'Nuts.' Cramer stood up. 'Maybe an hour, maybe a week. I'm taking Goodwin. They'll take his statement at the District Attorney's office, a complete report of the conversation. I'll have a man here at two o'clock to take yours. If I took you down you'd only-'
'I shall sign no statement. I am not obliged to. If you send a man he won't be admitted. If you have questions, ask them.'
Cramer's round red face got redder. But that was as far as it went; his memory of what had happened on the three occasions he had taken Wolfe downtown was presumably what stopped him. He stuck the gun in his pocket and turned to me. 'Come on, Goodwin. We'll see.'
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As I arose the phone rang and I reached to get it. It was Nathaniel Parker. He was upset. 'Archie? Nat Parker. Mrs. Hazen is being held on a charge of homi- cide, of course without bail. I want to see Wolfe before I see her. I have to know what she told him yesterday. I'll be there in twenty minutes.'
'Fine,' I said. 'He's in a perfect mood for it. Come ahead.' I hung up, told Wolfe, 'Parker will be here in twenty minutes,' and went to the hall for my coat and hat, with Cramer at my heels.
Chapter 8
During the next nine hours I had various oppor- tunities to try to sort it out. En route in a police car to the DA's office, later from there to Homi- cide West on 20th Street, and several waiting periods while assorted officers of the law, including the DA himself at one point, decided what to do next.
It was complicated enough even before an assistant DA kindly permitted me to use a phone, around three o'clock, and I called Wolfe. Of course the game was button, button, who had the gun when and where? Either gun. If Lucy Hazen had lied, how much? Had the gun that the maid had seen in the drawer Tuesday morning been the one that had shot Hazen or the one she had brought to Wolfe? If the former, Lucy was a liar and also either was a murderer or could name him. If the latter, who had put it in the drawer and when? And why? It wasn't that there were no possible answers;
there were too many. And too many of them made it too likely that Lucy had made a monkey of me and there- fore were not acceptable.
The first hour or so I was entertained by an assistant DA named Mandel, who was not a stranger to me, and a
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Homicide Bureau lieutenant, and it was obvious that the gun puzzle was as tough for them as it was for me, though they didn't say so. Then, while we were having sandwiches and coffee, no recess called, at Mandel's desk, a phone call came for him, and he took the lieuten- ant to another room, and when they returned their attitude was quite different. Apparently they were no longer interested in guns; they concentrated on what Lucy had said to Wolfe and me, her exact words; and finally, a little before three o'clock, Mandel called a stenographer in and told me to start dictating my state- ment. Of course the room was wired for sound, and they would have fun later comparing my dictated statement with what I had told them. It was then that I insisted on making a phone call and was escorted to a booth.
I got Wolfe. 'Me. In a booth at the DA's office, and it may be tapped. They should be finished with me by the end of the week. They were curious about guns, and then a phone call came and they weren't. I thought you might like to know.'
'I already know.' He didn't sound depressed. 'Mr. Cramer phoned shortly after one. The gun we gave him had been traced without difficulty. It was purchased by Mrs. Hazen's father, Titus Postel, in 1953, and he com- mitted suicide with it five years ago, in 1955.'
'And she had it?'
'Not established. I have told Mr. Parker to ask her when he sees her this afternoon. Meanwhile I have got Saul and given him an errand.'
I would have liked to ask him what errand, but that wasn't advisable since we might have company on the line. Saul Panzer, the first and best man on our list when we need help, charges more than any other free- lance operative in New York, and is worth five times as much. I told Wolfe I might or might not be home for dinner.
Dictating my statement to the stenographer, I had to keep jerking my mind back to it. The gun puzzle was okay now for the cops, since they had tagged Lucy; now
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they didn't have to buy it that she had been nutty enough to take the gun home after she shot him and put it in the drawer, and the next day get it and take it back to the car. It was much neater. She had got the gun from the drawer Monday, put the one she had, that had been her father's, in its place, and left it in the car after she shot him. And Tuesday she had got the gun from the drawer and brought it to Wolfe as a prop for her fairy tale, evidently not knowing that guns have numbers that can be traced. What better could you ask for?
But for me, unless I was ready to give Lucy up as a bad job, it was what worse could I ask for. Before, there had been too many answers; now there weren't any. I had to file it while I dictated my statement, in which I was supposed to include everything Lucy had said to us in Wolfe's office, and while I went over it after it was typed, and it wasn't easy. Then I was taken to the office of the DA himself, and he and Mandel pecked at me for an hour; and when they finished, around 6:30, and I supposed that was all for the day, I was informed that Cramer wanted me at Homicide West. If I had balked they would have booked me as a material witness and Parker couldn't come to the rescue until morning, so I took it.
In one respect it was an improvement. The dick at Homicide West whom Cramer sent for sandwiches hap- pened to be civilized enough to think that even a dog has a right to eat what he likes, and I got what I asked for, corned beef on rye and milk. Except for that, it was just more of the same, for more than two
