The Last Coincidence (The Nero Wolfe Mysteries Book 4)

by Robert Goldsborough

  “Correct. Sergeant Stebbins or some other associate also will be welcome.”

  Cramer grumbled something that sounded like he’d bring Stebbins, and slammed down the phone.

  “All right,” I said to Wolfe. “Now, give me a fill-in.” He did, and I have to admit I hadn’t seen it, although I probably should have. He sketched out the evening and told me to reach Saul and Fred. “We could get by with only one of them,” Wolfe said, “but both would be preferable.”

  My luck held. Saul had just come in from a job and Fred was at home and of course happy to get the call to action. Less than an hour later they were seated in the office, Fred with beer, which he drinks to please Wolfe, and Saul with Scotch, which he drinks to please himself. Wolfe gave them a quick fill-in on their roles, then excused himself and moved rapidly out of the office, a rare occurrence. At that, he was four minutes late for his afternoon appointment with the orchids.

  TWENTY-TWO

  SAUL AND FRED FINISHED THEIR drinks and left, and I went out to the kitchen to fill in Fritz in a general way about the plans for the evening. Fritz isn’t big on knowing the details anyway; he’s mainly just glad when a case ends. To him, that means we will be receiving the balance of whatever money Wolfe is owed and that he will again be eating normally. I never notice anything wrong with Wolfe’s eating habits during a case, but Fritz insists that all the worrying he does over a solution has an extremely detrimental effect on his appetite and digestion.

  In any event, when I left the kitchen Fritz was smiling. I then went back to the office and began setting it up for the evening, bringing in extra chairs and stocking the small serving table in the corner as a bar. I then tried to concentrate on getting some paperwork done at my desk, but as always happens when Wolfe is about to wrap up a case, I couldn’t keep my mind focused. I finally gave up, told Fritz I was going out, and walked for more than an hour, turning the events of the day over in my mind and trying to anticipate what might go wrong tonight. Okay, so I’m a worrier by nature.

  When I got home, Wolfe was back behind his desk, reading and drinking beer. I went up to my room, took a short nap, washed up, changed into a fresh shirt and tie, and came down just in time for dinner, which was beef braised in red wine and squash with sour cream. Wolfe’s dinner-conversation was the new growth of racism in Europe, which he said could have been predicted twenty-five years ago by any clear-thinking sociologist. As usual, I mainly listened, most of my mind being on the activities that lay ahead.

  After dinner, back in the office, I found myself looking at my watch every few minutes. Wolfe, on the other hand, was immersed in his book and seemed totally unconcerned about the time. At eight-fifty-two the doorbell rang and I went to answer it, seeing Doyle James through the one-way glass. “Come in,” I said politely. “You’re number one.”

  He saluted me with an index finger, smiled, and walked in. We went down the hall to the office, where he and Wolfe exchanged formal greetings. I directed him to a chair in the second row as the doorbell rang again. This was the big James contingent: Noreen, Michael, and Megan, along with Pamsett. None of them appeared to be particularly happy, although Michael was the glummest of the lot, which, given his current status, was understandable. Megan, dressed in basic black, was frowning, Pamsett looked puzzled, and Noreen gave me a tight, nervous smile. “This better be good—bloody damn good,” Megan hissed under her breath as she went by me.

  I ushered them into the office, steering Noreen to the red leather chair, placing Michael beside her and Megan next to her son, filling out the front row. I introduced Pamsett to Wolfe and directed him to a second-row spot beside Doyle James, who already had said hellos to his son and daughter and grunted at his ex-wife. He shook hands noncommittally with Pamsett.

  The bell rang again, and this time Fritz got it, letting in Polly Mars, who was wearing a white blouse and a plaid wrap skirt that showed off her legs. She nodded grimly to me, still irked that she was missing a shooting session. I took her to the office, making introductions once again and pointing her at a second-row chair next to Pamsett, who nodded in her direction and fingered the knot of his blue-and-yellow-striped tie. By the time I went back to the hall, the bell had sounded yet again, this time rung by Rojek. When I opened the door, I found that Cramer and Stebbins were parked on the stoop too. As I was in the process of greeting them, Lily got out of a cab and, after tipping the driver, sashayed up the steps, acting as if everyone else had arrived unfashionably early.

  I introduced her and the police to Rojek in the hall, and then steered everyone to the office, where I did still another round of name exchanges. Rojek, first looking at Noreen with a half-smile that got returned in kind, took one of the two remaining second-row seats, next to Polly, while Cramer and Stebbins, as they had so often in the past, settled into the two third-row chairs. Not surprisingly, the unexpected presence of the constabulary caused a hubbub among the others.

  “Mr. Wolfe,” Megan said, shaking a finger ornamented by a walnut-sized gem, “before another word is spoken in this room, I insist on an explanation as to why members of the police department are present. I understood this was a private investigation, initiated at the request of my daughter.”

  “And so it is, madam,” Wolfe replied, shifting in his chair. “But it is the investigation of a capital crime, and I have invited the police to attend. Does this cause a problem for you?”

  “It’s … it’s irregular,” she said sharply, fixing Wolfe with a look meant to show that she was used to calling the shots in group settings.

  “Perhaps, but Mr. Cramer and Mr. Stebbins are here as onlookers, not active participants. Unless, of course, their presence is required later.”

  That caused another stir, with everyone looking around nervously except Michael James, who kept his eyes fixed glumly at the orchid on Wolfe’s desk. Megan didn’t seem any happier than before, but this time she said nothing.

  “Before we begin, will anyone have refreshments?” Wolfe asked. “As you can see, I am drinking beer.”

  Pamsett asked for a Scotch and water, and Rojek, surprisingly, piped up and ordered a bourbon on the rocks, both of which I mixed, but there were no other takers. Doyle James, looking even larger than usual in a black turtleneck sweater, grumbled that he hadn’t realized he’d been invited to a cocktail party. Wolfe ignored him and made half the beer he had poured disappear, setting his glass firmly on the blotter. “As all of you are aware, my client is Miss James,” he said, inclining his head in Noreen’s direction. “Following Mr. Linville’s death, she came to me with the entreaty that I find the means to exculpate her brother, and I of course told her that I could not guarantee such an eventuation.” I suppressed a smirk; he was amusing himself with words again, this time by seeing how many ten-dollar ones beginning with the same letter he could cram into a single sentence.

  “I did, however, agree to undertake an investigation, which I have now completed,” Wolfe went on, his eyes moving from face to face.

  “We’re all certainly delighted to hear that,” Cramer spat. “Do we get to hear the results in the next hour, or is this going to be one of your filibusters?”

  “Sir, you are well aware that I prize economy of words. But I also place a high priority on precision and thoroughness—you of all people should appreciate that.” Having thus disposed of the inspector, Wolfe turned his attention back to his beer, emptying the glass and refilling it from the second bottle.

  “Almost from the beginning of Mr. Goodwin’s and my inquiry, I was struck by a proliferation of coincidences. Let me enumerate these, not necessarily in chronological order: First, Mr. Linville’s death occurred less than forty-eight hours after Mrs. James’s return from an extended holiday in Europe. Second—”

  “Just … a … minute!” Megan James rose halfway out of her chair like a 747 taking off. “If you’re suggesting that I had anything to do with that man’s death, you can—”

  “I am suggesting nothing yet, madam,” Wolfe said, gl
aring Megan back into her chair, “other than that we are faced with a series of coincidences. Now, if I may continue: Second, Doyle James, who says his visits to his Manhattan apartment are relatively rare, chose the night of Mr. Linville’s death to remain in the city.” Wolfe turned toward Doyle as if expecting another interruption, but got only a crooked smile from that ruddy face.

  “Third, on that same night, Michael James was seen loitering on the sidewalk outside Mr. Linville’s apartment building by the doorman.”

  “I wasn’t loitering—I told both you and the police that,” Michael said in an even voice, clenching a fist and bringing it down softly three times on the arm of his chair. “I was waiting for Linville. So I could … talk to him about … Noreen.”

  “All right, you were waiting,” Wolfe said, turning a palm over. “I will not quibble over semantics. In any event—”

  “Just a minute!” Cramer piped up. It was an evening for interruptions. “That last should hardly be called a coincidence. It’s just one more piece of evidence that James had been stalking Linville.”

  Wolfe, obviously irked, drew in air and released it slowly. “Inspector, I ask your indulgence, please. I am proceeding as if this gentleman were innocent. If you will allow that assumption to stand for the moment, his being in front of the building on that particular night was coincidental to the death of Mr. Linville. You, sir, passionately wish for a brief session, yet you persist in prolonging the evening. Continuing on to yet a fourth coincidence: With the possible exception of Miss Rowan, not one of you in this room—Misses James and Mars, Mrs. James, Messrs. Rojek, Pamsett, James, and James—is able to account for all of your time last Wednesday night. In particular, none of you has a witness to your whereabouts between midnight and one o’clock, the period during which, it is estimated by the medical examiner, Mr. Linville was murdered.”

  “What’s so unusual about that?” Rojek cut in, clearing his throat. “Most nights I’m home between midnight and one, but I can’t prove it because I live alone.”

  Wolfe ignored him. “I weighed these occurrences and concluded that, taken both individually and collectively, they were plausible. But there was still another coincidence, one that I could not so easily dismiss. And although I was aware of it before any of those I just enumerated, it was the last to intrude upon my consciousness.”

  Wolfe sighed and lifted his shoulders a full half-inch, dropping them and allowing himself another deep breath. “Sir,” he said to Inspector Cramer, “I wish now to publicly apologize for a comment I made to you in this room several days ago. When you mentioned Mr. Goodwin’s confrontation with Mr. Linville on the sidewalk in front of the establishment known as Morgana’s, I cavalierly shrugged it off, stating there was no connection between that meeting and Mr. Linville’s death a few hours later. Regrettably, I was in error.”

  If he didn’t have it before, Wolfe now held the total attention of the gathering, with most of them—including Lily—casting glances in my direction. I kept my face down, focusing on my notebook, lest I destroy the mood of the moment.

  “I’m interested in that error,” Cramer said in a hoarse voice.

  “With good reason,” Wolfe responded glumly. “My chagrin is of course palpable, my embarrassment manifest.”

  “Of course,” Purley Stebbins piped up, and damned if Cramer didn’t glare at him and tell him to button his lip.

  “Some of you by now likely have perceived the importance of that sidewalk meeting,” Wolfe went on.

  “And some of us may be just a tad denser than you seem to be giving us credit for,” Doyle James put in with a scowl. “I for one am not ashamed to admit that I haven’t got the foggiest idea where you’re heading with this damned business about Morgana’s.”

  “I have to agree,” Pamsett seconded almost cheerfully, playing once again with the knot of his tie. “Are we to believe that—”

  “Oh, get with it, both of you!” It was Megan, ready again to lift off the tarmac. “Can’t you see that he’s posturing? He’s got an audience and he loves it, but it’s obvious that he’s just blowing smoke around. I think we’re all wasting our time here.” Speaking of smoke, Megan obviously was dying for a cigarette, which wasn’t helping her disposition any.

  Noreen, who had been staring at her lap almost since she sat down, looked at her mother angrily and started to say something, but Wolfe cut her off.

  “Madam, the last thing I want to do is waste time—mine or that of any of you,” he said as he reached under his desk for the buzzer. “It is far too precious a commodity to be squandered, and as Shakespeare’s second King Richard said, ‘I wasted time, and now doth time waste me’—ah, Saul, Fred, please come in, and bring our guest.”

  Every face turned toward the doorway. Saul Panzer and Fred Durkin stood on either side of Todd Halliburton, who wore a bewildered look as he looked over the crowd. “Hey, I thought I was here to see just Nero Wolfe,” he snarled, wheeling on Saul.

  “Mr. Halliburton, if you please,” Wolfe said, holding up a palm. “I am Nero Wolfe. You are indeed here to see me. I thank you for coming. I will explain the presence of these people momentarily; I don’t believe you have met them, other than Misses James and Mars, Inspector Cramer, and of course Mr. Goodwin here, whom I’m sure you recognize.” With that, he introduced our other guests, including Stebbins, nodding toward each in turn, and then motioning Halliburton to the remaining empty chair in the second row while both Saul and Fred remained standing. The little jerk sat, but looked uncomfortable, which bothered me not even a little.

  “Sir,” Wolfe said, shifting to face him, “the purpose of this gathering is to discuss the violent death of your friend Mr. Linville. I regret having Mr. Panzer and Mr. Durkin escort you here through artifice, but I deemed your presence essential and your assistance an invaluable part of our discussion.”

  “Artifice? They damn near dragged me!” Halliburton howled.

  “This the kid who was Linville’s great buddy?” It was Doyle James, who turned in his seat and shot a glare Halliburton’s way.

  “That is correct,” Wolfe replied. “And he also is the individual who recognized Mr. Goodwin after the now-infamous sidewalk encounter.”

  “So what?” Megan snapped.

  “As I am trying to demonstrate, that meeting was significant,” Wolfe said, pouring the remaining beer from his second bottle and watching the foam dissipate. “The reason Inspector Cramer knew Mr. Goodwin had confronted Barton Linville is that he learned it from Mr. Halliburton here.”

  “That’s not so surprising, is it?” asked Douglas Rojek. “I mean, Goodwin’s picture has been in the paper quite a few times. I remember seeing it—and yours, too, of course.”

  “It is no doubt true that Mr. Goodwin has become recognizable to at least a substantial minority of New York’s newspaper-reading populace, including Mr. Halliburton,” Wolfe conceded. “I would like now to turn to Miss James. When she first visited this office, I asked her, among other questions, whether Mr. Linville knew her aunt, Miss Rowan, and I received an affirmative reply. Is that not correct?”

  “Yes,” Noreen said, nodding nervously and swallowing. “They met once, maybe twice.”

  “Twice,” Lily cut in coldly.

  “Just so. And then I asked if Mr. Linville had been aware that Miss Rowan and Mr. Goodwin were close friends. Your reply?” Wolfe dipped his head in Noreen’s direction.

  “I said I thought it came up in conversation, but I honestly can’t remember any details.”

  Wolfe touched a finger to the side of his nose. “Mr. Halliburton, had you been aware of the friendship between Miss Rowan and Mr. Goodwin before the subject arose a moment ago?”

  “No … why should I? And why should I care?” he answered with a sneer, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “No reason,” Wolfe said blandly, placing both hands on his desk blotter, palms down, then shifting his attention to Noreen. “Miss James, you hired me to prove your brother’s innocence in the de
ath of Barton Linville. As I warned you when I accepted that commission, I could not guarantee success. Indeed, when I am through tonight, you may well feel I have not succeeded. If that is the case, it goes without saying that you will receive no bill. And now—”

  “Hold it right there,” Cramer said, putting equal stress on each word. “Do you mean to say you dragged all of us here for nothing?”

  “That is not what I said, sir. But it is true that you may well term my reconstruction of events conjecture. Let us now return to the last evening of Mr. Linville’s life,” Wolfe said, starting in on a fresh beer that Fritz had delivered during the noisy intermission. “Mr. Linville and his friend Mr. Halliburton here had gone to Morgana’s and departed about ten-twenty. Is that correct, sir?”

  “Yes,” Halliburton muttered sulkily. “I’ve told the police that.”

  “So you have. An angry Mr. Goodwin, seeking a confrontation with Mr. Linville over his alleged attack of Miss James, was waiting for them outside, and words were exchanged, with both Mr. Linville and Mr. Halliburton overtly resentful of Mr. Goodwin’s presence. The doorman interceded, and Mr. Goodwin—”

  “Who tried to slug me!”

  “—and Mr. Goodwin withdrew,” Wolfe finished his sentence, glaring at Halliburton. I got the feeling that Wolfe would like to slug the next person who interrupted him.

  “Messrs. Linville and Halliburton left together, and, as Mr. Halliburton told Mr. Goodwin, they went on foot to another establishment several blocks away, where they had a few drinks before parting at … what time was it, Mr. Halliburton?”

  “I told Goodwin, something like eleven-thirty or thereabouts. I told the police too,” Halliburton whinnied, looking over his shoulder in Cramer’s direction. “It seems like we’re doing a hell of a lot of repeating here.”

  “So you were together for at least seventy minutes after the confrontation with Mr. Goodwin,” Wolfe said, ignoring the complaint. “And you had recognized Mr. Goodwin immediately?”