Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 45 (15 page)

There were three or four that Saul and Orrie spent some time and effort on. Fred had made no headway with the Arab terrorists.

To show you how low I was by Thursday evening after dinner, I’ll admit what I was doing. First, what I wasn’t doing. I was not at the poker table at Saul’s apartment. I was in no mood for being sociable, and I would probably have drawn to an inside straight. I was at my desk in the office, scowling at the entries in a little looseleaf book which I call The Nero Wolfe Backlog. It contained a list of certain items that were in his safe deposit box at the Continental Trust Company, and I was considering which one or ones should be disposed of at the current market price if I was asked for a suggestion, as I would be soon if we got nothing better than Arab terrorists and dreamers and star buffs. Wolfe was at his desk with a book of stories by Turgenev, and that was bad too. When he’s low he always picks something that he has already read more than once.

When the doorbell rang, I glanced at my wrist watch as I rose, as usual. Sometimes it’s needed for the record. Eighteen minutes to ten. I went to the hall, flipped the switch of the stoop light, took a look, stepped back in the office, and said, “You’ll have to mark your place. It’s Dennis Copes.”

“You haven’t seen Dennis Copes.”

“No, but Saul described him.”

He shut the book without using the bookmark, and of course no dog ear, since it was Turgenev. I went and opened the front door, and the visitor said, “You’re Archie Goodwin,” and stepped right in as if I wasn’t there.

“And you’re—” I said.

“Copes. Dennis Copes. Not as famous as you, but I will be. Is your famous fat boss available?”

I was so damn glad to see him, to see someone who might actually have something to bite on, that I thought that on him the long hair and two-inch sideburns looked just fine. And when, in the office, he marched across and put out a hand, Wolfe took it. He seldom shakes hands with anybody, and never with strangers. He
was
low. As Copes sat he hitched his pants legs up—the nervous hands Saul had mentioned.

“That was a good ad,” he said. “‘Any person who communicates as a result of this advertisement thereby agrees to the above conditions.’ Very neat. What agency?”

Wolfe frowned. “Agency?”

“Who wrote it?”

“Mr. Goodwin.”

“Oh.” He looked at me: “Nice going Archie.” Back to Wolfe: “That ad would have made a wonderful five-minute spot—you and Mrs. Odell, you right here at your desk and her standing with her hand on your shoulder. You would do most of the talking, with your voice. She would have been glad to pay for prime time—say ten o’clock. A much bigger audience than the ad. Didn’t you consider it?”

“No.”

“Too bad. How many nibbles have you had?”

“None.”

“
None
? Impossible. All right, you’re not telling and why should you? But you can’t say it’s none of my damn business, because in a way it is. If someone else knows what I know, and if they’ve already told you, I’ve missed the bus. Have you—let’s see, how shall I put it—has anyone told you anything that makes you want to have a talk with Kenneth Meer or Helen Lugos?”

Wolfe eyed him. “Mr. Copes. Mrs. Odell’s advertisement asks for information
to
me, not
from
me. I’ll say this: if I had received information that gave me reason to speak with Miss Lugos or Mr. Meer, I would have arranged to see them, and I haven’t.”

Copes nodded. “Fair enough. Now I have to admit something. I have to admit that I should have told the police what I’m going to tell you. I admit I’m not exactly proud of the reason
why
I didn’t tell them. I admit it wasn’t because of any love I have for Kenneth Meer or Helen Lugos; it was because it would have put me right in the thick of a damn nasty murder mess. All right, I admit that. With you it’s different on two counts. One, you won’t handle it like they would. You’ll have more consideration for—well, for
me
. Two, if you get what I think you’ll get,
I’ll
get sixty-five thousand dollars and
can
I use it!”

The fingertips of his right hand were dancing a jig on the chair arm, and he turned the hand over and curled them. “Part of what I’m going to tell you probably won’t be news to you. You probably know why Odell went to Browning’s room and opened that drawer. Don’t you?”

Wolfe grunted. “Do you?”

“Yes. He was going to put LSD in the whisky bottle so Browning would bobble it at the directors’ meeting or not even be there. You probably know that, from Mrs. Odell. I’m going to tell you how
I
know it. How I
knew
it. I knew it the day before, that he was going to. I knew it on Monday, May nineteenth.”

“Indeed.”

“Yes. Of course you know there were two doors to Browning’s room—one from the anteroom, Helen Lugos’s room, and one from the hall. And here’s another thing I have to admit, another reason I haven’t told the police: that Monday afternoon I entered Browning’s room by the door from the hall when I knew he wasn’t there. It was right after lunch, and I—”

“Wasn’t that door locked?”

“Not always. When Browning left by that door to go down the hall to the rear, he usually pushed the button on the lock so he could go back in without using his key. I wanted to look at something I knew was on his desk, and I knew he wasn’t there, so I tried that door and it opened. I didn’t make any noise because I didn’t want to be interrupted by Helen Lugos, and the door to her room was half open, and I could hear voices—hers and Kenneth Meer’s. Mostly his. I suppose this is being recorded.”

“Yes.”

“Of course. What isn’t?” He took a notebook from his pocket and opened it. “So I’d better read it. The first thing I heard him say—he said, ‘No, I’m not going to tell you how I found out. That doesn’t matter anyway, I
did
find out. Odell is going to dope that bottle of whisky with LSD tomorrow afternoon, or he thinks he is, and I want to be damn sure you don’t open the drawer to take a look at the usual time. Don’t open it any time after lunch. Don’t open it at all, don’t go near it, because—well,
don’t
.’ And she said, ‘But Ken, you’ll have to tell me—Wait. I’d better make sure—’ And there was the sound of her pushing her chair back.”

The fingertips were at it again, this time on his knee. “So I got out quick. She was probably going to come to make sure there was no one in Browning’s room. I hadn’t got to the desk, I was only a couple of steps from the door—I had left it open a crack—and I got out fast. I didn’t go back to my room because there’s another man in it with me and I wanted to be alone, so I went to the men’s room and sat on the john to think it over. Of course what I wanted to do, I wanted to tell Browning. Maybe Meer was going to tell him but from what he said it didn’t sound like it. But I didn’t want to tell Browning I had entered his room by the hall door—of course I didn’t. And I didn’t know what Meer intended to do. I knew he intended to do something since he had told her not to go near the drawer, but what? What would
you
have thought he intended to do?”

Wolfe shook his head. “I don’t know him. You did.”

“Sure, I knew him, but not well enough for that. For instance, I thought he might wait until about four o’clock Tuesday and then take the bottle from the drawer and put another bottle in its place, and have the whisky analyzed and have the bottle checked for fingerprints. He knew Browning never took a drink until about half past four or a quarter to five, when the program scripts had all been okayed. I considered all the possibilities, what
I
could do, and the one thing I
had
to do was make sure that Browning didn’t drink any doped whisky. So I decided to be there in the room with him Tuesday when he okayed the last script—I usually was—and when he got the bottle out, I would say that there was nothing Odell wouldn’t do to get the president’s job, and it might be a good idea to open the other bottle. There was always another bottle there, unopened, often two.”

“You knew that,” Wolfe said.

“Sure, several of us did. Often a couple of us were there when he opened the drawer. One thing I considered: tell Browning that I had heard Meer say that to Helen, but not that I had been in his room. But that would have been very tricky because where was I and where were they? You may know that a lot of people think I want Meer’s job.”

“That has been said, yes.”

“Maybe I do and maybe I don’t. I want to get on, sure, who doesn’t, but it doesn’t have to be
his
job. Anyway, I had to consider that too. Of course if I had known what Meer was going to do, if I had even suspected it, I would have gone straight to Browning and told him just like it was. I didn’t and of course I regret it.”

“You’re assuming that Meer had decided to put a bomb in the drawer?”

“Certainly. My God, don’t I have to?
Didn’t
I have to?”

“You made that assumption that day—the next day? When you learned what had happened?”

“I certainly did.”

“Five weeks ago. Five weeks and two days. What have you done to verify it?”

Copes nodded. “It’s easy to ask that. What
could
I have done? Could I ask people if they had seen Meer with a bomb? Could I ask them if they had seen him go into Browning’s room? Could I ask Helen Lugos
anything?
Could I hire a detective? Naturally you’re thinking I may have cooked this up. Of course you are. You’d be a damn fool if you didn’t. But there’s one detail, one fact, that you have to consider. As I said, you probably knew that Odell went there to put LSD in the whisky because Mrs. Odell probably told you, but how did I know? One thing, Odell must have had the LSD with him, but there has been no mention of it. It could be that the police are reserving it, or it could be that he had it in his hand when he opened the drawer and no traces of it have been found, but I doubt that because they are very thorough and very expert on that kind of thing. Probably they’re keeping it back. Maybe you know?”

Wolfe skipped it. “That’s a detail, yes. Not conclusive, but indicative. You’re aware, Mr. Copes, that without support your information is worthless. If I challenge Mr. Meer or Miss Lugos by telling them what you have told me and they say you lie, what then? Have you a suggestion?”

“No. The ad didn’t say I have to tell you how to
use
the information. You’re Nero Wolfe, the great detective; I’m just a guy who happened to hear something. Of course I realize Browning will have to know I entered his room that way, that will have to come out, maybe even on the witness stand. You’ve got it now on tape. If it costs me my job I’ll need that sixty-five thousand. Should I tell Browning myself? Now?”

“No.” Wolfe made it positive. “Tell nobody anything. May I see that notebook?”

“Certainly.” He took it from his pocket and got up to hand it over. It was loose-leaf with little rings. Wolfe gave several pages a look and stopped at one.

“Did you write this that day? Monday?”

“No. I wrote it the next day, Tuesday evening, after the—after what happened. But that’s exactly what he said. I can swear to it.”

“You may have to.” Wolfe handed the notebook back to him. “I can’t tell you how I’ll proceed, Mr. Copes, because I don’t know. If I need you, I’ll know where to find you.” He leaned back, his head against the chair back, and shut his eyes. I honestly don’t know if he realizes that that’s no way to end a conversation. I do.

15

S
aul and Fred and Orrie and I are still discussing what Wolfe said that Friday morning—or rather, what we
didn’t
say.

They came at ten o’clock and I played it back for them twice—the tape of the talk with Dennis Copes—and we considered two angles: one, Was it straight or had he hatched it to get Meer? and two, If it was straight, how were we going to wrap it up? By eleven o’clock, when Wolfe came down from the plant rooms, we hadn’t got very far with either one. He told us good morning, put a raceme of Dendrobium chrysotoxum in the vase on his desk, sat and sent his eyes around, and asked, “Have you a program?”

“Sure,” I said. “Just what you’re expecting, ask you for instructions.”

“One thing,” Saul said. “He comes first. How good is it?”

“Obviously. On that he said one thing that was strikingly suggestive. Have you considered it?”

We looked at one another. “Well,” Saul said, “that line about him being just a guy who happened to hear something. We agree that that sounds good. If he’s faking it that’s
very
good. A wonderful line.”

Wolfe shook his head. “I mean something quite different. One specific thing he said that suggests a possible answer to all questions. You haven’t considered it?”

“We considered everything,” I said. “What specific thing?”

He shook his head again. “Not now. Even if it means what it
may
mean, we must first decide about him. The detail which—as he said—we have to consider: if he didn’t learn about the LSD as he says he did, then how? Of course you have discussed that. And?”

“And nothing,” Orrie said. “We’ve talked with a lot of people these two weeks, and not the slightest hint of the LSD angle from anyone. You told us to keep that good and tight and we did.”

I said, “The only mention of it we have heard has been from Mrs. Odell and Falk, and he got it from her. Possibly he also got it from his cousin who is an assistant DA, but he didn’t say so. Apparently it
is
tight. Abbott evidently thinks Odell had a bomb in his pocket, not LSD.”

Wolfe nodded. “We’ll have to explore the possibilities. Orrie. You will try again with the CAN personnel, this time on the one question, could his knowledge of the LSD have come through anyone there? He need not have learned it a month or even a week ago; even yesterday would do. Take care not to divulge it yourself. Fred. Forget the Palestinians. You are on speaking terms with members of the police force. A dozen?”

“Only two in Homicide,” Fred said.