“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, glaring 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.”