Archie Meets Nero Wolfe (20 page)

“I’m not touching that bet, Del. I value my dollars too much.”

O
n the drive into Manhattan that night, Burke Williamson sat up front with me, and I was wearing a suit and tie, rather than my uniform. “Goodwin, you are going as my associate, not my chauffeur,” he had said earlier. “And in that role, I’ll want you to remember every bit of dialogue. You told me once that you have what is being called total recall.”

“Yes, sir, I seem to.”

“Good, because that will be the equivalent of having a stenographer present. I don’t want to be misquoted later by Cramer or anybody else.”

We arrived at Nero Wolfe’s brownstone at five minutes before nine, pulling to the curb behind what was almost certainly a police sedan. Fritz Brenner ushered us to the office, where Cramer and Panzer already were seated. The inspector glowered from his spot in the red leather chair at the end of Wolfe’s desk but said nothing when we entered.

Panzer nodded from a sofa in the rear, while Williamson and I dropped into the twin yellow chairs. There doubtless would have been an uneasy silence had Wolfe not entered the room moments after we had gotten seated.

“Gentlemen,” he said, as he settled into his chair, “would you like something to drink? I am having beer.” He looked directly at Cramer when he spoke, daring the inspector to challenge this flouting of the federal statutes.

“You know damned well that I did not come here in search of a drink, Wolfe,” he snarled. “In fact—”

Wolfe cut him off. “Your presence is appreciated, sir, as is your indulgence in agreeing to meet here. Anyone else, drinks?”

Willing to defy the law in the presence of a high-ranking policeman, both Panzer and Williamson ordered scotch and water, while I chose milk. After the drinks had been served by Brenner and Wolfe had taken his first sip, Cramer leaned forward and slapped a palm down on the desk.

“Before we get started, I want it on record that I object to being maneuvered into this meeting. The only reason I agreed to come is out of respect for Mr. Williamson, who has for many years been a loyal friend to the Police Department and its charitable programs.” Cramer punctuated his comment by pulling out a cigar and jamming it into his mouth unlit.

“Your objection is duly noted, Inspector,” Wolfe said. “However, despite the location, this really is your meeting. You wanted to see us, so proceed.”

“It was you and Mr. Williamson I wanted to see, but separately, not together. And not with an army present,” he said, looking around the room.

“Two others hardly constitute an army, sir. It is possible Mr. Panzer and Mr. Goodwin may contribute to the discussion.”

“Maybe. As for you, Goodwin, I see that you didn’t take my advice, and you insist on hanging around with Wolfe’s bunch,” Cramer snarled, chewing on his cigar. “Suit yourself, but by heaven, you will live to regret it. All right, on to business, some of it monkey business. Unfortunately, it often takes news of police activity a while to find its way down to Manhattan from the far reaches of the Bronx, but that is the department’s problem, not yours, and it will be dealt with.

“Here is what I now am faced with: one, the unreported kidnapping of an eight-year-old boy; two, the shooting death on a Bronx street of an old-time hustler named Barney Haskell; three, a gun battle, also on a Bronx street, between a posse of shoot-’em-up private investigators and kidnappers in which the child is endangered but somehow is saved; four, the escape of the kidnappers, who remain at large; and five, the shooting death on—you guessed it—a Bronx street of the chauffeur to the family of the kidnapped child.” Cramer leaned back and blew out air, shaking his head in disgust.

“Inspector, there is what I feel to be a valid reason that my son’s kidnapping was not reported,” Williamson said.

Cramer glowered at the hotelier. “It had better be a good one, sir.”

“We were told by the kidnappers that if we called the police, it would endanger Tommie’s life.”

“Kidnappers always use that threat as leverage.”

“That may well be, Inspector. But with my son in their hands, I was not about to call their bluff.”

“Our force has had a lot of experience with kidnappings over the years.”

“Bear in mind that this kidnapping did not occur within your jurisdiction, but in Nassau County, which, the last time I checked, is not within the boundaries of New York City.”

“We do, however, work closely with neighboring counties where crimes such as murder and kidnapping have been committed,” Cramer countered.

“Gentlemen,” Wolfe said, addressing Williamson and Cramer, “in the interests of moving the discussion along, let us stipulate that there is a difference of opinion between you regarding the handling of the kidnapping.”

“You’re damn right there’s a difference of opinion,” Cramer groused. “This is not the sort of situation that should be left to a bunch of quick-draw amateurs like your band of vigilantes.”

“You certainly are in Wild West mode today,” Wolfe remarked, “using terms like posse and vigilantes. After all the bombast gets sifted out, however, the central fact remains: Tommie Williamson is back at home, no doubt shaken by the experience but nonetheless unharmed.”

“All right,” Cramer said, “enough about the kidnapping for now. We still are left with two dead bodies, one of them an employee of the Williamsons. What can any of you tell me about that?”

“Inspector, I was shocked beyond words by Charles Bell’s death,” Williamson said. “He had been a loyal and dedicated employee for several years, and I continue to find it hard to believe that he had anything to do with Tommie’s kidnapping.”

“And I find it hard to believe that he didn’t have anything to do with it,” Cramer fired back, waving his unlit stogie. “Given what I now know, this had to have been at least partially an inside job.”

“The inspector is correct,” Wolfe said. “How else can one explain the arrival of an unexpected truck on the grounds of the estate at the very moment when Tommie was outside—and suddenly alone?”

“Yeah, I would like to know more about that truck,” Cramer said. “I’m just getting up to speed here.”

Williamson took a sip of his scotch and set the glass down. “The truck is a mystery, all right. One of the men in it went to the kitchen with produce—produce the cook had not ordered. Further, he claimed to be from a purveyor other than the one she normally uses.”

“Anybody get a look at the truck?” Cramer asked.

I wore my best poker face, and so did Panzer. “Mrs. Price—she’s our cook—sent the guy packing, but she followed him out the kitchen door and up the steps that looked out onto the yard,” Williamson said. “She said the truck was enclosed and white, no lettering on it.”

“Of course no lettering,” Cramer fumed. “It has all the indications of your classic inside-out job. Somebody on the inside, surely in this case the chauffeur, Bell, was in cahoots with somebody on the outside to work the snatch on the boy. After they got the ransom money, Bell understandably wanted his cut, and the outside man—or men—weren’t having any of that. Things got rough, and ... The inspector turned his palms up in explanation.

“Very possibly,” Wolfe said. “Saul, do you have any thoughts?”

Panzer shrugged. “Seems like the inspector has it well pegged.”

“Well, thanks one hell of a lot for your endorsement,” Cramer said with a sneer. “Want to suggest who worked this from the outside? And by the way, how does that two-bit swindler, Barney Haskell, fit into the picture? From what we know about him, which is quite a bit given his record, he’s not smart enough to be in on the planning of something as complex as this. He’s no great loss to the community—that is off the record—but I am in charge of homicide in this town, dammit, and when somebody gets themselves murdered, my department is expected to find out who did it, no matter the social status of the victim. Wolfe, I do need a drink—rye on the rocks—and if you won’t say anything about my having one, I won’t say anything about you serving it.”

“An equitable arrangement,” Wolfe said, reaching under his desk to hit a buzzer I now knew about. Seconds later, Fritz Brenner appeared.

“Nobody has answered my question about Haskell,” New York’s top homicide cop complained moments later after sipping his illegal beverage. “Since everybody in this room apparently knows more about what’s been going on than I do, I welcome any contributions.”

I did not know Cramer, other than by reputation and having seen him in this room once previously, but it was clear that the man grudgingly sought help.

“Sir, unless anyone else here has information I am unaware of, I fear we cannot be of assistance,” Wolfe said. “Do you have any evidence whatever to connect this Haskell to the Williamson kidnapping?”

“I do not. However, I do find it interesting that both Charles Bell and this Haskell were shot in the same general area of the Bronx within days of each other.”

“Are shootings in the Bronx rare?” Wolfe asked.

“Unfortunately, no.”

“Given the life Mr. Haskell chose to lead, it would seem his violent demise is hardly surprising,” Wolfe observed.

“Maybe, although he was a small-time operator. It’s hard to imagine his cheap con games causing anyone to want to kill him. You haven’t talked much tonight, Mr. Williamson,” Cramer said. “We already have strong circumstantial evidence linking Mr. Bell to the kidnapping. Is it possible one or more of the others in your household were involved?”

“Absolutely not! For that matter, I do not believe Charles had anything to do with it. I think he was killed because he was trying to solve the case himself and had closed in on the solution,” Williamson declared, his face red and the veins standing out in his neck. “Instead of trying to implicate my employees, you should be trying to find those men who took Tommie, the ones we faced off against that night next to the Bronx Zoo. They are the real culprits, Inspector.”

“Believe me, we’ve been looking for them, but so far, we don’t have a lot to go on,” Cramer said. “Has your son been able to give you any descriptions or other information?”

“Just that there were two of them, both tall and thin and dark, and every time he saw them, they were wearing dark glasses. Also, that he was being held in a second- or third-floor apartment—probably somewhere within the city, because there was a lot of street noise.”

Cramer leaned forward, elbows on knees. “We would like to talk to Tommie. With you being present, of course.”

“We don’t want you to get him all upset,” Williamson said, making me wonder just how well the man knew his son. Based on my observations these last few days, Tommie had quickly gotten over being upset about his ordeal. The kid had a backbone.

“I assure you we would not get him upset,” Cramer said. “We’ve got people who are skilled at talking to children, specialists who have been trained to be sensitive.”

“Let’s talk about this later,” Williamson said curtly.

“We also will make every effort to retrieve some or all of the ransom money,” Cramer went on. “If we had been involved from the beginning, it’s likely the cash never would have changed hands.” He shot a look at Wolfe and then Panzer. Apparently, I didn’t merit one of his glares.

“The money does not concern me,” Williamson said. “Obviously it would be nice to have it back, but I am not about to lose any sleep if I never see a cent of it again.”

Cramer turned his attention to Wolfe. “You know my feelings about your involvement in all of this,” he said. “Enough is enough. This is police business—period.”

“I, for one, owe Mr. Wolfe an immeasurable debt of gratitude,” Williamson said, holding his glass high as if in a toast.

“Everything he does comes with a price,” Cramer observed dryly. “Don’t forget that. Although I suppose I should not be speaking that way about my host.”

“My hospitality is not contingent upon my guests’ attitudes toward me,” Wolfe replied. “To me, the relationship of host and guest is sacred—regardless of that guest.”

“Nicely put,” Williamson said. “And, Inspector, just to set the record straight, I approached Mr. Wolfe on the recommendation of a friend, seeking his aid in getting Tommie rescued. I quoted him a fee, to which he readily agreed. He made no attempt whatever to counter my offer with a higher amount, and I certainly felt I got value received.”

“Glad to hear you’re happy,” Cramer muttered, “but two murders remain unsolved and at least two kidnappers—who also may very well be killers—are at large. We need your help and your cooperation, Mr. Williamson.”

“Call me at my office tomorrow, Inspector, and we can discuss this further.”

Cramer rose. “I will. And Wolfe,” he said, jabbing an index finger at his host, “stay out of this from now on. That goes for your hired guns, as well,” he added, this time favoring me as well as Panzer with one of his glares. He stomped out of the office and down the hall.

“The man is irascible and permanently angry, isn’t he?” Williamson observed.

“Do not be too hard on Mr. Cramer,” Wolfe replied. “His job is a difficult and often thankless one. He constantly receives assaults from all sides. His superiors in the department demand arrests, the newspapers demand arrests, the public demands arrests. I agree that he is cantankerous, contentious, and often thickheaded. But he also is honest, hardworking, and fearless. The department would do well to have more men like him in their ranks.”

“Well, I will take that into consideration when he and I talk tomorrow. Thank you for your hospitality,” Williamson said, standing and motioning me to follow.

In the Pierce-Arrow on the way back to Long Island, Williamson spoke first. “How do you feel the evening went?” he asked.

“Not much got accomplished, other than Cramer blowing off some steam. It’s obvious the police are nowhere on this, and the inspector is frustrated almost beyond words.”

“Do you think I should let them question Tommie?”

“Why not? Maybe something he remembers can be of help to them. Besides, you will be present in case you think they get too rough on him.”

“Has he talked to you about the kidnapping?”

“No,” I lied. “We chat about other things, like sports.”