Corpus Corpus

by Harry Paul Jeffers

  "Congratulations, Sergeant B.," Wiggins boomed as he neared, "on your quick success in the Janus case." The huge head turned toward Dane. "It must be a great relief to you, Maggie."

  "It's very satisfying."

  Wiggins flashed a smile and returned his attention to Bog

  Abruptly rising, he said, "And I know just the person!"

  "Shouldn't you wait for Harvey to return?"

  "By the time he gets back, he'll have the written report."

  "I MUST SAY I am pleasantly surprised," declared Goldstein as Bogdanovic guided the car across the George Washington Bridge. "Here we are, dressed to the nines and on our way to a fancy dinner party, and John hasn't groused about it once. I have heard not one 'bah, humbug' concerning this party. Truly extraordinary."

  "It's Christmastime," Dane said, gaily. 'John is obviously caught up in the spirit of the season."

  "That's right," Bogdanovic answered, turning off the bridge on the New Jersey side. "Ho, ho, ho. And as Tiny Tim said, 'God bless us every one.' Except murderers."

  "Chief, I have a feeling we are misreading the mood of the man at the wheel," Dane said. "He might turn out to be the Grinch who stole Christmas."

  Presently, the car rolled through a neighborhood of gated stone walls, snow-dusted lawns, and electric candles in windows of stately houses at the ends of long driveways.

  As Bogdanovic turned into the lane leading to the home of Marian Pickering Henry, Goldstein said, "This is what millions of paperback sales gets you. Plus a couple of movie deals. It is hard to believe that only a few years ago the woman who resides here was a widowed suburban housewife. Now she's a millionaire."

  "Hooray for her," Dane said.

  Pressing a doorbell button next to a white door adorned with a giant Christmas wreath, Bogdanovic heard seasonal music within, and the unmistakable voice of Wiggins blaring, "Hold your reindeer, Santa will be there in a jiffy." A second later, the door swung open to reveal an enormous figure with a magnificent fluffy white beard that almost obscured his bulging red belly.

  Turning slightly away, he shouted, "Hold down the noise, people. Somebody called the cops!"

  Following him from a festive garland-draped, marble-walled foyer, they entered a massive living room rich with the pungent aromas of seasonal decorations. A hum of cheery voices was punctuated by the clinking of crystal glassware as a pair of young men dressed as Victorian butlers offered drinks from silver trays.

  With a squeeze of Bogdanovic's biceps and a wink Wiggins whispered, "They are all here, Sergeant B. Nick and Ariadne Stamos. Oscar Pendleton and his wife, Ellen. Admiral Home and the impossible wife who has been his anchor since Noah launched the ark. Judge Simmons, alone as usual. The others are neighbors of Marian's and various literary types who have no part in the drama you have in mind."

  Dane asked, "What drama is that?"

  "Don't play coy with me, Maggie," Wiggins huffed. "You know exactly what game is afoot here. The suspects are gathered. But please, Sergeant B., allow us to have a sumptuous dinner before you unmask the murderer."

  "I don't know what you're talking about, Wiggins. I'm here because Goldstein ordered me to be."

  Tightening the grip on Bogdanovic's arm, Wiggins said, "What a naughty boy you are, misbehaving by telling a fib to Santa!"

  As Henry broke away from a cluster of guests, Bogdanovic's voice went low. "You're the one who had better behave himself."

  "I am so delighted you could all come," Henry exclaimed.

  "Your house is beautiful," Dane said. "The decorations are magnificent. The whole place smells of Christmases past."

  "Thank you. It took hours to make and arrange them. But, as they say, Christmas comes but once a year. I believe you know almost everyone here. If not, I'm sure Wiggins will introduce you. If you want a drink, ask a waiter and he'll bring it to you. In case you haven't noticed, I've tried to create a Sherlockian atmosphere, as you will discover when dinner is served in a few minutes. It will be roast goose with all the trimmings, although I can not guarantee one of you will discover a blue carbuncle. After dinner, it's coffee and cognac in this room, with cigars if you wish. Then we all join in reading 'Christmas Story.' Now, if you will excuse me, I must go to the kitchen to check on dinner."

  THE NEXT TWO hours passed as promised with a meal that Dane and Goldstein agreed would have delighted Sherlock Holmes, followed by after dinner drinks and the smoking of a few cigars, culminating with Henry's presenting to Wiggins a copy of the story of Archie Goodwin's attempt to trick Nero Wolfe into believing that his trusty assistant was about to get married.

  "With apologies for breaking with your cherished tradition, Marian," Wiggins said, setting the book aside, "I believe Sergeant Bogdanovic has a story of his own to tell that you may all find compelling. He's been working on it for several days. It is, of course, a murder mystery with a number of suspects and, I do hope, a few red herrings, plus a couple of surprising twists. Am I right, Sergeant B.?"

  "In fact, there were so many of each," Bogdanovic said, "I was not at all sure I could come up with a believable ending."

  Oscar Pendelton declared, "Obviously you have, Sergeant, or you would not have contrived with Wiggins to set up this drama."

  "I confess to doing just that," Bogdanovic said, looking around the room. "But I'm content to let you all decide if I've merely succeeded in making a fool of myself. You be the judges."

  "And the jurors?"

  Bogdanovic smiled nervously at Henry. "May I proceed?"

  "With everyone on edge, Sergeant, how could I say no?"

  "Oh goodie," exclaimed Wiggins, plopping into a huge chair. "This is just like story time at summer camp when I was a kid!"

  "You were never a kid, Wiggins," said Goldstein. "You and that bookstore of yours just appeared one day."

  "I suspect we are already familiar with the crime in your story," said Pendelton. "Feel free to skip ahead and tell us how you tracked down the young man who killed Janus."

  "Finding William Newport was easy. Routine police work. But that provided the first twist in the case."

  "Don't tell me Newport was Janus's illegitimate son," said Pendelton. "Was he like Stapleton in The Hound of the Baskervilles, planning to come forward after a decent interval to claim an inheritance?"

  "The twist was much better than that, Oscar. It came in the course of the autopsy."

  "Why bother to autopsy a man who had been shot in the head?"

  "He certainly was shot, but that wasn't the cause of death."

  The guests gasped and exchanged incredulous looks.

  'Janus was poisoned with a mixture of yellow oleander, yew, and nicotine," Bogdanovic continued as they quieted. "This stuff had been distilled into a concentrate that precipitated a heart attack. It was quite ingenious. The taste and aroma of the poison blended perfectly with the very strong flavor of Janus's private stock of Havanas. He preferred oscuros. Very strong."

  "What a brilliant concept," exclaimed Wiggins. "Because Theo never shared his Cubans, there was no chance that anyone but Theo would light up the lethal stogie. By the way, Sergeant B., how did the poison get into the cigar?"

  "It was injected with a thin syringe like diabetics use."

  "Wouldn't a lot of that mixture be required to spike a whole box of Janus's cigars?" Wiggins asked.

  "Examination and testing of the cigars showed that only three had been poisoned."

  "You said the poison was injected," Wiggins said. "I know from personal experience that Theo inspected his cigars carefully for flaws. It seems to me he would have found such a puncture and thrown away that cigar."

  "The injection was made in the part of the cigar covered by the band. The killer knew that Janus never removed the band when he smoked. The bands were removed, injections made, and the bands put back on."

  "To do all that," said Judge Simmons as though he were on the bench, "the killer would have to gain access to the cigars. This would require knowledge of Janus's domestic arrangem
ents and habits. For the cigars to be poisoned, the killer had to know where to find them, and to be certain that Janus would be away at the time they were being tampered with."

  "I am talking of an individual capable of careful study and planning, and someone with a motive so powerful that he was willing to go to great lengths to attain his goal."

  "It seems to me that the culprit in your scenario," Simmons went on, "is intelligent and not without a keenly developed sense of humor. You must concede there is a delicious irony in Theodore Janus's being murdered with one of his cigars."

  "As ever, Your Honor, you grasp the essence of the matter. The murderer was someone who knew Janus very well, who possessed cunning and wit, and who had access to the cigars. All of this required, as you have so apdy pointed out, a powerful motive. But, as I noted, the murderer was an individual of almost boundless willingness to bide his time. You might even say that the killer had the patience of. . . a judge."

  Simmons's gaunt face went ghostly white. "This is outrageous! I demand you retract that groundless accusation, Sergeant."

  "Groundless? I don't think so, sir. Who has a more powerful motive for murder than a judge whose reputation was sullied by a humiliating reversal in a high-profile case that was expected to be remembered in the history of jurisprudence as the capstone of a long and otherwise distinguished career on the bench?"

  "What utter nonsense! If you don't apologize for this slander immediately, you'll be hearing from my attorney."

  Goldstein grunted. "You know the laws of libel, Reginald. Sergeant Bogdanovic is speaking as a police officer. As long as he is carrying out his sworn duty, he is protected. Besides, I'm not aware that he has accused you of anything."

  "Your point about access to Janus's cigars is well taken, Judge Simmons," Bogdanovic continued. "There is no doubt that the killer had to gain access to them. This could only have been done in two places. Either the killer got into Janus's automobile and a small humidor he kept in the glove compartment, or he'd visited Janus at his ranch. I believe the former is unlikely."

  Pendelton said, "I don't see why."

  "The only time the Rolls could have been entered was when it was parked in a public place. If Janus left the humidor in the car, it was because he expected to return shortly. I incline to credit the killer with not wishing to run the risk of being seen breaking into the Rolls, especially if Janus might come back. If the car had been left for a lengthier period, such as in a long-term parking area of an airport, Janus would take the humidor with him. That is why I concluded that the poisoned cigar Janus smoked on the night he died had been taken from the pocket case he had on him at the dinner. Therefore, the cigar that killed him had to have been brought from his home. It follows that either the cigar had been poisoned in the house in Janus's absence or brought to the house and given to Janus by the killer, possibly as a gift."

  "Pardon me, Sergeant B.," Wiggins said. "Nobody pays a visit to a cigar aficionado's home and brings only one cigar as a gift. He brings a box of cigars."

  "I can't agree with that, Wiggins," asserted Nick Stamos. "I had an occasion to visit Janus at his ranch last year on a business matter. But I had only two Cohibas on hand at the time, so I took one along for myself and gave him the other."

  "What did Janus do with his?" Bogdanovic asked.

  "What do you think he did with it? He smoked it!"

  "Of course he did, as he would have done with any cigar he'd been given. It would be an insult if a man stuck a gift cigar in his pocket for later. Someone with enough knowledge of cigars to know how to go about poisoning one would also appreciate cigar etiquette. He would know that if he presented Janus one cigar he would light it up immediately, as he did with yours, Nick."

  "I'm glad I didn't give him a whole box," Stamos said with a smile. "Otherwise, you might suspect me of killing him."

  "You could have given him a box of poisoned cigars at another time. You certainly had a motive to murder him."

  "Ridiculous. I had no cause to kill him."

  "Not true. You had two million reasons."

  Stamos laughed scoffingly. "That matter was on its way to being resolved to my complete satisfaction."

  Bogdanovic asked, "What about you, Ariadne? Were you satisfied?"

  "What a charmer you are, Sergeant," she said through an icy smile. "You may have been born in Brooklyn, but your thinking is stricdy Balkan in nature. Anyway, I know nothing about cigars."

  "Your husband does. And you both travel regularly to places where Cuban cigars are available. I assume it would be easy for a box or two of Havanas to be smuggled into the country aboard one of Nick's ships, even his yacht, as readily, for instance, as a shipment of heroin."

  "I am not the only person in this room with a yacht, and a motive to kill Janus," Stamos objected. "Have you considered a certain retired admiral?"

  The stately figure of Trevor Home jerked as if it were a puppet whose strings had been pulled. "See here, Nicky. That is a contemptible suggestion."

  "There is the troubling matter of Janus's law suit against you, Admiral," Bogdanovic said quietly. "And you do take your vacations in Bermuda. Cuban cigars have always been sold there."

  "I'm not alone in choosing Bermuda for vacationing," Home retorted. "Are you aware that James Hamilton has a condo there?"

  "I am indeed, Admiral."

  "Are you also aware that James Hamilton despised Janus so much that he tried to stop Wiggins from pushing through the plan to give Janus the Nero Wolfe Award, and when he did not succeed, boycotted the Black Orchid dinner?"

  "I am also aware that Mr. Hamilton has chosen not to attend this Christmas party."

  "I can explain that," Henry interjected. "There is nothing at all sinister about it. He is down with the flu. But really, Sergeant, I think your story hour has gone too far. You appear to suspect everyone here of murdering Theo. I hope you will forgive me for saying it, but I have the impression from all this casting about that you have no idea as to who killed Theo."

  "Well, you know what Nero Wolfe said: Any spoke will lead an ant to the hub.' In this case, the spokes were the cigars in a box of Cubans from which Janus selected the last he would smoke. There had been three poisoned cigars in the box. The question for me was not only how they came to be laced with that deadly mixture, but where, when, and how Janus had obtained them. They were Cohiba esplendidos, purchased at Dunhill's in London."

  "Of course they were," said Oscar Pendelton, impatiently. "When he went to London, he always bought several boxes of Cubans at Dunhill's. So did I."

  "When were you last in London, Oscar?"

  "In January."

  "Do you know when Janus was there last?" "I have no idea."

  "I do. I checked his appointment calendar and his passport. He was there October a year ago, a few weeks before he went to California to do battle with Maggie Dane. He purchased four boxes of his usual Cohiba esplendidos. I know this because I spoke by phone to his tobacconist."

  "Proving again that you are a meticulous detective," said Oscar, "Everyone in this room knows his favorite cigar was the Cohiba esplendido. He was never without them."

  "He kept the bands on while he smoked them," Henry said in an exasperated tone, "so everyone would know they were from Cuba."

  "You are wrong that Janus was never without his Cohibas, Oscar," Bogdanovic said. "He was out of them at least once that I know of. He smoked his last one after dinner with Maggie in Los Angeles. Yet, he was smoking one at the time he died and he had a nearly full box of them in his office. So where did he get them?"

  "Someone must have bought them for him," said Pendleton.

  "Very good, Oscar! But they were not bought at his behest. Those cigars were a gift from the person who visited him at the ranch."

  "Hold on there, Sergeant B.," bellowed Wiggins. "I went to see Theo at the ranch, as you well know, but I did not take him a box of poison-laced Cuban cigars. He had a humidor full. He offered me one."

  "Lucky for you th
at you didn't take it. Marian would have had to find another Santa Claus."

  'Just a minute! If Janus had been given a box of cigars by this mysterious visitor," said Wiggins, "how come he didn't smoke a deadly one before Saturday night?"

  "Pure chance. As I said, only three of the cigars had been taken from the box, poisoned, and replaced. Now, this is speculation on my part, but I can't see the killer putting the three at the very top of the box and thereby running the risk that Janus would take one out, smoke it, and drop dead then and there. This very clever murderer was content to have Janus smoke a poisoned cigar at his leisure. The killer also assumed that the cause of death would be attributed to a heart attack, as it might have been at the autopsy had Janus not been shot after he was dead and the very observant medical examiner, Dr. Hassan Awini, not noticed something odd about the gunshot wound. For Awini, the lack of blood was the spoke. The hub was a cardiac glycoside by the name of thevetin, found in yellow oleander, and an alkaloid taxine from the yew tree. Plus a hefty dose of concentrated nicotine."

  "It's enough to make me consider giving up my pipe," said Wiggins with a forced shudder. "But on the other hand, Sherlock Holmes is alive, well, and keeping bees in Sussex."

  "The news that Janus had been killed with a gun," said Nick Stamos, "and that awful photograph in the Graphic, must have been a shock to the person who expected to kill him with a cigar."

  With an abrupt turn toward Henry, Bogdanovic said, "Perhaps Marian would care to tell us what she felt."

  Henry gave a surprised laugh. "Cheated."

  "MY NEXT EMOTION was anxiety," Henry continued. "I wondered if the police faked that photograph in the Graphic as part of a scheme to lull Theo's murderer into a sense of security."

  "We're not that smart, Marian," Goldstein declared.

  "It was a reasonable deduction," Henry said. "That the photo appeared only in the Graphic struck me as peculiar. It occurred to me that it might have been planted. I had to know."