Trio For Blunt Instruments (2 page)

Trio For Blunt Instruments Rex Stout

IT WAS EXACTLY TWENTY-EIGHT hours later, Tuesday evening at half past ten, that I went to answer the doorbell and saw, through the one-way glass of the front door, a scared but determined little face bounded at the sides by the turned-up collar of a brown wool coat and on top by a fuzzy brown thing that flopped to the right. When I opened the door she told me with a single rush of breath, 'You're Archie Goodwin I'm Elma Vassos.'

It had been a normal nothing-stirring day, three meals, Wolfe reading a book and dictating letters in between his morning and afternoon turns in the plant rooms, Fritz housekeeping and cooking, me choring. It was still in the air whether I would have to find another bootblack. According to the papers the police had tagged Ashby's death as murder, but no one had been charged. Around one o'clock Sergeant Purley Stebbins had phoned to ask if we knew where Peter Vassos was, and when I said no and started to ask a question he hung up on me. A little after four Lon Cohen of the Gazette had phoned to offer a grand for a thousand-word piece on Peter Vassos, a dollar a word, and another grand if I would tell him where Vassos was. I declined with thanks and made a counter offer, my autograph in his album if he would tell me who at Homicide or the DA's bureau had given him the steer that we knew Vassos. When I told him I had no idea where Vassos was he pronounced a word you are not supposed to use on the telephone.

I usually stick to the rule that no one is to be ushered to the office when Wolfe is there without asking him, but I ignore it now and then in an emergency. That time the emergency was a face. I had been in the kitchen chinning with Fritz. Wolfe was buried in a book, we had no case and no client, and to him no woman is ever welcome in that house. Ten to one he would have refused to see her. But I had seen her scared little face and he hadn't, and anyway he hadn't done a lick of work for more than two weeks, and it would be up to me, not him, to find another bootblack if it came to that. So I invited her in, took her coat and put it on a hanger, escorted her to the office, and said, 'Miss Elma Vassos. Pete's daughter.' Wolfe closed his book on a finger and glared at me. She put a hand on the back of the red leather chair to steady herself. It looked as if she might crack, and I took her arm and eased her into the chair. Wolfe transferred the glare to her, and there was her face. It was a little face, but not too little, and the point was that you didn't see any of the details, eyes or mouth or nose, just the face. I have supplied descriptions of many faces professionally, but with her I wouldn't know where to begin. I asked her if she wanted a drink, water or something stronger, and she said no.

She looked at Wolfe and said, 'You're Nero Wolfe. Do you know my father is dead?' She needed more breath.

Wolfe shook his head. His lips parted and closed again. He turned to me. 'Confound it, get something! Brandy. Whisky.'

'I couldn't swallow it,' she said. 'You didn't know?'

'No.' He was gruff. 'When'How'Can you talk?'

'I guess so.' She wasn't any too sure. 'I have to. Some boys found him at the bottom of a cliff. I went and looked at him-not there, at the morgue.' She set her teeth on her lip, hard, but it didn't change the face. She made the teeth let go. 'They think he killed himself, he jumped off, but he didn't. I know he didn't.'

Wolfe pushed his chair back. 'I offer my profound sympathy, Miss Vassos.' Even gruffer. He arose. 'I'll leave you with Mr. Goodwin. You will give him the details.' He moved, the book in his hand.

That was him. He thought she was going to flop, and a woman off the rail is not only unwelcome, she is not to be borne. Not by him. But she caught his sleeve and stopped him. 'You,' she said. 'I must tell you. To my father you are a great man, the greatest man in the world. I must tell you.'

'She'll do,' I said. 'She'll make it.'

There are few men who would not like to be told they are the greatest in the world, and Wolfe isn't one of them. He stared down at her for five seconds, returned to his chair, sat, inserted the marker in the book and put it down, scowled at her, and demanded, 'When did you eat?'

'I haven't-I can't swallow.'

'Pfui. When did you eat?'

'A little this morning. My father hadn't come home and I didn't know& '

He swiveled to push a button, leaned back, closed his eyes, and opened them when he heard a step at the door. 'Tea with honey, Fritz. Toast, pot cheese, and Bar-le-Duc. For Miss Vassos.'

Fritz went.

'I really can't,' she said.

'You will if you want me to listen. Where is the cliff?'

It took her a second to go back. 'It's in the country somewhere. I guess they told me, but I don't-'

'When was he found?'

'Sometime this afternoon, late this afternoon.'

'You saw him at the morgue. Where, in the country?'

'No, they brought him; it's not far from here. When I had-when I could-I came here from there.'

'Who was with you?'

'Two men, detectives. They told me their names, but I don't remember.'

'I mean with you. Brother, sister, mother?'

'I have no brother or sister. My mother died ten years ago.'

'When did you last see your father alive?'

'Yesterday. When I got home from work he wasn't there, and it was nearly six o'clock when he came, and he said he had been at the district attorney's office for three hours; they had been asking him questions about Mr. Ashby. You know about Mr. Ashby, he said he told you about him when he came here. Of course I already knew about him because I work there. I did work there.'

'Where?'

'At the office. That company. Mercer's Bobbins.'

'Indeed. In what capacity?'

'I'm a stenographer. Not anybody's secretary, just a stenographer. Mostly typing and sometimes letters for Mr. Busch. My father got me the job through Mr. Mercer.'

'How long ago?'

'Two years ago. After I graduated from high school.'

'Then you knew Mr. Ashby.'

'Yes. I knew him a little, yes.'

'About last evening. Your father came home around six. Then?'

'I had dinner nearly ready, and we talked, and we ate, and then we talked some more. He said there was something he hadn't told the police and he hadn't told you, and he was going to go and tell you in the morning and ask you what he ought to do. He said you were such a great man that people paid you fifty thousand dollars just to tell them what to do, and he thought you would tell him for nothing, so it would be foolish not to go and ask you. He wouldn't tell me what it was. Then a friend of mine came-I was going to a movie with her-and we went. When I got home father wasn't there and there was a note on the table. It said he was going out and might be late. One of the detectives tried to take the note but I wouldn't let him. I have it here in my bag if you want to see it.'

Wolfe shook his head. 'Not necessary. Had your father mentioned before you left that he intended to go out?'

'No. And he always did. We always told each other ahead of time what we were going to do.'

'Had he given you no hint- Very well, Fritz.'

Fritz crossed to the red leather chair, put the tray on the little table that is always there for people to write checks on, and proffered her a napkin. She didn't lift a hand to take it. Wolfe spoke.

'I'll listen to more, Miss Vassos, only after you eat.' He picked up his book, opened to his page, and swiveled to put his back to her. She took the napkin. Fritz went. I could have turned to my desk and pretended to do something, but I would have been reflected to her in the big mirror on the wall back of my desk, which gives me a view of the door to the hall, and she would have been reflected to me, so I got up and went to the kitchen. Fritz was at the side table putting the cover on the toaster. As I got the milk from the refrigerator I told him, 'She's the daughter of Pete Vassos. I'll have to scare up a bootblack. He's dead.'

'Him?' Fritz turned. 'Dieu m'en garde.' He shook his head. 'Too young. Then she is not a client?'

'Not one to send a bill to.' I poured milk. 'Anyhow, as you know, he wouldn't take a paying client if one came up the stoop on his knees. It's December, and his tax bracket is near the top. If she wants him to help and he won't, I'll take a leave of absence and handle it myself. You saw her face.'

He snorted. 'She should be warned. About you.'

'Sure. I'll do that first.'

I don't gulp milk. When the glass was half empty I tiptoed out to the office door. Wolfe's back was still turned and Elma was putting jam on a piece of toast. I finished the milk, taking my time, and took the glass to the kitchen, and when I returned Wolfe had about-faced and put the book down and she was saying something. I entered and crossed to my desk.

'& and he had never done that before,' she was telling Wolfe. 'I thought he might have gone back to the district attorney's office, so I phoned there, but he hadn't. I phoned two of his friends but they hadn't seen him. I went to work as usual, he goes to that building every morning, and I told Mr. Busch and he tried to find out if he was in the building, but no one had seen him. Then a detective came and asked me a lot of questions, and later, after lunch, another one came and took me to the district attorney's office, and I-'

'Miss Vassos.' Wolfe was curt. 'If you please. You have eaten, though not much, and your faculties are apparently in order. You said you must tell me, and I would not be uncivil to your father's daughter, but these details are not essential. Give me brief answers to some questions. You said that they think your father killed himself, he jumped off. Who are 'they'?'

'The police. The detectives.'

'How do you know they do?'

'The way they talked. What they said. What they asked me. They think he killed Mr. Ashby and he knew they were finding out about it, so he killed himself.'

'Do they think they know why he killed Mr. Ashby?'

'Yes. Because he had found out that Mr. Ashby had seduced me.'

I lifted a brow. You couldn't be much briefer than that. There wasn't the slightest sign on her face that she had said anything remarkable. Nor was there any sign on Wolfe's face that he had heard anything remarkable. He asked, 'How do you know that?'

'What they said this afternoon at the district attorney's office. They used that word, 'seduced.''

'Did you know that your father had found out that Mr. Ashby had seduced you?'

'Of course not, because he hadn't. My father wouldn't have believed that even if Mr. Ashby had told him, or even if I had gone crazy and told him, because he would have known it wasn't so. My father knew me.'

Wolfe was frowning. 'You mean he thought he knew you?'

'He did know me. He didn't know I couldn't be seduced-I suppose any girl could be seduced if her head gets turned enough-but he knew if I was I would tell him. And he knew if I ever was seduced it wouldn't be Mr. Ashby or anyone like him. My father knew me.'

'Let's make it clear. Are you saying that Mr. Ashby had not seduced you?'

'Yes. Of course.'

'Had he tried to?'

She hesitated. 'No.' She considered. 'He took me to dinner and a show three times. The last time was nearly a year ago. He asked me several times since, but I didn't go because I had found out what he was like and I didn't like him.'

Wolfe's frown had gone. 'Then why do the police think he had seduced you?'

'I don't know, but someone must have told them. Someone must have told them lies about Mr. Ashby and me, from what they said.'

'Who'Did they name anyone?'

'No.'

'Do you know who'Or can you guess?'

'No.'

Wolfe's eyes came to me. 'Archie?'

That was to be expected. It was merely routine. He pretends to presume that he knows nothing, and I know everything, about women, and he was asking me to tell him whether Elma Vassos had or had not been seduced by Dennis Ashby, yes or no. What the hell, I wasn't under oath, and I did have an opinion. 'They don't go by dreams,' I said. 'She's probably right, someone has fed them a line. Say thirty to one.'

'You believe her.'

'Believe'Make it twenty to one.'

She turned her head, slowly, to look straight at me. 'Thank you, Mr. Goodwin,' she said and turned back to Wolfe.

His eyes narrowed at her. 'Well. Assuming you have been candid, what then'You said you must tell me, and I have listened. Your father is dead. I esteemed him, and I would spare no pains to resurrect him if that were possible. But what can you expect me to tender beyond my sympathy, which you have?'

'Why& ' She was surprised. 'I thought-isn't it obvious, what they're going to do'I mean that they're not going to do anything'If they think my father killed Mr. Ashby on account of me and then killed himself, what can they do'That will end it, it's already ended for them. So I'll have to do something, and I don't know what, so I had to come to you because my father said-' She stopped and covered her mouth with her spread fingers. It was the first quick, strong movement she had made. 'Oh!' she said through the fingers. Her hand dropped. 'Of course. You must forgive me.' She opened her bag, a big brown leather one, stuck her hand in, and took something out. 'I should have done this before. My father never spent any of the money you paid him. This is it, all dollar bills, the bills you gave him. He said he would do something special with it some day, but he never said what. But he said-' She stopped. She clamped her teeth on her lip.

'Don't do that,' Wolfe snapped.

She nodded. 'I know, I won't. I haven't counted it, but it must be nearly five hundred dollars; you paid him three times a week for over three years.' She got up and put it on Wolfe's desk and returned to the chair. 'Of course it's nothing to you, it's nothing like fifty thousand, so I'm really asking for charity, but it's for my father, not for me, and after all it will mean that you got your shoes shined for nothing for more than three years.'

Wolfe looked at me. I had let her in, I admit that, but from his look you might have thought I had killed Ashby and Pete and had seduced her into the bargain. I cocked my head at him. He looked at her. 'Miss Vassos. You are asking me to establish your father's innocence and your chastity. Is that it?'