The Golden Spiders (6 page)

“Nuts. An hour may do it.”

“Not today. We’re spinning on the Fromm murder. The only reason you got in at all, I want your release on the item that Nero Wolfe was making inquiries yesterday about Mrs. Fromm.”

“I don’t think-” I let it hang while I moved a chair and sat. “No, better not. But okay on an item that he is working on the murder.”

“He is?”

“Yep.”

“Who hired him?”

I shook my head. “It came by carrier pigeon, and he won’t tell me.”

“Take off your shoes and socks while I light a cigarette. A few applications to your tender flesh should do it. I want the name of the client.”

“J. Edgar Hoover.”

He made an unseemly noise. “Just a whisper, to me?”

“No.”

“But it’s open that Wolfe is working on the Fromm murder?”

“Yes. Just that.”

“And the boy, Peter Drossos? And Matthew Birch? Them too?”

I gave him a look. “How come?”

“Oh, for God’s sake. Wolfe’s ad in the
Times
wanting to date a woman wearing spider earrings who had asked a boy at Ninth Avenue and Thirty-fifth Street to get a cop. Mrs. Fromm was wearing spider earrings, and you were here yesterday asking about her. As for Birch, the pattern. His body was found in a secluded spot, flattened by a car, and so was Mrs. Fromm’s. I repeat the question.”

“I answer it. Nero Wolfe is investigating the murder of Mrs. Fromm with his accustomed vigor, skill, and laziness. He will not rest until he gets the bastard or until bedtime, whichever comes first. Any mention you make of other murders should come on another page.”

“No connection implied?”

“Not by him or me. If I should ask for information on Birch, it will be because you dragged him in yourself.”

“Okay, hold everything. I want to catch the early.”

He left the room. I sat and tried to argue Wolfe into letting Lon have the juicy item about the flap from Matthew Birch’s pocket being found on the car that had killed Pete, but since Wolfe wasn’t there I made no progress. Before long Lon came back, and after he had crossed to his desk and got his big feet under it I told him, “I still need an hour.”

“We’ll see. There’s not much nourishment in that crumb.”

It didn’t take a full hour, but a big hunk of one. He gave me nearly everything I wanted without consulting any documents and with only two phone calls to shopmates.

Mrs. Fromm had had lunch Friday at the Churchill with Miss Angela Wright, Executive Secretary of Assadip-the Association for the Aid of Displaced Persons. Presumably she had gone to the Churchill upon leaving Wolfe’s office, but I didn’t go into that with Lon. After lunch, around two-thirty, the two women had gone together to the office of Assadip, where Mrs. Fromm signed some papers and made some phone calls. The
Gazette
didn’t have her taped from around 3:15 to around five, when she had returned to her home on Sixty-eighth Street and had spent an hour or so working with her personal secretary, Miss Jean Estey. According to Lon, Angela Wright was a credit to her sex, since she would talk to reporters, and Jean Estey wasn’t, since she wouldn’t.

A little before seven o’clock Mrs. Fromm had left home, alone, to go out to dinner, driving one of her cars, a Cadillac convertible. The dinner was at the apartment of Mr. and Mrs. Dennis Horan on Gramercy Park. It wasn’t known where she had parked the car, but in that neighborhood in the evening there are always spaces. There had been six people at the dinner:

Dennis Horan, the host

Claire Horan, his wife

Laura Fromm

Angela Wright

Paul Kuffner, public-relations expert

Vincent Lipscomb, magazine publisher

The party had broken up a little after eleven, and the guests had gone their ways separately. Mrs. Fromm had been the last to leave. The
Gazette
had a tip that Horan had taken her down to her car, but the police weren’t saying, and it couldn’t be checked. That was all on Laura Fromm until five o’clock Saturday morning, when a man on his way to work in a fish market, passing through the construction lane between the pillars, had found the body.

Just a few minutes before I reached the
Gazette
office the District Attorney had announced that Mrs. Fromm had been run over by her own car. The convertible had been found parked on Sixteenth Street between Sixth and Seventh Avenues, only a five-minute walk from the Tenth Precinct, and had yielded not only evidence of that fact but also a heavy tire wrench, found on the floor, which had been used on the back of Mrs. Fromm’s head. Whether the murderer had been concealed in the car, under a rug behind the front seat, when Mrs. Fromm had come down to it, or whether he had been allowed by her to get in with her, then or later, it seemed better than a guess that he had picked a moment and spot to hit her with the wrench, replace her at the wheel, drive to an appropriate site, unoccupied and unobserved at that hour, unload her, and run the car over her. It would have been interesting and instructive to go down to Centre Street and watch the scientists working on that car, but they wouldn’t have let me get within a mile of it, and anyhow I was busy with Lon.

As far as the
Gazette
knew, as of that moment the field was wide open, with no candidate favored either by the police or by any outside talent. Of course those who had been present at the dinner were in a glare, but it could have been anyone who had known where Mrs. Fromm would be, or even possibly someone who hadn’t. Lon had no suggestions to offer, though he tossed in the comment that one
Gazette
female was being curious about Mrs. Horan’s attitude toward the progress of the friendship between her husband and Mrs. Fromm.

I made an objection. “But if you want to fit in Pete Drossos and Matthew Birch, that’s no good. Unless you can make it good. Who was Matthew Birch?”

Lon snorted. “On your way out buy a Wednesday
Gazette
.”

“I’ve got one at home and I’ve read it. But that was three days ago.”

“He hasn’t changed any. He was a special agent of the Immigration and Naturalization Service, had been for twenty years, with a wife and three children. He had only twenty-one teeth, looked like a careworn statesman, dressed beyond his station, wasn’t any too popular in his circle, and bet on the races through Danny Pincus.”

“You said you counted Birch in because of the pattern. Was there any other reason?”

“No.”

“Just to your old and trusted friend Goodwin. Any at all?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll do you a favor, expecting it back with interest at your earliest convenience. It’s triple classified. The cops have it sewed up that the car that killed Pete Drossos was the one that killed Birch.”

His eyes widened. “No!”

“Yes.”

“Sewed up how?”

“Sorry, I’ve forgotten. But it’s absolutely tight.”

“I’ll be damned.” Lon rubbed his palms together. “This is sweet, Archie. This is very sweet. Pete and Mrs. Fromm, the earrings. Pete and Birch, the car. That ties Birch and Mrs. Fromm. You understand that the
Gazette
will now have a strong hunch that the three murders are connected and will proceed accordingly.”

“As long as it’s just a hunch, okay.”

“Right. As for the car itself-as you know, the license plate was a floater; the car was stolen in Baltimore four months ago. It’s been repainted twice.”

“That hasn’t been published.”

“They released it at noon.” Lon leaned to me. “Listen, I’ve got an idea. How can you be absolutely sure I’m to be trusted unless you try me? Here’s your chance. Tell me how they know the same car killed Birch and the boy. Then I’ll forget it.”

“I forgot it first.” I stood up and shook my pants legs down. “My God, are you a glutton! Dogs should be fed once a day, and you’ve had yours.”

Chapter 6

When I got back to Thirty-fifth Street it was after four o’clock and the office was empty. I went to the kitchen to ask Fritz if there had been any visitors, and he said yes, Inspector Cramer.

I raised my brows. “Any blood flow?”

He said no, but it had been pretty noisy. I treated myself to a tall glass of water, returned to the office, and buzzed the plant rooms on the house phone, and when Wolfe answered I told him, “Home again. Regards from Lon Cohen. Do I type the report?”

“No. Come up and tell me.”

That was not exactly busting a rule, like the interruption at lunch, but it was exceptional. It suited me all right, since as long as he stayed sore because he thought someone had made a monkey of him he would probably make his brain work. I went up the three flights and through the aluminum door into the vestibule, and the door to the warm room, where the Miltonia roezli and Phalaenopsis Aphrodite were in full bloom. In the next room, the medium, only a few of the big show-offs, the Cattleyas and Laelias, had flowers, which was all right with me, and anyway the biggest show-off in the place, named Wolfe, was there, helping Theodore adjust the muslin shaders. When I appeared he led the way to the rear, through the cool room into the potting room, where he lowered himself into the only chair present and demanded, “Well?”

I got onto a stool and gave it to him. He sat with his eyes closed and his nose twitching now and then for punctuation. In making a report to him one of my objectives is to cover it so well as I go along that at the end he won’t have one question to ask, and that time I made it. When I had finished he held his pose a long moment, then opened his eyes and informed me, “Mr. Cramer was here.”

I nodded. “So Fritz said. He also said it was noisy.”

“Yes. He was uncommonly offensive. Of course he is under harassment, but so am I. He intimated that if I had told him yesterday of Mrs. Fromm’s visit she would not have been killed, which is poppycock. Also he threatened me. If I obstruct the police investigation in any way I will be summoned. Pfui! Is he still downstairs?”

“Not unless he’s hiding in the bathroom. Fritz said he left.”

“I left him and came up here. I have phoned Saul and Fred and Orrie. What time is it?”

He would have had to turn his head to see the clock, so I told him. “Ten to five.”

“They will be here at six or soon after. There has been no word from Mr. Horan. How old is Jean Estey?”

“Lon didn’t specify, but he said young, so I suppose not over thirty. Why?”

“Is she comely?”

“No data.”

“You have a right to know. At any rate, she is young. Saul or Fred or Orrie may find a crack for us, but I don’t want to prowl around this cage while they try. I want to know what Mrs. Fromm did from three-fifteen to five o’clock yesterday afternoon, and what and whom her mind was on during the hour she spent with Miss Estey. Miss Estey can tell me-certainly the second, and probably the first. Get her and bring her here.”

Don’t misunderstand him. He knew it was fantastic. He hadn’t the slightest expectation that under the circumstances I could get to Mrs. Fromm’s personal secretary for a private chat, let alone convoy her to his office so he could pump her. But it would only cost him some taxi fare, so what the hell, why not let me stub my toe on the slim chance that I might raise some dust?

So I merely remarked that I would tell Fritz to set an extra place for dinner in case she was hungry, left him, went down one flight to my bedroom, stood by the window, and surveyed the problem. In ten minutes I concocted, and rejected, four different plans. The fifth one seemed more likely, at least with a faint chance of working, and I voted for it. For dressing the part nothing in my personal wardrobe would do, so I went to the closet where I kept an assortment of items for professional emergencies such as the present and got out a black cutaway and vest, striped trousers, a white shirt with starched collar, a black Homburg, and a black four-in-hand. Suitable shoes and socks were in my personal stock. When I had shaved and got into the costume I took a look in the full-length mirror and was impressed. All I needed was either a bride or a hearse.

Downstairs in the office I got a little Marley.22 from the collection in a drawer of my desk, loaded it, and stuck it in my hip pocket. That was a compromise. A shoulder holster with a.32 would have spoiled my contours in that getup, but long ago, after a couple of unpleasant experiences, one of which had made it necessary to have a bullet dug out of my chest, I had promised both Wolfe and myself that I would never go forth unarmed to deal with anyone involved in a murder, however remotely. That attended to, I went to the kitchen to give Fritz a treat.

“I’ve been appointed,” I told him, “ambassador to Texas. Adieu.”

He asked me to unbutton the shirt to show him my girdle.

It was 5:38 when I paid the taxi driver in front of the address on East Sixty-eighth Street. Across the street there was a little assembly of gawkers, but on this side a uniformed cop was keeping the citizens moving. The house was granite, set back a couple of yards, with iron railings higher than my head protecting the areaway on both sides of the entrance. As I headed for it the cop moved to meet me, but not actually to block me. Cops prefer not to block personages dressed as I was.

I stopped, looked at him mournfully, and said, “Arrangements.”

He might have made it more difficult by accompanying me to the door, but three female sightseers gave me an assist just then by converging on the iron railing, and by the time he had persuaded them on their way I had entered the vestibule, pushed the button, and was speaking to a specimen with an aristocratic nose who had opened the door. His color scheme was the same as mine, but I had it on him in style.

“There has developed,” I said sadly but firmly, “some confusion in the directions about the flowers, and it must be settled. I will have to see Miss Estey.”

Since it would have been out of character to slide a foot across the sill against the open door I had to keep that impulse down, but when he opened it enough to give me room I lost no time in slipping past him. As he closed the door I remarked, “The morbid curiosity of the public at such a time is distressing. Will you please tell Miss Estey that Mr. Goodwin would like to consult her about the flowers?”

“This way, please.”

He led me five paces along the hall to a door that was standing open, motioned me in, and told me to wait. The room was nothing like what I would have expected in the town residence of Mrs. Damon Fromm. It was smaller than my bedroom, and, in addition to two desks, two typewriter stands, and an assortment of chairs, it was crammed with filing cabinets and miscellaneous objects. The walls were covered with posters and photographs, some framed and some not. There were scores of them. After a general survey I focused on one item and then another, and was inspecting one inscribed,
American Health Council, 1947
, when I heard footsteps and straightened and turned.

She came in, stopped, and leveled greenish-brown eyes at me. “What’s this about flowers?” she demanded.

The eyes didn’t look as if they had been irritated by any great flood of tears, but they certainly were not merry. I might possibly have classed her under thirty in happier circumstances, but not as she was then. Comely, yes. She was not wearing earrings. There was no sign of a scratch on her cheek, but four days had passed since Pete had seen it, and he had given no specifications as to depth or outline. So there wasn’t much hope of spotting any vestige of that scratch on Jean Estey or anyone else.

“Are you Miss Jean Estey?” I asked.

“Yes. What about flowers?”

“That’s what I came to tell you. You may have heard the name Nero Wolfe.”

“The detective?”

“Yes.”

“Certainly.”

“Good. He sent me. My name is Archie Goodwin, and I work for him. He wants to send flowers to Mrs. Fromm’s funeral, and would like to know if there would be any objection to orchids, provided they are sprays of Miltonia roezli alba, which are pure white and are very beautiful.”

She stared at me a second and then suddenly burst out laughing. It wasn’t musical. Her shoulders were shaking with it, and she half walked and half stumbled to a chair, sat, lowered her head, and pressed her palms against her temples. The butler came to the threshold of the open door for a look, and I went to him and told him sympathetically that I had had experience with such crises, which was no lie, and that it might be well to shut the door. He agreed and pulled it shut himself. Then for a little I thought I might have to shock her out of it, but before long she started to calm down, and I went to a chair and sat. Soon she came erect and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

“What started me,” she said, “was the way you’re dressed. It’s grotesque-dressed like that to come and ask if there’s any objection to orchids!” She had to stop a moment to get her breathing in order. “There are to be no flowers. Now you may go.”

“The costume was merely to get me in.”

“I understand. Under false pretenses. What for?”

“To see you. Look, Miss Estey. I’m sorry my disguise brought on that little attack, but now you should sit quietly for a few minutes while your nerves catch up, and meanwhile why not let me explain? I suppose you know that Mrs. Fromm came to see Mr. Wolfe yesterday and gave him a check for ten thousand dollars.”

“Yes. I handle her personal checking account.”

“Did she tell you what it was for?”

“No. All she put on the stub was the word ‘retainer.’”

“Well, I can’t tell you what it was for, but she was to see Mr. Wolfe again today. The check was certified yesterday and will be deposited Monday. Mr. Wolfe feels a responsibility to Mrs. Fromm and considers that he is obliged to investigate her death.”

She was breathing better. “The police are investigating it. Two of them left here just half an hour ago.”

“Sure. If they solve it, fine. But if they don’t, Mr. Wolfe will. Don’t you want him to?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want, does it?”

“It matters to Mr. Wolfe. The police can say to anybody involved, ‘Answer this one, or else,’ but he can’t. He wants to talk with you and sent me to bring you to his office, and I can persuade you to come only by one of three methods. I could threaten you if I had a good menace handy, but I haven’t. I could bribe you if I knew what to use for bait, but I don’t. All that’s left is to say that Mrs. Fromm came to see him and gave him that check, and he has reason to think that her death was connected with the matter she hired him to work on and therefore he feels obliged to investigate it, and he wants to start by talking with you. The question is whether you want to help. Naturally I should think you would, without any threats or bribes, even if I had some in stock. Our office is on Thirty-fifth Street. The cop out front will flag a taxi for us, and we can be there in fifteen minutes.”

“You mean go now?”

“Sure.”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t. I have to-I couldn’t.” She was back in control, with all signs of the attack gone. “You say the question is whether I want to help, but that’s not it, it’s how I can help.” She hesitated, studying me. “I think I’ll tell you something.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

“I told you two policemen, detectives, left here half an hour ago.”

“Yes.”

“Well, while they were here, not long before they left, there was a phone call for one of them, and after he hung up he said I might be contacted by Nero Wolfe, probably through his assistant, Archie Goodwin, and I might be asked to go to see Nero Wolfe, and if so he hoped I would cooperate by going and then tell the police exactly what Wolfe said.”

“That’s interesting. Did you agree to cooperate?”

“No. I didn’t commit myself.” She got up, went to a desk, got a pack of cigarettes from a drawer, lit one, and took two healthy drags. She stood looking down at me. “The reason I told you that is purely selfish. I happen to think that Nero Wolfe is smarter than any policeman, but whether he is or not, Mrs. Fromm went to consult him yesterday and gave him that check, and I don’t know what for. Since I’m her secretary of course I’m involved in this, I can’t help that, but I’m not going to do anything to get more involved, and I certainly would be if I went to see Nero Wolfe. If I didn’t tell the police what Wolfe said they would never let up on me, and if I did tell them-what if he asked me about something that Mrs. Fromm had told him confidentially and wouldn’t want the police to know?”

She took another drag at the cigarette, went to a desk and mashed it in a tray, and came back. “So I told you. I’m just a sweet innocent small-town girl from Nebraska, I don’t think. If ten years on your own in New York don’t teach you how to avoid collisions in heavy traffic, nothing will. Here I am in this mess, but I’m not going to say or do anything to make it worse than it is-for me. I’m going to have to get a job. I don’t owe Mrs. Damon Fromm anything-I worked for her, and she paid me, and nothing extravagant, either.”