Death of a Doxy (Crime Line)

He let up only when we were back in the office and had finished with coffee. He pushed the tray aside and asked if it had to be verbatim, and I said yes and proceeded. When I told about the deal with William he pursed his lips, not objecting, merely reacting to the fact that the fifteen bucks was down the drain, since we couldn't expect to bill Orrie. Then he leaned back and closed his eyes and quit reacting, as usual, until I had finished.

He opened his eyes and demanded, 'You had no lunch? None at all?'

I shook my head. 'If I had gone out it might have cost a C to get back up. William is a mooch.'

He straightened up. 'Never do that.'

'It's good for me. I was nine ounces overweight. Do you comment or do I?'

'You.'

I took a minute. 'First, did Stella kill her sister? Two to one she didn't. She -'

'Only two?'

'That's the best I'll give. The most important thing in the world, she said. If it's still that important when she's dead, what was it when she was alive? She left the rails twice in my presence. She just can't stand it. If she went there Saturday morning and – do I need to spell it?'

'No. Why two to one? Why not even or less?'

'Because, on the record, a woman kills her sister only if she hates her or is afraid of her. Stella didn't. She loved her and wanted to – well, save her. Make it three to one. Anyway, even if she did it, she's hopeless. Try and prove it. Even if we got enough to satisfy us, Cramer and the DA would never buy it, let alone a jury. So forget her. As for him, no bet. He could have had an elegant motive, anybody could, but as of now the only one visible is that he killed her to stop his wife worrying about her, which is a little farfetched. One thing, though, why did he let me in?'

'So she wouldn't encounter you in the hall.'

'Possibly, but he could have ordered me out and called a cop if he had to. It's just a comment; maybe it was because he likes problems, or maybe he thought it would be good for her. More than a comment, a conclusion: if they're out, they have no idea who is in. She said she couldn't even try to guess, and I believe her. She's no good at covering. When I pulled an obvious little dodge, saying that it might have been Orrie who was paying the rent, it wasn't only her expression, she actually shook her head. Later she said she didn't know who, but she does. What the hell, so do we.'

'If Orrie was candid.'

'He was. He had the lid off. For comments, I have saved the best for the last. Isabel's other life. The circle.'

He grunted. 'Yes.'

'Yes what?'

'That expands it. That was to be expected, as soon as you learned that her relations with her sister were restricted. A woman who eats by sufferance, without a contract, would of course prefer not to eat alone. You laugh?'

'I do. Most men wouldn't put it all on eating. All right, so we have a circle too – as expected. Dozens, maybe hundreds. Godalmighty. I suggest again that we consider Avery Ballou.'

'I am considering him. I wanted first – no matter. We'll discuss it in the morning after you see Orrie.' He reached for the transcript.

Chapter 6

Where you go to see a man in custody in Manhattan depends partly on why he's there. It can be a precinct station, a room in the City Prison, a room in the District Attorney's office, or the paddock. I don't know how many cops call it the paddock, but Sergeant Purley Stebbins does. It is a bare, smelly room about twelve yards long, split along the center by a steel grill which extends from the middle of a wide wooden counter up to the ceiling, and there are a dozen or so wooden chairs strung along each side of the counter, the same kind of chairs for the visitors and visitees. Democracy.

Seated on one of the chairs on the visitors' side at ten minutes past ten Tuesday morning, I was not chipper. I had supposed I would see Orrie in a room at the DA's office until Parker had phoned to say it would be the City Prison, and then I had taken it for granted it would be in a room. But I had been escorted to the paddock, and there I was, with four other visitors spread along the line, the nearest one, a middle-aged fat woman with red eyes, only seven feet away. I would have liked to think they were merely showing what they thought of Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin, but I didn't. They had decided that Orrie Cather was a murderer, though they hadn't charged him yet, and were taking no chances. Try to make them eat it.

A door opened in the back wall, the other side of the grill and counter, and Orrie entered, cuffed, with a dick right behind. The dick steered him to a chair opposite me, watched him sit, said, 'Fifteen minutes,' and went back to the wall, where another dick was standing. My eyes and Orrie's met as well as they could through the grill. The rims of his were puffy. He had once admitted to me that he brushed his hair ten minutes every morning, but he hadn't that morning.

'It could be bugged,' I said.

'I don't think so,' he said. His cuffed hands were on the counter. 'Too risky. Too big a stink.'

'Well, all we can do is keep it low. Parker has told you that Mr. Wolfe and Saul and Fred and I have