'The pickle. The alternative. You have made it clear that it would be futile to establish that the FBI killed that man. Very well, then we'll establish that they didn't.'
'Good for us. And then?'
'We'll see.' He turned a hand over. 'Archie. We had nothing. The items Mr Cohen gave us were mere trivia, offering not even a forlorn hope. Now, thanks to Mr Cramer, we have a nut with meat in it, an unsolved murder in which the FBI is deeply involved, whether they committed it or not. An open challenge to ingenuity, to our talents if we have any. We need first to learn, assuredly, who killed that man. You saw Mr Cramer's face and heard his tone. Is he really satisfied that it was the FBI?'
'Yes.'
'Justly?'
'He thinks so. Of course it appeals to him. He refers to them as that goddam outfit and that bunch of grabbers. After he learned about the three G-men being at the scene at the right time he probably let up on other possibilities, but he's a good cop, and if there had been any other lead that was at all hot he would have kept on it, and apparently he didn't. Also, if Althaus was there dead when they entered, why didn't they report it? Anonymously, of course, after they left. They might have preferred not to, but it's a fair question. Also the bullet. Not many murderers would have realized that it had gone on through to the wall and fallen to the floor, and found it and taken it. With an old pro like Cramer that would be a big point. So I guess you could say justly.'
He was frowning at me. 'Who is the Wragg Mr Cramer mentioned?'
'Richard Wragg. Top G-man in New York. Special agent in charge.'
'Does he know, or believe, that Althaus was killed by one of his men?'
'I'd have to ask him. He could know one of them did, but he couldn't know he didn't, because he wasn't there. He's not a damn fool, and he would be if he believed everything they tell him. Does it matter?'
'It might. It could be of great consequence.'
'Then my guess is that he either knows a G-man killed him or he thinks it probable. Otherwise, when Cramer went and asked him for cooperation he would probably have opened up. The FBI likes to oblige local cops when it doesn't cost them anything-prestige, for instance-and Wragg would know that Cramer wouldn't care about their calling at Althaus's place uninvited. Cops do that too, as you know. So Wragg may even have the bullet in a drawer of his desk.'
'What is your opinion? Do you agree with Mr Cramer?'
'That's a strange question, from you. I don't rate an opinion, and you don't either. Maybe the landlord shot Althaus because he was behind on the rent. Or and or and or.'
He nodded. 'That's what we must explore. You will start now, as you think best. Perhaps with his family. My recollection is that his father, David Althaus, makes clothes for women.'
'Right. Seventh Avenue.' I slid off of the pool table and was on my feet. 'Since we prefer it that he wasn't killed by a G-man, I suppose we're not interested in what he had collected on the FBI.'
'We're interested in everything.' He made a face. 'And if you find anyone you think I should see, bring him.' He made a face again and added, 'Or her.'
'With pleasure. My first stop will be the Gazette, to go though the file, and Lon may have some facts that haven't been printed. As for bringing people, the house may be covered front and back. How do I get them in and out?'
'The door. We are investigating a murder with which the FBI is not concerned. So Mr Wragg told Mr Cramer. And for once Mr Cramer won't complain.'
'Then I don't bother about tails?'
'No.'
'That's a relief.' I went.
6
My watch said 4:35 as I entered a drugstore near Grand Central, consulted the Manhattan phone book, went to a booth and shut the door, and dialed a number.
From the Gazette files, and from Lon Cohen by word of mouth off the record, I had filled a dozen pages of my notebook.
I have it here now, but all of it in print would also take a dozen pages, so I'll report only what you need to understand what happened. Here are the principal names:
MORRIS ALTHAUS, deceased, 36, height 5 feet 11, weight 175, dark complexion, handsome, liked all right by men but more than liked by women. Had had a two-year affair, 1962 and 1963, with a certain stage personality, name not given here. Had earned from his writing around ten grand a year, but it had probably been augmented by his mother without his father's knowledge. Not on record when he and Marian Hinckley had decided to tie up, but as far as known he had had no other girlfriend for several months. Three hundred and eighty-four typewritten pages of an unfinished novel had been found in his apartment. No one at the Gazette, including Lon, had any firm guess who had killed him.
No one there had known, before the murder, that he had been collecting material for a piece on the FBI, and Lon thought that was a disgrace to journalism in general and to the Gazette personnel in particular. Apparently Althaus had used rubber soles.
