—I knew he would be suspected even more than he was.”

“Uh-huh. When the blowup came yesterday, did you threaten to tell what you knew?”

“Yes.”

I goggled at her. “You know, sister,” I declared, “you should have spent more time thinking this through. You are unquestionably the bummest liar I have ever run across. I thought maybe—”

Dykes broke in. “She says Rackham probably figured he wasn’t in much danger, so many months had passed.”

“Yeah? That’s partly what I mean. Whatever she says, what about Rackham? He’s not boob enough to figure like that. He would know damn well that five months is nothing in the life of a murder. He has his choice between marrying this attractive specimen or having her run to you with the ink for his death warrant, and not only does he act heartless and cruel, he actually opens the door for her to go! This guy who had it in him to sneak into the woods at night with a knife to stab his wife to death
and
a fighting dog—he just opens the door for this poor pretty creature to tell the world about it! My God, you would buy that?”

“You can’t tell about people,” Archer said. “And she has details. Take the detail of the phone call Wolfe made to Mrs. Rackham and what he told her
about her husband. Not even a good liar would have that detail, let alone a bum one.”

“Nuts.” I was disgusted. “No such phone call was made, and Mrs. Rackham never said it was. As for Rackham’s having been in with crooks, either he wasn’t and sister here invented it, in which case you’d better watch your step, or he was, and sister here got his tongue loosened enough for him to tell her about it. I’m perfectly willing to believe she is capable of that, however bum a liar she may be.”

“You say Wolfe didn’t make that call to Mrs. Rackham?”

“Yes.”

“And he didn’t learn that Rackham’s income came from a connection with criminal activities?”

“My God, Mrs. Rackham didn’t leave our office until afternoon that Friday. And he called her that evening to tell her? When he hadn’t moved a finger to start an inquiry, and I hadn’t either? He was good, but not that good.” I turned to Lina. “I thought maybe you had had a coach for this, possibly got in with some professionals yourself, but not now, the way you tell it. Obviously this is your own baby—I beg your pardon if you don’t want babies mentioned—say your own script—and it is indeed a lulu. Framing a man for murder is no job for an amateur. Aside from the idea of Rackham’s preferring a jury trial to you, which if I may get personal is plain loco, look at other features. If it had been the way you say, what would Wolfe and I have done after I phoned him that night and told him Mrs. Rackham had got it? Our only interest was the fee she had paid us. Why didn’t we just hand it all to the cops? Another little feature, do you remember that gathering that evening? Did either Rackham or his wife act like people who were
riding the kind of storm you describe? Don’t ask me, I could be prejudiced; ask all the others.”

I left her for Archer. “I could go on for an hour, but don’t tell me you need it. I don’t wonder you grabbed at it, it looked as if it might possibly be the break you had been hoping for, and besides, she had fixed it up with some trimmings that might be very juicy, like the crap about me working for Rackham. I have not and am not, and I have none of his dough. Must I punch more holes in it?”

Archer was studying me. “Is it your contention that Miss Darrow invented all this?”

“It is.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Do you want me to guess?”

“Yes.”

“Well—my best one first. Have you noticed her eyes—the deep light in them? I think she’s trying to take over for you. She liked Mrs. Rackham, and when she got left that two hundred grand it went to her head. She thought Rackham had killed her—I don’t know whether it was a hunch or what—and when time passed and it looked as if he wasn’t going to get tagged for it, she decided it was her duty or mission, or whatever word she uses for it, to step in. Having the two hundred grand, she could afford a hobby for a while. That was when she started to put the eyes on Rackham. I expect she thought she could get him into a state where he would dump it all out for her, and then she would not only know she was right but would also be able to complete her mission. But the months went by and he never dumped, and
it
probably got a little embarrassing, and she got frantic about it, and she must even have got desperate,
judging by the performance she finally ended up with. She decided Rackham was guilty, that part was all right, and the only thing lacking was evidence, so it was up to her to furnish it.”

I leaned forward at her. “It’s not enough to want to do a good deed, you damn fool. Wanting is fine, but you also need some slight idea of how to go about it. It didn’t bother you that one by-product was making me out a cheap crook, did it? Many thanks sincerely yours.”

She dropped her head into her hands to cover her face, and convulsions began.

They sat and looked at her. I looked at them. Archer was pulling jerkily at his lower lip. Dykes was shaking his head, his lips compressed.

“I suggest,” I said modestly, raising my voice to carry over the noise Lina Darrow was making, “that when she quiets down it might pay to find out if Rackham has told her anything that might help. That item about his getting dough from gambling or rackets could be true, if they actually got intimate enough for him to tell her the story of his life.”

They kept their eyes on her. She was crying away what had looked like a swell chance to wrap up a tough one, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if they had burst into tears too. I pushed back my chair and stood up.

“If you get anything that I can be of any help on, give me a ring. I’ll have a crowded afternoon, but word will reach me.”

I walked out.

A
s I hit the sidewalk in front of the courthouse my watch said 11:17. It was sunny and warm, and people looked as if they felt pleased with the way things were going. I did not. In another few minutes they would have Lina Darrow talking again, and whether she gave it to them straight this time or tried her hand on a revised version, they might decide any minute that they wanted to talk with Barry Rackham, and that could lead to anything. The least it could lead to was delay, and my nerves were in no condition for it.

I dived across the street to a drugstore, found a booth, and dialed Roeder’s number. No answer. I went to where my car was parked, got in, and headed for the parkway.

On my way back to Manhattan I stopped four times to find a phone and dial Roeder’s number, and the fourth try, at a Hundred and Sixteenth Street, I got him. I told him where I was. He asked what they had wanted at White Plains.

“Nothing much, just to ask some questions about a lead they had got. I’m going to the Churchill to fix it to go ahead with that date today.”

“You can’t. It has been postponed until tomorrow at the other end. Arrange it for tomorrow.”