Her jaw was working. “I thought you were a friend of Orrie’s,” she said. “You wouldn’t talk like that if he was here.”
“Yes, I would, and he would understand. He wouldn’t like it, but he would understand.” I leaned to her, elbows on knees. “Listen, Miss Hardy. I like your looks and I like your voice. You have very nice hands. You say you had never heard of Isabel Kerr, and I have no evidence that you had, so apparently you’re out, but I would really appreciate it if you would tell me when you saw Orrie last and where you were Saturday morning.”
“Why do they think he killed her?” she demanded. “Why would he kill her?”
“I don’t know. I may have an idea later, possibly this afternoon if I see him, from the questions they have asked him. They probably think they have some line on motive, but not necessarily.”
“How could he have a motive?”
“You’ll have to ask them, not me, because I think they’re off. It’s supposed to be possible to convict a man of murder without proving motive, but juries don’t like the idea.”
“Juries? You mean they will – there’ll be a trial?”
“I sincerely hope not.”
Her eyes were fastened on me. “I believe you really mean that.”
“I really do.”
“Saturday morning I was at home in bed, until after noon. I had been on a flight from Caracas that was due at midnight, but we weren’t down until after two o’clock. I saw Orrie that evening. I had dinner with him at a restaurant. I have to answer so many questions in the air that when I’m on the ground I don’t listen to them.” She pulled her feet back, stood up, and took a step. “Get up and put your arms around me.”
It was an order, and I obeyed. She didn’t lift her arms so we could lock, but when I had her enclosed she gripped my jacket with both hands near my backbone and hid her face on my chest. The dark blue suit felt like wool, but nowadays you never know. I didn’t squeeze, just held her nice and firm, trying to decide whether she knew she was in trouble and wanted to enlist me, or she was getting started on me in case Orrie got permanently eliminated, or it was just a habit she had. She hadn’t used any perfume, or very little, and she smelled fine. There’s no telling how long it would have lasted if it hadn’t been for the doorbell. It rang.
I unwound my arms, politely, crossed to the hall and took a look, stepped back in, and told her, “It’s a cop, one I happen to know. Since you’re in no hurry to meet him, you will please duck.” I had crossed to the door to the front room and opened it. “In here. You don’t have to hold your breath, it’s soundproofed. You can even sneeze.”
Generally speaking, airline stewardesses know how to react. Without a word she picked up her handbag, which had dropped to the floor when she gripped my jacket, moved to the door I was holding, and on through. As I shut the door the doorbell rang again. I broke no records getting to the hall and the front; and if Inspector Cramer noticed the black leather coat on the rack, let him. It was me he wanted to see, since he knew Wolfe was never available until eleven, and one more question to refuse to answer wouldn’t matter. I opened the door, said, “Sorry, I was busy yawning,” and gave him room. His big round face was redder than usual from the cold. There have been times when he refused help with his coat because he wanted to get his eyes on me and keep them there, but now he let me behind him to take it, and he led the way to the office. He hadn’t noticed the black leather coat, but he did notice the yellow chair near my desk, and as he lowered his broad rump onto the red leather one he asked, “Company?”
I nodded. “Come and gone. Have you turned Orrie loose yet?”
“No. Not yet and not soon. Unless you can give me a damn good reason. Can you?”
“Sure. He’s clean.”
“Go right ahead.”
“Parker came here after seeing him yesterday and told us that Orrie had told him he was innocent. We have seen a lot of Orrie and we know he’s not a liar. So Mr. Wolfe is going to look into it. Of course that’s what you came for, to ask if he’s going to horn in. He is.”
“I don’t have to ask that. I came to get information.” He got better arranged in the chair. “When did you see Cather last?”
I shook my head. “No comment.”
“Has he ever spoken to you about Isabel Kerr?”
“Pass.”
“Has he ever spoken to you about Jill Hardy?”
“No comment.”
“You can’t get away with it, Goodwin. If a man is charged he can clam up, but you’re not charged. But, by God, you can be charged.”
“I feel another yawn coming,” I said. “Do we have to go through it again? I don’t say I will answer no questions at all about Orrie Cather. If you ask me where he buys his shoes or when did Mr. Wolfe last use him on a job, I’ll tell you, even in writing. But the kind of questions you’re loaded with, no. Certainly, if you pin a murder on him and make it stick, and if you can prove that I had information that you could have used, you can tag me for obstructing justice and I’ll be sunk. But if it turns out that instead of obstructing justice I’m doing it as a favor by helping Mr. Wolfe find out who did kill Isabel Kerr, he and I ought to get a ticker-tape parade, but we won’t insist on it.”
He opened his tight lips to say, “You’ve crawled out on that limb before.”
“Yeah. I said do we have to go through it again.” I glanced at my wrist. “Mr. Wolfe will be down in twenty minutes, if you think you can scare him better than me.”
He started tapping the floor with the toe of his heavy shoe, focusing on Wolfe’s empty chair. That wasn’t very satisfactory, since it made no sound on the thick rug, not like the linoleum in his office. He was looking at the chair instead of me because it wasn’t my stand that was eating him. He had the answer to one question, where did Wolfe stand, and now the point was, why? Did we really have something, and, if so, what?
“It occurs to me,” I said, “that we might make a deal. It would have to be okayed by Mr. Wolfe, but I’m sure he would. We’ll make an affidavit, the last sentence of which will say that it includes everything we know, and everything Orrie has said and done to our knowledge, that could possibly have any bearing on the murder, and we’ll trade it for a look at your file. The whole file. It would be a bargain for both of us. You would know exactly what we’ve got, and we would know why you’re risking holding him without bail. Fair enough?”
“Balls,” Cramer said. He stood up. “One thing I came for, to tell Wolfe something, but you can tell him. Tell him that it’s too bad I can’t show him Isabel Kerr’s diary. If he read it he would change his mind about horning in. And a tip for you. When you decide to kill someone make damn sure he isn’t keeping a diary. Or she.” He turned and marched out.
I stayed put. It would have been a shame to spoil such a good exit line. When I heard the front door open and close I went to the hall for a look, to see that he had been outside when he shut it, then stepped back into the office and considered a matter. Should Jill Hardy be there in the red leather chair when Wolfe came down? If I left her in the front room and reported, almost certainly he would refuse to see her, and of course he should. It would be eleven o’clock in three minutes. I decided to bring her in, went and opened the door and crossed the sill, and looked around at an empty room. She had exited without a line, by the door to the hall. I went and looked at the rack; her coat was gone. The house phone buzzed in the office, and I went and got it. It was Wolfe, in the plant rooms, wanting to know if she had gone, and I told him yes, and in a minute the sound came of the elevator grumbling its way down. He entered, in his hand the daily orchids for his desk – a panicle of Odonto-glossum hellemense, which, according to the records I keep, is a cross of harvengtense and crispum. A stunner if you feel like orchids, which I didn’t just then. I sat and simmered as he put them in the vase, got settled in his chair, and glanced through the mail. When he finished with a letter from a man upstate who sends deer meat, the only important item, I said, rather loud, “Miss Kerr kept a diary.”