“Yes, I did hear something about it,” I said, realizing with relief but not surprise that he hadn’t recognized me that night outside the Bronx Zoo.
“My mom and dad don’t want me to talk about it. It was sort of scary.”
“I’m sure that it must have been.”
“I was out on the grass—right over there,” he said, pointing at a spot near the gravel driveway that wrapped around the house and led to the garage. “I was collecting different kinds of leaves for school, and Miss Moore was helping me. She got a telephone call and went inside, and right then a truck drove up. A man got out and said he wanted to ask me something, so I went over to him, and he grabbed me and threw me in the back of the truck. Then he blindfolded me and tied me up and he and another man I hadn’t seen drove off. I started to yell and one of them stuffed something in my mouth like a handkerchief.”
“Did you get a good look at them?”
“Uh-uh. They both wore dark glasses all the time, even at night when I was in that bedroom at wherever it was that they took me. But I’m not supposed to be talking about it.”
“I understand.”
“They really weren’t mean to me. They never hit me, and they fed me stuff like hot dogs and chili and Rice Krispies for breakfast.”
“Did they say anything that would help you identify them?”
“My dad asked me that, too. I don’t think so. They looked alike, so maybe they were brothers.”
“Or did they look alike because they both wore dark glasses?”
“Maybe so. I tried to hear what they were saying at night when they thought I was asleep, but they talked very softly. I thought I heard a word that sounded like ‘Barney’ once.” He looked down. “I shouldn’t be talking about this.”
“Whatever you think is best,” I answered.
“I know they were on the telephone lots of times, but I couldn’t hear much of what they said. I was in a bedroom, and the door was almost always closed.”
“But they did let you go.”
“My dad said that was because some detectives from New York helped out. The men in dark glasses drove me in a car at night and handcuffed me to a fence. My dad came with a suitcase that he says was filled with money and he gave it to them. Then some of these detectives and the kidnappers started shooting at each other, which was really scary. It was dark, so I don’t know who all the people shooting were or if any of them got hurt.”
“But the good news is that you were free.”
“Yes, but I was really scared.”
“That’s nothing to be ashamed of. When they drove you in the car that night, how long did the ride take?”
“Mmm, not very long, maybe ten minutes, maybe a little longer.”
“So you must have been kept somewhere close to the place where they handcuffed you to that fence?”
Tommie nodded soberly and went on to tell me how the police came and cut him loose. “That’s when I found out we were next to the zoo that I’ve been at before,” he said. “After the shooting, the animals all started roaring and growling.”
“That’s quite a story.”
“Yeah. Don’t tell my parents that I told you about it, all right?”
“It will be our secret. And we’ll throw—and kick—the football around again, maybe one day next week, okay?”
“Sure,” he said, grinning.
That night, I called Wolfe and reported my conversation with Tommie. “Now there is something you should know,” he said.
“I’m all ears.”
“A man answering to the description of your predecessor, Mr. Bell, has been found dead, shot.”
“I’ll be damned.”
“No doubt. Do not share this information with anyone there, including the family. It may be instructive to observe their behavior until the news becomes public knowledge. And even then, be alert to everyone’s reactions.”
“My ears are open and my mouth is closed,” I told him and was rewarded with a grunt just before the line went dead.
CHAPTER 17
Our lunch gathering that Sunday was sparse, given that both Lloyd Carstens and Mark Simons had gone home for the rest of the weekend, as was their routine, and Sylvia Moore was staying with a maiden aunt in Philadelphia for the next few days. Per Mrs. Williamson’s orders, I had driven Sylvia to the nearby railroad depot that morning so she could take a commuter local into Manhattan and change at Penn Station for a train to Philly.
“Are you very close to your aunt?” I asked Sylvia when we drove to the suburban station.
“Yes, I am. She is my mother’s sister, and we are going to be talking a lot about whether my mother should move up from Virginia and live with her in Philadelphia. As I told you, Mom, who’s a widow, has a serious heart condition, and it worries me that she’s all alone in that big old house in Richmond where I grew up. But I know it’s going to be hard to persuade her to leave the home she has lived in for almost forty years.”
“Well, it sounds like a good solution. I hope that you and your aunt can talk her into it.”
“Thanks. How are you getting along here?” Sylvia had then asked me. As with Tommie, I had strongly suggested she sit up front with me, and she liked the idea.
“Okay, although all in all, the household crew seems to be a pretty closemouthed bunch.”
“Oh, they were exactly like that when I started, too,” she said. “They’re very suspicious of newcomers.”
“Are you, too?”
She wrinkled her pretty nose. “I wouldn’t say so. I tend to be on the quiet side, and some people take that to be standoffish. I hope you don’t.”
“No, I don’t. I just assumed you’re shy. You have to be relieved now that Tommie is back.”
“Oh dear, yes, yes I am. This has been quite an ordeal for everyone. Well, you know that. Of course, you were one of the detectives who came and talked to all of us after the kidnapping.”
“Yes, I was, but as you know, I’m here in a different capacity now—as chauffeur and, more important, as a bodyguard for Tommie.”
“You seem very young to be a detective—and a bodyguard,” she said.
“I’ve had more experience than you might expect, although when I was here before, I definitely was the junior member of the team.”
“Well, from what little I know, you and those other investigators must have done your work well, getting Tommie back for us. But how does it happen that you’re working here now? Were you looking for a job as a chauffeur or a bodyguard?”
“Not really. I was also with Saul Panzer when he interviewed Mr. Williamson, and I guess for some reason he liked the way I presented myself. I wasn’t going out of my way to impress him. Anyway, when Charles Bell left the employ here, Mr. Williamson called one of the other detectives and asked if I would be interested in this job. I’ve been looking for work—you know how tough things have been since the crash—and I thought, ‘Why not?’ I have always been interested in automobiles, and here was a chance to drive some really swell ones, as well as look after Tommie. I’m not really sure he’s in any danger now, but I think my presence makes his parents feel better.”
“Do you think Tommie has been traumatized by what happened?” she asked. “I haven’t sensed it.”
“Neither have I. We seem to have gotten along very well.”
“I would agree,” Sylvia said with feeling. “I know he’s delighted that you play football with him. I am awfully glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad that you’re glad,” I said as we pulled up at the little depot where she was to catch her train into the city. She squeezed my arm and thanked me warmly for the ride as she climbed out of the car. And if she knew anything about what had happened to Bell, it wasn’t apparent to me in her behavior.
Back to Sunday’s lunch. The five of us sat at our usual places, leaving empty the seats of those absent. Heaven forbid anyone should change chairs. Waverly led us in a brief prayer, and we started in on Mrs. Price’s ham and cheese san
dwiches and German potato salad.
“A reminder, Mr. Goodwin, that no meal will be served here tonight,” the cook said. “Sunday evenings, anyone is welcome to come down and fix something for themselves, as long as they put everything back and clean up after they are finished. I like my kitchen neat and tidy.” Miss Stratton rolled her eyes, suggesting that she had heard those words before.
“Thank you, Mrs. Price, but I will be in the city at dinnertime,” I said. “I’m driving Mr. and Mrs. Williamson into Manhattan for a concert at Carnegie Hall, and I will be bringing them back as well.”
“That’s right,” the usually silent Mary Trent said, nodding earnestly. “Because Miss Moore is away, I’ll be looking after Master Tommie tonight.”
“And you are not under any circumstances to let him out of your sight,” Waverly admonished. “I will be present all evening if there are any problems.”
“I shouldn’t think there would be any problems, Mr. Waverly,” the girl said, biting her lower lip. “I would never let anything happen to Tommie myself.”
The butler sniffed. “No? Well, we hardly thought there were going to be any problems the other morning, now, did we, my girl? And just look at what happened then.”
On that sobering note, we all went back to eating. I had not forgotten Nero Wolfe’s directive to look for signs of any awareness that Charles Bell had been killed, but if any of the people around the table knew about it, they gave no indication. I already had read all three Sunday newspapers delivered to the house, and none of them had any mention of the event.
As the others filed out of the kitchen after lunch, Mrs. Price put an arm on my shoulder. “Because you are going to be in New York until late tonight, laddie, I will be happy to pack a basket of food for you,” she said. I thanked her for her kindness but said I had already made plans to have dinner with friends while the Williamsons were at the concert.
Burke Williamson had told me earlier that he and his wife wanted to ride into the city in the Packard, so I spent a half hour that afternoon running a soft cloth over its sleek burgundy surface. I was in full uniform, cap included, when they stepped out of the front entrance and down the stairs, he in a dinner jacket and his wife in a long beige evening dress.
“Ah, this old bus looks wonderful, Goodwin; did you wax it?”
“No, sir, I just took a cheesecloth to it and gave it a gentle once-over. The finish is so good, that was all that was needed,” I said as I held the door for them to climb into the back.
“How are things downstairs now?” Williamson asked once we were under way. “Has everything returned to normal after the, well ... the excitement we’ve had the last few days?”
“Yes, I would say so, sir, although I’m so new that I don’t know definitely what constitutes normal among the staff.”
“Of course, good point. On top of everything else, I was concerned that Bell’s sudden departure might be upsetting to the others.”
“Now, Burke, please try to forget all that for a while,” Lillian Williamson said, putting her gloved hand on his arm. “We are out for a night in the city, and we should concentrate on enjoying ourselves. Let’s clear our minds of everything but the music of Mr. Brahms and Mr. Tchaikovsky, which we will be hearing in a short while. Now just settle back.”
I had planned the route into New York on one of the maps Bell had kept in the garage, and once I got to Manhattan, I had those streets down pat, too. I let the couple off in front of Carnegie Hall a half hour before their concert was to begin. “We’ll see you back here at ten,” Williamson said. I pulled away from the welter of taxis and ritzy autos that jammed Seventh Avenue around the concert hall and headed for the West Side.
Despite what I had told Mrs. Price, I did not have dinner plans, although I did intend to pay a visit to Nero Wolfe. I eased the Packard to the curb in front of the brownstone on West Thirty-Fifth Street and climbed the steps to the door.
Fritz answered my ring, giving me and my uniform a questioning look. “I know I didn’t call ahead for an appointment, but I wonder if Mr. Wolfe could see me for a few minutes?”
“Let me ask,” he said, easing the door closed. He returned in less than a minute. “Mr. Wolfe will see you. Please come in.”
Wolfe was seated at his desk with beer and a book. “Sorry to barge in unannounced, but I happened to be in the city tonight, driving my employers to hear some music,” I told him. “I would like to get caught up on what’s been happening.”
He put his book down and considered me. “You already know about the death of Charles Bell, of course.”
“I know he was killed because you told me. What about the circumstances? What do we know?”
“Sit down, please. Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Beer?”
“Nothing, thanks.”
“How about some dinner? Fritz made cassoulet de Castelnaudary, and there is enough remaining that he can prepare and heat a plate for you.”
“I’ve already eaten,” I lied, unsure as to what kind of grub this was.
He adjusted his bulk and scowled. “Very well. You asked about circumstances. Here they are: I received a telephone call yesterday afternoon from a very agitated Inspector Cramer informing me of a death. A man’s body was found Friday night in a gangway between two buildings in the Bronx. He had been shot three times, and he had no identification on his person.
“The inspector, amid his sputtering, suggested I was somehow involved in this death, especially because it occurred not far from the shooting of Mr. Haskell, another event he suspects I was a party to.”
“What makes you think the body was Bell’s?”
“I surmised it but needed verification, which I have now received.”
“How?”
Wolfe looked smug. “Saul Panzer asked an acquaintance of his, a man who is not known to the police, to go to the morgue and say a good friend from the Bronx was missing, never having appeared for an important meeting. He was shown the body.”
“Which I suppose he then said was not his friend.”
“Correct. But he made note of facial features including a cleft chin, a mole on his right cheek, and a short but visible scar above his left eye, all of which Saul had noted when he met Bell on his first visit to the Williamson home.”
“So I assume Cramer still doesn’t know the body is Bell.”
“Correct again. And the inspector has kept the incident out of the press until the body can be identified and the next of kin informed.”
“But he told you about the murder.”
“Yes, futilely hoping to pry from me some sort of admission that I was involved. It was only a hunting expedition on his part. He knew he wouldn’t get anywhere with it, which is why he telephoned rather than making the effort to come here and badger me. The latter tactic often ends with him storming out.”
“Yes, I have now seen that myself. Do you have any idea how long Cramer’s going to sit on the story?”
“No, although I strongly suspect he will release details of the shooting in the next day or two, hoping that someone comes forth to identify the body. He cannot wait indefinitely.”
“This could have something to do with the kidnapping, but it also may have been a simple armed robbery gone wrong,” I said. “After all, you say Bell’s pockets were empty, no wallet, no money. He could have resisted a holdup man and gotten plugged for his efforts.”
“I have never been a great believer in coincidence,” Wolfe remarked. “More likely, Mr. Bell was killed because of some connection he had with the Williamson kidnapping. His wallet was then taken to make it appear to be a robbery—and perhaps also to hamper attempts at identification.”
“That’s a definite possibility,” I conceded. “Do you plan to tell Inspector Cramer Bell’s identity?”
“Not at present. Have you unearthed anything at the Williamson home since the last time we talked?”
I gave him a complete report on all my conversations since the last time we had spoken on th
e telephone.
“Did you embellish anything?” he asked after I finished.
“Embellish? I don’t know that word.”
“In this context, it means ‘to enhance a narrative with fictitious additions.’”
“There was nothing fictitious about what I just told you. Every bit of it was, well, word for word.”
Wolfe raised his eyebrows. “Oh, yes, Mr. Bascom did tell me you have the ability to recite long passages of dialogue verbatim. Do you concur?”
“Yes, sir. I have been able to do that for as long as I can remember.”
“Would you indulge me by repeating all of it?”
I didn’t see the sense in it, but I fed every word back to him again. He sat with his eyes closed and his hands interlaced over his middle mound. When I finished, he opened his eyes wide. “Most interesting.”
“I’m glad you think so. I haven’t found anything of particular value regarding the kidnapping in my time at that Williamson palace. And it really is a palace. Even the chauffeur’s quarters are first-class, four rooms plus a bathroom. Do you have any specific instructions for me?”
“Just continue to be alert and observant, and continue to telephone me each evening at nine. Your stay there may not last a great deal longer, although from what you have said, the assignment hardly constitutes onerous duty.”
“No, it doesn’t, not at all. Oh, I admit that I miss being in the city, but don’t get me wrong—I’m not crying. The food is decent, the autos I drive are top-notch, and the surroundings are fit for royalty, which I guess the Williamsons are, in a sense. ”
“You made no mention of remuneration.”
“No, sir.”
“I believe that will be resolved.”
I figured “remuneration” meant something to do with payment, but I already had shown my ignorance about one word Wolfe used, and I was damned if I was going to give him the satisfaction a second time. Besides, I knew how to use a dictionary, and if I was going to be spending time around Wolfe, I would have to buy one.
Archie Meets Nero Wolfe Page 12