A Right to Die

Whipple and Oster arrived early. One of the many Wolfe-made rules in that house is that when a client and his lawyer are both present the client gets the red leather chair, but that time it wasn't followed. Oster shot a glance around and went straight to it. He was tall and broad, with skin the color of dark honey, the kind Wolfe prefers-I mean honey-and he moved like a man who is in charge and intends to stay in charge. I was curious to see what would happen if Wolfe tried to shift him to the yellow chair.

He didn't bother. The sound came of the elevator jolting to a stop, and he entered. The Gazette was in his hand. He nodded left and right and headed between them for his desk, but Oster was up with a hand out. Wolfe halted, shook his head, said distinctiy, 'My wrist,' and went to his chair.

Oster sat down and asked, 'Hurt your wrist?'

'Long ago.' Wolfe looked at the client. 'Have you seen your son, Mr. Whipple?'

Whipple said he had.

'And he accepts my offer?'

'I have accepted it,' Oster said. He had the kind of deep baritone that bounces off of walls. 'I'm his attorney and I make the decisions'

Wolfe ignored him. 'I wish to make sure,' he told Whipple, 'that your son knows I am working for him and approves. Have you told him-'

'That's impertinent!' Oster cut in. 'You know damn well, Wolfe, that a counselor acts for his client. If you don't, you're a lot more ignorant than a man like you ought to be. I'm surprised. I'm astonished, and I may have to reconsider my acceptance of your offer.'

Wolfe regarded him. 'Are you through, Mr. Oster?'

'I said I may have to reconsider.'

'I mean are you through speaking?'

'I'm through with that.'

'Good. I goaded you deliberately. I'm aware of the status of a counselor. What concerns me is my status. In order to do a satisfactory job for Mr. Whipple, I must begin with an assumption which you will aimost certainly reject. Knowing that we would inevitably clash, I thought it well to show you at once that I am arbitrary and contumelious. If there must be a clash, let's have it and see what happens. My initial assumption is that Dunbar WhippIe did not kill Susan Brooke, but that she was killed by someone who works for or with the Rights of Citizens Committee. That is-'

'You're damn right I reject it.' Oster turned to WhippIe. 'He's impossible. Listen to him. Impossible!'

'You're a bungler,' Wolfe said, not clashing, just stating a fact.

Oster goggled at him, speechless.

'Even if you repudiate my assumption,' Wolfe said, 'as the man reponsible for Dunbar Whipple's defense you should want to know why I make it. It's tentative, merely a place to start; I must start somewhere. The most pointed known fact about the murderer is that he knew about that apartment, and that Miss Brooke was there or probably was. Since her money and jewelry were not taken, he was not a random marauder; moreover, he didn't try to pose as one by taking them. I don't suppose there were many people who knew of the apartment; apparently, from accounts and hints in the newspapers, there were very few. In an effort to find them, the most likely place should be tried first. I have a question. Dunbar Whipple is your client. If you could clear him only by exposing the real culprit, and if the culprit were someone connected with the organization of which you are the counsel, and if you had it in your power to expose him, would you do so?'

Of course he had to say yes. He added, 'But that's three ifs.'

'Not the first one, though I said 'if.' Come, Mr. Oster, let's be realistic. Yesterday at this hour a police inspector was sitting in that chair, and we talked at length. I believe that your client is in grave jeopardy unless we produce a substitute. Don't you?'

'Was it Cramer?'

'Yes.'

'That damned Cossack.'

'Not by definition.' Wolfe flipped it aside. 'I won't press you for an answer; your reputation for acumen is answer enough.' Vinegar, then butter. 'Dunbar Whipple entered that apartment shortly after nine o'clock and remained there continuously until the police arrived some forty minutes later; he says so. The only feasible method of proving that Susan Brooke died before he arrived is to produce the person who killed her. Let's find him. The ROCC is not the place to look, certainly. Your report, Archie?'

I got it from a drawer. He asked, 'You have an extra copy?'

I nodded. 'I made three.'

'Give it to Mr. Oster. That, sir, is a complete report, omitting nothing that could possibly be pertinent, of the investigation of Susan Brooke undertaken by me at the request of Mr. Paul Whipple. I haven't studied it yet, but I shall. I suggest that you do the same. Any hint it contains, however slight, will of course be considered. But as soon as possible I must see-'

He stopped short. He slapped the desk blotter. 'Confound it. I'm a ninny. I haven't asked you: have you in mind a ready and cogent defense?'

Oster was flipping the pages of the report. He looked up. 'Not… I wouldn't say… not ready, no.'

'Have you any knowledge or suspicion, however vague, of the identity of the murderer?'

'No.'