A Fine and Private Place (8 page)

“Nino.” He crawled off the trampoline balancing the glass. “Thank God. Do you know I've been trying and trying to reach you? I've called Virginia I don't know how many times. Where have you been? My God, Nino, if ever I needed you it's been today. Most awful day of my life.” Marco Importunato stumbled into his brother's arms, slopping whisky over both of them.

He began quite frankly to sob.

“Peter,” Importuna said. As usual, there was nothing to be told from his tone, not annoyance or embarrassment or distaste, not even concern.

Ennis hurried forward. Between them they hauled Marco backward to a chair, Importuna taking the glass from him. Ennis grabbed a bar towel and began to dab at Importuna's jacket.

“Never mind,” the multimillionaire said. “He's drunk, as you can see, Inspector Queen. I think you'd better question him another time.”

“No, sir, I'll question him now, if you don't mind,” the Inspector said. He stooped over the weeping man. “Mr. Importunato, do you remember me from this afternoon?”

Importunato grunted.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Sure I know who you are,” Marco said with peevish clarity. “What kind of a question is that? Anyway? You're a cop. Inspector somebody.”

“Queen. This is Ellery Queen, my son. I'm sorry we've had to keep you waiting all day—”

“Damn right. Right, Nino? That's why I'm sloshed. Waiting for their damn questions and nothing to think about but poor old Julio. That poor slob. Never hurt a fly. Gimme my glass back.”

His brother said, “No more, Marco.”

Marco staggered upright and lunged for it. Importuna stepped in his way. The younger man clung to him, weeping again.

“What do you expect to get out of him in this condition?” Importuna said to the Inspector.

The Inspector said, “You never know. And I can't wait for him to sober up.”

“But what can he know about Julio's death?”

“I don't know, Mr. Importuna. That's what I have to find out.”

Ellery was taking the opportunity to evaluate the man in the gym tights. Where Nino was squat and powerful, and Julio had been large and soft, the middle brother was slight, weak boned, almost phthisical. His olive skin had a bleached look, as if it had been too long deprived of sun. There were deep anxiety lines around his mouth and bloodshot eyes.

Marco Importunato was evidently a neurotic, with a dependency on his eldest brother that must reach into many areas of his existence. Observing the sallow, sunken face lacerated with grief and fear, yet relieved at his brother's proximity, Ellery caught himself thinking of a terrified child wrapping his legs about his father. Instant analysis it might be, and consequently suspect, but it was after all the universality of such relationships that made them trite. The next moment he was not so sure. He glanced from clutcher to clutched and thought he detected on the older, heavier face the faintest expression of affectionate contempt. And that would follow, too. Nino Importuna did not seem to him the sort of man who could respect a weakness, especially in one of his own blood. It struck too close to home.

Importuna signaled Ennis, and the secretary sprang forward again to help deposit Marco in the chair. The squat man went behind the bar, poured out most of the contents of the highball glass, and brought his brother the little that remained. Marco took a shaky swallow. Then he nodded at something Importuna said to him in an undertone.

“He can talk now,” the multimillionaire said, and he took the glass away.

“Mr. Importunato,” Inspector Queen said immediately, “do you recall early today being shown a gold button with an anchor-and-rope design and the monogram
MI
on it?”

Marco muttered something about button, button?

“Assistant Chief Inspector Mackey of Manhattan North showed it to you, Mr. Importunato, and you identified it at that time as your property. Don't you remember that?”

“Oh. Sure. Sure thing. Came off a yachting jacket of mine. 'Swhat I told him, all right. Nice old bird. Terrible case of bad breath, though. His best friend ought to tell him.”

“Marco,” the elder brother said.

“
Sì. Sì bene, Nino
.”

“Do you know where your button was found?”

Marco's head wobbled.

“It was found on the floor of your brother Julio's library.”

“You don't say.”

“Can you explain how it got there, Mr. Importunato? And when?”

Marco Importunato blinked through the fog.

Inspector Queen went to the trampoline, pulled it over near the chair, and sat down. He tapped the half-naked man's hairy knee in a friendly way. “I'm going to break one of the rules of police interrogation, Marco—you don't mind if I call you Marco?—and tell you just what else we've found out about that gold button of yours. Are you paying attention, Marco?”

“
Sì
. I mean yes.”

“At first we thought that you were the man who'd had the battle with Julio, and that in the scrap he yanked the button off your jacket.”

“Uhn-uhn,” Marco said with an almost vigorous shake of his head.

“But on closer examination we saw that the button hadn't been pulled off your jacket, it was snipped off, most likely by a scissors. So we decided somebody'd tried to frame you for the murder of your brother. Do you understand me, Marco?”

“Sure I understand you,” Marco replied with dignity “And you know what I say to you? Ri … die … u … lous!”

“What do you mean?”

“I can tell you who cut that button off my coat.”

“You can? Who?”

“Me.”

“
You
?”

“Cut it off, snip-snip, and that's it. With my bathroom scissors. Was hanging loose and I didn't want to lose it. Gold, after all. The Importunatos were ever a thrifty clan. Not that the
famiglia
had a choice. Can't be a swinger without something to swing with, hey, Nino?” Marco leered at his brother.

Importuna did not smile back.

“When did this happen, Mr. Importunato?” Ellery asked. “When did you cut the button off your jacket?”

“I don't know. What's today? Yesterday. That's it. Didn't get a chance to tell Tebaldo to sew it back on.”

“Tebaldo?”

“His valet,” Importuna said.

“What did you do with the button, Mr. Importunato?”

“What did I do with it?” the man in the tights said, offended. “I put it in my pocket, that's what I did with it. Say, who are you again?”

“My name is Queen. The pocket of what? Your yachting jacket?”

“Aye, aye, sir.
Sì
,
capitano mio
.”

“Dad, is the jacket downtown? I assume the tech men took it.”

“It's at the lab.”

“I should have thought to examine it while we were down there. Mr. Importuna, where's a phone I can use?”

“There's an extension in my brother's bedroom.”

“May I, Mr. Importunato?”

“Call Tokyo. Call anyplace.” Marco waved amiably.

Ellery was back in a few minutes. He was pulling his nose as if it were taffy. “This one's simply overflowing with surprises, dad. I've just been informed that an examination of the left pocket—the jacket has patch pockets—shows some of the stitching's crept out, so there's a gap, not very noticeable, at the base of the pocket. It's wide enough, I'm told, for the button to have slipped through.”

The Queens eyed each other.

“That
stupido
Tebaldo,” Marco said, shaking his head. “I shoulda fired him the day I hired him. Hey, did you hear that? I'm a poet and I don't know it.”

“Tell me something, Marco,” Inspector Queen said. “You know that shoe of yours we borrowed today? The one with the crepe sole?”

“Keep it,” Marco said grandly. “You can have the other one, too. I've got more shoes than Macy's and Gimbel's put together.”

“Do you know there's a deep gash almost half the length of the sole?”

“What d'ye mean do I know? Course I know! Happened—when was it? Well, it isn't important. Few days ago.”

“Oh?” The Inspector looked puzzled. “Happened how?”

“I was taking a special girl friend o' mine sailing in Larchmont—keep one of my boats there. She was coming in from upstate and I was at Grand Central to meet her. What do I do but step on a gobboon of chewing gum some slob 'd spit on the floor. Made me madder 'n hell. So I went downstairs to the men's room and I took the shoe off and borrowed a knife from the attendant, and while I was digging the gum out from the ripples the blade slipped and, zippo!—sweetest little gash you ever did see. Practically surgery. Oh, you did see it. That's right.”

“Why didn't you tell us before about snipping the button off your jacket and slicing into the sole of your shoe?” the Inspector growled.

“You didn't ask me,” Marco said, in a huff again. “Nobody asked me. Nino, gimme another drink. I'm getting good and teed off answering all these stupid questions.”

“No,” his brother said.

Something in his voice made Marco blink cautiously. He decided to laugh. “Y'know Nino won't touch the hard stuff? A little
vino
once in a while and that's it with him. That's my brother. Nobody 'll ever catch
him
crocked. Too smart. Hey, Nino?”

“I think,” Importuna said to the Inspector, “my brother's answered enough questions.”

“I'm almost through, Mr. Importuna.”

“I don't want to seem uncooperative, but if you're going to keep this up, I'll have to demand that one of our attorneys be present. I should have insisted on it from the start. You can see Marco's condition, Inspector. This has been a very bad day for us all—”

“What about my condition?” Marco cried. “What's wrong with my condition?” He tottered to his feet and began to wave his bony fists. “Next thing they'll be calling me a drunk. Why, I'll take any old test they wanna throw at me …”

Importuna nodded curtly, and Peter Ennis jumped forward once more to help him with the now bellicose man. While they were cajoling him and easing him back to the chair, the Queens took the opportunity to commune out of earshot.

“With Marco himself snipping that button off,” Inspector Queen muttered, “and slicing into his shoe accidentally, there goes the frame-up theory, Ellery. The button simply fell out of that hole in his pocket, and the shoeprint in the cigar ash showing the cut is a legitimate clue. With these admissions of his, they both place Marco in that library of Julio's for real.”

“With every cock-eyed thing that's happened so far, is it all right with you if I wonder?” Ellery had transferred his yanking and hauling from nose to lower lip. “Look, dad, there seem to be ifs all over this case. Let's try to clear some of them up. Do you want to tackle Marco, or shall I?”

“I'd better do it. Importuna's set to throw his weight around. It's harder for him to give me the heave.… Feeling a little feisty, Mr. Importunato? I don't think—the way things look for you right now—you can afford it.”

Marco twitched. The sallow skin was beginning to show a greenish undertinge.

“Take it easy, Marco,” his brother said. “Just what do you mean, Inspector Queen?”

“It's very simple. We know now that Marco was
not
framed; he's knocked that theory out by his admissions here. But we did find his button and shoeprint in Julio's library. In my book that places your brother Marco on the scene of the crime legitimately. So before the district attorney gets into the act, if Marco has an explanation I'd strongly advise him to give it.”

“He does not have to tell you anything,” the multimillionaire said harshly. “In fact, I'm growing very tired of this—”

“Nino.” Marco Importunato raised his head from his trembling hands. “I think I'd better.”

“I'd rather you kept quiet. At least until I can get Emerson Lundy up here.”

“Why should I yell for a lawyer, Nino?” Of a sudden he was hysterically sober. “As if I were guilty? I have nothing on my conscience! If these people think I could kill Julio … My God, Julio was
famiglia
… blood brother. It's true, Inspector Queen, that I was in Julio's library last night. And we did have a quarrel. But—”

“What time was this, Mr. Importunato?” the Inspector asked casually, as if Marco had said something trivial.

“I don't know exactly. It was before 9 o'clock, because I do know it wasn't quite 9 when I left him.” The man's blood-streaked eyes sought the Inspector's. “Left him,” he said. “Alive and well.”

“What about the condition of the room? The broken furniture, the knocked-over lamps—”

“I don't know a thing about that. When I walked out of Julio's library everything was in place. We didn't have a fist fight, for the love of Christ! It was just an argument, Inspector. Some hot talk between brothers. Julio and I argued a lot. Ask Nino. Ask anybody.”

“Marco, I want you to keep your mouth shut,” his brother said. “I order you! Do you hear me?”

“No,” Marco said hoarsely. “They think I killed Julio. I've got to convince them I didn't. Ask me more questions, Inspector! Go ahead, ask me.”

“About what was this particular argument last night?”

“Business. We've always had a family rule that all important investment decisions of Importuna Industries have to have the unanimous agreement of Nino, Julio, and myself. If one of us says no, it's no deal. We don't usually have trouble agreeing. But recently Nino proposed that we set up a new corporation and buy 19,000,000 acres of Canadian Arctic land—our top geologist thinks there's a good chance that particular area is one big oil deposit—no, Nino, I'm not going to shut up!—a bigger field than Texas and Oklahoma. And we could buy it for $1.50 an acre, so the investment isn't very big. After checking the reports I agreed with Nino it was a good gamble. But Julio wouldn't go along. So we didn't have the necessary threeman agreement and we had to drop the deal. Nino was put out about it, and so was I. But—murder?” His head kept wobbling like an infant's or a very old man's. Whether it was a conscious expression of negation or simply a weakness of the neck muscles brought on by the sour-mash whiskey he had consumed they could not tell.