"I didn't know Oscar at that time."
The scone went into Wiggins's mouth, delaying his reply.
"Oscar was quite thrilled at being suspected, as was I," he said, dabbing a napkin to his lips. "But in this instance, Oscar got his revenge as only a book publisher can. He got his book by signing up Marian Pickering Henry."
"Marian has never been known for nonfiction," Dane said. "She built her reputation grinding out thrillers."
"Think about it! A book about the trial of the century with Marian Pickering Henry's name on the jacket! Oscar is looking at sales numbers that Theo's tome could never have matched. The man was a legal nonpareil, but his books read like the Harvard Law Review. Marian's work will bring in millions of dollars from readers who automatically buy any Henry tide. Oscar is a publishing genius. So, unless there is a definitive book on the trial forthcoming from Maggie Dane, or the man who got away with murder decides to tell all, Mysterious Doings Books faces no serious competition."
"Hooray for Oscar," Bogdanovic said.
"Quite so," Wiggins said as another chunk of scone dipped into the coffee. "What all this talk has to do with loose ends escapes me, Sergeant B. Is there more here than meets the eye?"
"There is one loose end you may be able to tie up for me," Bogdanovic said. "Did you observe Janus as he left the hotel?"
"I accompanied him to the door."
"How did he seem to you?"
"What do you mean?"
"He'd been drinking a good deal. Did he look as if he were in his cups?"
After thinking a moment, Wiggins smiled, then broke into a laugh that traveled through his huge body as though it had been racked by an earthquake. "Excuse the black humor, Sergeant B., but he was as sober as a judge!"
"Count on you to come up with a witticism," Bogdanovic said through a forced smile.
Dane asked, "Do you recall if Theo was smoking a cigar?"
Still quaking, Wiggins asked, "Wasn't he always?"
"Try to remember," Bogdanovic said, forcefully. "It could be important to the case."
The slits of Wiggins's eyes narrowed to the point of disappearing. When they popped open, he said, "He had just lit up one of those odious black Havanas. He took it out of a pocket case, silver, with his initials on it. The cutter was small scissors. He lit it with a long wooden match. Then he went through the revolving door and stood awhile under the marquee, smoking like a chimney and chatting with a few of the Wolfies. That was the last I saw of him, until I found that horrible picture in the Graphic. I immediately brought that mutilated bullet to you. I hope it gets that young punk of a killer strapped into the electric chair."
"Evidently you are not one of Janus's detractors."
"Oh, I share the view that he was a devil. But I happen to like such people. They make great characters in books. Without them, how could I possibly earn a living? Despite what you have heard, crime pays."
"One other loose end, if I may, Wiggy?"
"Of course."
"Since you know so much about Janus, would you happen to know which of the people he regarded as friends might have been guests at his ranch?"
"Except for my recent visit, I had never been to the place. However, may I offer a suggestion?"
"When Wiggins talks, Bogdanovic listens!"
"As Maggie can aver, Theo was a man who believed in keeping detailed records. That's why his autobiography made such fascinating reading. He obviously discarded nothing. He must have kept a diary or other such aide-memoire. Have you looked for a calendar, appointment book, or other such daily record that might contain references to visitors to his upstate Valhalla?"
"I have his appointment book. That's how I knew of your unusual visit to the ranch, even before you informed me of how extraordinary it was. Thanks for your help. Sorry for interrupting your breakfast. We'll leave you to finish it in peace."
As they rose to leave, Wiggins said, "I do hope I will see both of you at Marian Pickering Henry's annual holiday fete."
Bogdanovic halted in the doorway. "How the hell did you find out that we were invited to that party?"
"It's elementary. Marian phoned and asked how to go about reaching you. I found it very amusing that the leading light of crime writing did not know the address of the most famous police headquarters this side of Scotland Yard."
"Would you happen to know who else has been invited?"
"Sergeant B., you've known me long enough to appreciate that I go to only three kinds of parties-those which I give, those at which I am the guest of honor, and those given by others who give me veto power regarding the guest list. Marian not only allows me to approve the invitations each year, but honors me by insisting that I emulate none other than Nero Wolfe in the story "Christmas Party" by dressing up as Santa Claus. If you cross your heart that you've been a good boy, I'll see that you get a swell present."
"You can give me mine now," Bogdanovic said, tracing an X on his chest. "I'll take the list of Henry's guests."
With the list tucked into an inside pocket, Bogdanovic said, "I'll see you at the party, Wiggy."
"Why do I have a feeling, Sergeant B., that Santa Claus will not be the only one there with a surprise in his pack?"
Unanswered, he returned to his breakfast.
"EVEN THOUGH I'VE never read a Nero Wolfe story," Bogdanovic said as he and Dane left the store, "I cannot picture a man of Nero Wolfe's apparent dignity getting into a Santa Claus outfit."
"The situation was dire. Archie had tricked Wolfe into believing that Archie was about to get married. He even showed him a marriage license."
Opening the car door for her, Bogdanovic said, "What business was it of Wolfe's?"
"Everything about Archie was Wolfe's business," she said, getting into the car, "especially if it involved the peace and quiet of a certain brownstone on West Thirty-fifth Street."
When Bogdanovic got behind the wheel, she continued, "You see, Archie carried his joke further by telling Wolfe he planned to settle down with the wife in Archie's quarters in the house. To get a glimpse of the bride-to-be, Wolfe managed to attend a Christmas party by persuading the host, a recent client by the name of Kurt Bottswell, to let him play the jolly old elf from the North Pole."
Bogdanovic started the engine, "I presume these yuletide festivities were marred when someone was found murdered."
"Yes. Poor Kurt. But he was not found murdered. He was poisoned before the eyes of the guests. The deadly stuff had been put into the Pernot he preferred to champagne. It's a wonderful yarn. I've made reading it a part of my Christmas rituals, along with a rereading of Sherlock Holmes's Christmas story, 'The Blue Carbuncle.' "
"You can celebrate Christmas with Holmes and Wolfe all you like," Bogdanovic said as he made a U-turn. "I'll stick to ' 'Twas the Night Before Christmas.' "
"If you attend Marian's party, you're going to be stuck with Wolfe. It is a tradition of Marian's get-together that 'Christmas Party' be passed among guests round-robin style, with each reading one page aloud until the story is finished. Of course, everyone tries to outdo one another in hamming it up. It's a lot of fun."
Stopping at a red light at First Avenue, Bogdanovic said, "I'll pass on that, thank you."
"I see. Participating in party games is not Sgt. Johnny Bogdanovic's style. There's too much danger of doing damage to the dignity and demeanor of the dedicated detective."
"You get an A-plus in alliteration."
"And you get a D-minus for deviousness."
Bogdanovic looked at her askance. "I have no idea what you are talking about."
"You all but came right out and told Wiggins that you suspect one of Marian's guests of murdering Theo."
"Really? When and how did I do that?"
"Why else would you ask for a list of people invited to her Christmas party?"
"It was a routine security measure. I always obtain a list of the people who will be at an affair that Goldstein is planning to attend. There are a lot of crazies out there who'd lov
e to get even with him. Not to get a list of the invited guests would have been a dereliction of my duty."
When the light turned green, the car darted across First Avenue toward Second. "Since it is your policy to make a list and check it twice, maybe you should take the part of Saint Nick at Marian's shindig."
"Only if you sit on my knee and tell me what you want for Christmas, little girl."
"I can tell you now," she said, looking grim as Bogdanovic barely made the green to swing left to head downtown on Second. "I want to see Theo's murderer at the bar of justice as quickly as possible. And if it were in your power to grant it, Santa, I would ask you for the opportunity to prosecute him."
"Cornelius Vanderhoff has the power. Thanks to the Mancuso fiasco, he's got three openings on his staff. Apply for one."
"You are a superb detective, John, but you obviously do not have a clue into the workings of the mind of a district attorney. The reality of my recent courtroom joust with Theodore Janus, and all the attendant hullabaloo, is that there is no DA anywhere who would want me around. I have become too well known. My appearance in a courtroom would send a defense attorney running to the press to claim his client could not get a fair trial. And he would be right."
"You're not considering giving up the law?"
"I see no other possibility. I could never become a defense attorney. I realized that when I worked for Theo. And I certainly am not cut out for civil law. I find suing people, or defending those who are being sued, exceedingly boring. Nor am I a woman to bang my head against the glass ceiling of corporate law firms."
"What will you do? Write a book?"
"I have no desire to chase the fleeting glory of a ranking on the New York Times best-seller list. That would lead to disappointed expectations for a second book. I am not a writer."
"How about running for elective office?"
"I could make a joke about politicians being the only people held in lower public esteem than lawyers, with the possible exception of journalists."
"May I interpret that as an indication that you've also rejected the idea of becoming one of those legal analysts who seem to have popped up all over TV screens like mushrooms?"
"You may."
"What are your other options?"
"I might try my hand at teaching law. Since the big trial, I've had offers. Being on a law school faculty would give me an opportunity to try to make amends with my son for all the times I failed him as a mother."
"I don't believe that."
Turning away to look at storefronts and restaurants as the car sped down Second Avenue, she fell silent.
Bogdanovic smiled. "I'll bet when you were a little girl, you poked around in all the closets looking for the gifts your mom and dad had tried their best to hide."
"Didn't you?"
"Of course. And I found them. Even then I had the instincts of a snooping detective."
"I felt the stirrings of growing up to be a well-prepared lawyer, who, as you know, abhors surprises. Are you going to tell me how many people you suspect?"
"That is shockingly un-Wolfian of you, Maggie. You know that the primary number in the corpus is three."
"AS TO SLIPPING a little lethality into a cigar, it seems to me that only a cigar smoker would think of that," Dane said as she sat and Bogdanovic stood at the window and peered into the middle distance. "Were I you, John, I would concentrate on the cigar aficionados in Theo's life. Unfortunately, there were many."
"But how many would have had been alone with his private stash of prized Cubans—and inject them with that poisonous concoction?"
"Theo also kept a supply in a special travel humidor in his car's glove compartment."
"The killer would still face the problem."
"Perhaps there was no need to raid Theo's humidors. The lethal one could have been a gift."
"If the poisoned cigar had been a gift," he said, turning away from the window, 'Janus would have smoked it immediately. A man offers a cigar to another man when they talk business or are in a social situation. After a good meal, for instance. It would be rude to accept a cigar and stick it in a pocket for later."
"Very well, someone gave Theo the cigar at the Wolfe Pack dinner, knowing he would smoke it then and there."
He returned to his desk and sat. 'Janus was the person who handed out the cigars and passed them off as having come from his private trove of rare Havanas."
"Frankly, I don't see how anyone can tell the difference between one cigar and another. To me a cigar is just a cigar. And I think this reverence for cigars that come from Cuba is snobbishness based on the fact that there is an embargo on their importadon. I'd bet that the mystique of Cuban cigars would disappear if they were not so hard to get."
"Would you happen to know where Janus obtained his?"
"I presume he got them where they are readily available. He flew to the Caribbean frequently. He often went to Europe on business. And he took two weeks' vacation in London every year."
"In other words, he smuggled them."
"How difficult could it be to sneak in a box of cigars?"
"Especially if you fly your own plane to the islands."
"Even if Theo flew commercially, I can not imagine him being stopped by a customs official with a demand that he open his bags for a search."
"That is an advantage of being rich and famous."
"I fail to see the importance of where he got his cigars."
"What's important is that whoever killed him had to be very well informed on the subject of his Cuban cigars."
"I told you his passion for them was common knowledge."
"Yes, but how common was it for someone to have such easy access to those cigars that he had no problem poisoning one? He kept them at his ranch, right?"
"Correct. Plus the few in the travel humidor in his car."
"That means that whoever poisoned one of the cigars had to have access to either his house or that car. Such an individual had to be regarded by Janus as a friend. I am not talking about social friends and acquaintances. I mean people he might invite up to the ranch for a weekend, or sit up with, talking, sipping brandy, and sharing his prized cigars to the wee hours of the morning. Intimate friends." He looked up from the notes. "How many people belonged to that select company?"
"Very few. But I haven't been a member of Theo's intimate circle for several years. During that time he might have made new friends, or even dropped some. Living in California, I have not felt the need to keep abreast of matters concerning Theo's personal life. For that you'll have to talk to someone more attuned to the current and recent gossip."
HANGING SLIGHTLY ASKEW against the background of a green window shade, the sign advised:
HOURS: NOON TO MIDNIGHT
IF CLOSED AND YOU MUSTHAVE A BOOK
THIS MINUTE. KNOCK VERY LOUDLY
Below, a smaller placard read:
THANK YOU FOR NOT ASKING
THE PROPRIETOR NOT TO SMOKE
WIGGINS
Three thumps resulted in the door's being opened a crack by a young man who seemed to have been routed from bed. Rubbing bleary eyes, he asked, "Yes?"
"Tell Wiggins it's Sergeant Bogdanovic."
From deep within in store, Wiggins's voice was a blast from a foghorn. "It's all right. He is not here to make a pinch. The sergeant isn't with the vice squad. You may admit him."
The youth shouted, "There's a lady with him."
Wiggins's voice was closer now. "It's still all right."
As the door swung wide, the youth reached to his right and threw a switch that first produced a stuttering of fluorescent tubes above a milky white ceiling and then total illumination of the bookstore and its gigandc owner. A figure in a long scarlet robe, he resembled and moved with the deliberate gait of a cardinal ad¬vancing toward the altar, except that the center aisle of this cathe¬dral was formed by cases of books exalting the sixth of the Ten Commandments.
Corpus Corpus Page 21