“It’s a little complicated. It’s about some research he was doing at the time he was killed. You may know something about it if you saw him during that period — say the month of November, last November. Did you see him around then?”
“No, the last time I saw him was two years ago. In a courtroom. When some people that I thought were friends of mine were making me the goat. Why would the police be seeing me?”
“Oh, in a murder case they can’t crack they see everybody.” I waved it away. “What you say about being made the goat, that’s interesting. It might have some bearing on what we want to know, whether Althaus was in the habit of doctoring his stuff. Was he one of the friends who made you the goat?”
“My goodness, no. He wasn’t a friend. I only met him twice, while he was doing that piece, or getting ready to. He was looking for bigger fish. I was just a hustler, working for Bruner Realty.”
“Bruner Realty?” I wrinkled my brow. “I don’t remember that name in connection with the case. Of course I’m not any too familiar with it. Then it was your friends in Bruner Realty who made you the goat?”
He smiled. “You certainly are not familiar with it. It was some outside deals that I had a hand in. That all came out at the trial. The Bruner people were very nice about it, very nice. The vice-president even arranged for me to see Mrs. Bruner herself. That was the second time I saw Althaus, in her office at her house. She was nice too. She believed what I told her. She even paid my lawyer, part of it. You see, she realized that I had got mixed up in a shady deal, but I explained to her that I hadn’t known what I was getting into, and she didn’t want a man who was working for her company to get a bum deal. I call that nice.”
“So do I. I’m surprised you didn’t go back to Bruner Realty when you got — when you could.”
“They didn’t want me.”
“That wasn’t very nice, was it?”
“Well, it’s the philosophy of it. After all, I had been convicted. The president of the company is a pretty tough man. I could have gone to Mrs. Bruner, but I have a certain amount of pride, and I heard about this opening with Driscoll.” He smiled. “I’m not licked, far from it. There’s plenty of opportunity in this business, and I’m still young.” He opened a drawer. “You gave me a card, I’ll give you one.”
He gave me about a dozen, not one, and some information about the Driscoll Renting Agency. They had nine offices in three boroughs and handled over a hundred buildings, and they gave the finest service in the metropolitan area. I received a strong impression that Driscoll was nice. I listened to enough of it to be polite, and thanked him, and on the way out I took the liberty of exchanging glances with the beautiful young lady, and she smiled at me. That was certainly a nice place.
I strolled down the Grand Concourse in the winter sunshine, cooling off; I hadn’t been invited to remove my coat. I was listing the items of the coincidence:
1. Mrs. Bruner had distributed copies of that book.
2. Morris Althaus had been collecting material for a piece on the FBI.
3. G-men had killed Althaus, or at least had been in his apartment about the time he was killed.
4. Althaus had met Mrs. Bruner. He had been in her house.
5. A man who had worked for Mrs. Bruner’s firm had been jailed (made the goat?) as a result of a piece Althaus had written.
That was no coincidence; it was cause and effect in a hell of a mess. I started to sort it out but soon found that there were so many combinations and possibilities that you could even come up with the notion that Mrs. Bruner had shot Althaus, which wouldn’t do, since she was the client. The one conclusion was that there was a needle in this haystack, and it had to be found. Wolfe had stolen another base. He had merely asked Yarmack if the articles Althaus had written for Tick-Tock were innocuous, and had merely told me to find Odell because he couldn’t think of anything sensible for me, and here was this.
I couldn’t have called Wolfe even if he had been at home, and I decided not to ring him at Hewitt’s. Not only does a place like that have a dozen or more extensions, but also G-men had probably followed him there, since Saul had been told to ignore tails, and tapping a line in the country was a cinch for them. I happen to know that they once — But I’ll skip it.
But I was not going to go home and sit on it until he got back. I found a phone booth, dialed Mrs. Bruner’s number and got her, and asked if she could meet me at Rusterman’s at twelve-thirty for lunch. She said she could. I rang Rusterman’s and got Felix and asked if I could have the soundproofed room upstairs, the small one. He said I could. I went out and got a taxi.
Rusterman’s has lost some of the standing it had when Marko Vukcic was alive. Wolfe is no longer the trustee, but he still goes there about once a month and Felix comes to the old brownstone now and then for advice. When Wolfe goes, taking Fritz and me, we eat in the small room upstairs, and we always start with the queen of soups, Germiny à l’Oseille. So I knew that room well. Felix was there with me, being sociable, when Mrs. Bruner came, only ten minutes late.
She wanted a double dry martini with onion. You never know; I would have guessed hers would be sherry or Dubonnet, and certainly not the onion. When it came she took three healthy sips in a row, looked to see that the waiter had closed the door, and said, “Of course I didn’t ask you on the phone. Something has happened?”
I had a martini to keep her company, without the onion. I took a sip and said, “Nothing big. Mr. Wolfe has broken two rules today. He skipped his morning session in the plant rooms, and he left the house on business — your business. He is out on Long Island seeing a man. That could develop into something, but don’t hold your breath. As for me, I just made a trip to the Bronx to see a man named Frank Odell. He used to work for you — Bruner Reality. Didn’t he?”
“Odell?”
“Yes.”
She frowned. “I don’t — Oh, of course. Odell, that’s the little man who had all that trouble. But he — isn’t he in prison?”
“He was. He was paroled out a few months ago.”
She was still frowning. “But why on earth were you seeing him?”
“It’s a long story, Mrs. Bruner.” I took a sip. “Mr. Wolfe decided to try getting a start by checking a little on FBI activities in and around New York. Among other things, we learned that last fall a man named Morris Althaus had been gathering material for a piece on the FBI for a magazine, and seven weeks ago he was murdered. That was worth looking into, and we did some checking on him. We learned that he did a piece called ‘The Realty Racket’ a couple of years ago, and as a result a man named Frank Odell had got a jail sentence for fraud. Mr. Wolfe had me look him up, and I located him and went to see him and learned that he had worked for your firm. So I thought I ought to ask you about it.”
She had put the glass on the table. “But what is there to ask me?”
“Just questions. For instance, about Morris Althaus. How well did you know him?”
“I didn’t know him at all.”
“He came at least once to your house — your office. According to Odell.”
She nodded. “That’s right, he did. I remembered that when I read about him — the murder.” Her chin was up. “I don’t like your tone, Mr. Goodwin. Are you intimating that I have concealed something?”
“Yes, Mrs. Bruner, I am. That you may have. We might as well clear it up before lunch instead of after. You have hired Mr. Wolfe to do a job that’s as close to impossible as a job can get. The least you can do is tell us everything that could conceivably have a bearing on it. The fact that you had known Morris Althaus, at least you had met him, naturally suggests questions. Did you know he was working at a piece on the FBI? Let me finish. Did you know or suspect that the FBI was involved in his murder? Was that why you sent those books? Was that why you came to Nero Wolfe? Just stay in the buggy. We simply have to know everything you know, that’s all.”