“That is true,” Saul affirmed. “They show up in all sorts of places — barbers, cigar stores, magazine and newspaper shops, shoeshine parlors, small grocers. I even know of one handbook across the river in Long Island City that was run out of a tattoo joint.”
“I suggest Mr. Panzer divide up the city and assign areas to Fred and Orrie — and to himself, as well. I realize this may be a fool’s errand, but we must start somewhere,” Wolfe said. “And there is a chance that one among this multitude of bookmakers may know the whereabouts of Mr. Carr. I remain convinced that locating him may well be the channel through which we will locate his sister.”
“What about me? I can canvass some of those bookies, as well,” I said.
“For the present, you and Miss Rowan should concentrate on finding Maureen Carr. However, I also suggest you act as a clearinghouse for reports from Saul, Fred, and Orrie,” Wolfe said, turning to Lily.
“Miss Rowan, do you have anything to add to what has been discussed?”
“No, I believe you have covered everything that I can think of. And with Archie’s help, I will continue trying to find people who have had some connection to Maureen, however tenuous.”
Wolfe levered himself upright. “I again thank each of you for your time and wish you a good evening,” he said, striding out of the office. His abrupt exit was no surprise to anyone in the room, as each of us is used to his curt behavior.
“All right, to echo Lily, I think the situation has been well laid out. Does anybody have questions?” I asked
“Yeah, I do,” Orrie said as he walked over to the bar table against the wall and poured himself a second scotch. “What reason are we supposed to give these bookies for asking about Everett Carr?”
“Use your imagination,” Saul snapped. “You can tell them Carr owes you dough and you want to find him. That seems like a reasonable excuse. Or you can say you gave him money to place on a nag that won at Belmont or wherever, and he’s never showed up to pay you.”
“I like both of those approaches,” Fred put in. “Me, I plan to say that Carr is a cousin, and I want to find him so that I can pay off the loan he gave me.”
“That sounds phony to me, Durkin,” Orrie said. “Who would ever go asking a stranger to help finding someone so you could pay them? That doesn’t make any sense.”
I joined in. “Orrie, like Saul said, use your imagination. As long as the bookie doesn’t think you’re trying to horn in on his territory or that you are a plainclothes cop looking to run him in, he has no reason to be suspicious of you.
“You have told me before how you are able to charm even the most resistant women. Well, why don’t you use some of that legendary charm on the bookies?”
That drew laughs all around, including from Lily. Orrie blushed and grinned, but it was easy for all of us to see that his self-professed success with the ladies was being recognized, and he liked the attention.
“Okay, now let us get serious,” Saul said. “Because for some period of time Everett Carr had lived at that big YMCA on Thirty-Fourth Street, it makes sense to start looking for bookies in that area, which I will undertake myself. And I will also see if that Spencer bookie who got nailed still lives up on Eighty-Third Street.
“Orrie, you take the rest of Manhattan, which I know is one big chunk of real estate, but with your connections, I’m sure you can ferret out a lot of bookmaking establishments. Somebody at one or more of them may know Carr.”
“I’ll start first thing tomorrow,” Orrie said. “What about talking to people at the tracks, like touts and other old-timers who hang on the rails and seem to know everything about the horses and jockeys and stuff like drugging?”
“Unfortunately, none of the local tracks — Belmont, Aqueduct, or Jamaica — is open for the season yet, and they won’t be until a few weeks from now when it gets warmer,” Saul said, “so all we’ve got at present is the bookies. Fred, you have always known Brooklyn well, why don’t you tackle that noble borough? And that should be enough for now. If nothing turns up on our Mr. Carr in our travels, then we’ll venture out to Queens and the Bronx, and maybe even beyond.”
“So there is the plan,” I said. “All of you check in with me at least once every day, and Lily and I will be chasing down leads of our own.”
Chapter 8
Chasing became the operative word for Lily and me, starting the next day. After breakfast, I went to her apartment and we sat in the morning room with coffee and tried to figure out who she might have overlooked among Maureen’s friends and acquaintances.
“I know that you have talked to her closest friends, the ones both of you are in that group with,” I told her. “And you also have met with the men she has been with most recently. Who does that leave?” I spread my hands, palms up.
Lily thought for several seconds before speaking. “Well, I probably should get in touch with the people who head the organizations Maureen has been most closely involved with.”
“They are...?”
“A women’s and children’s aid society, a home for unwed mothers, and an orphanage. I hate to see you and Mr. Wolfe spend so much time with this. I feel like I’ve pushed both of you into my problem.”
“First, you never pushed me into this; I have jumped in with both feet, ready to help. And nobody ever pushes Nero Wolfe into anything he doesn’t want to do, either literally or figuratively. Now about the people who run these groups — I assume they are all women.”
“They are, and I know each of them fairly well,” Lily said. “I’m afraid I will have to tell them about Maureen’s disappearance, and I really need to talk to them in person.”
“No question whatever. Does that bother you?”
“Oh, a little, but I don’t think we can keep the situation under wraps any longer. Besides, the men whom I talked to about Maureen already know something isn’t right, and it’s just a matter of time before they start calling me to ask what I’ve heard from or about her.”
“Good point. Would you feel comfortable having me along when you talk to these fine women?”
“Oh, Archie, I really am leaning on you, and I’m sorry, but playing detective is certainly not my métier.”
“No need to be sorry, and despite what you say, your instincts are good. I think you’d make a good shamus.”
“I assume ‘shamus’ is some sort of a synonym for private eye.”
“Some sort. I’m ready to accompany you to these meetings, assuming you are able to set them up.”
“That should be no problem. I’ll start calling now.”
I went to the next room, which I would describe as a den, to give Lily privacy for her calls. Fifteen minutes later, I was reading the current copy of Time when she walked in and announced that she had set up appointments today for all three of these paragons of good works without telling them the reason for the meetings.
“Weren’t they curious?”
“They were, but I merely told them it was a subject that I preferred not to discuss on the telephone.”
“Now, of course, they are more curious than ever,” I said, laughing. “Who are you talking to first?”
“Emily Ferris; she’s the one who oversees the home for abandoned and orphaned children. She said she could see us there at any time today. I suggested eleven o’clock.”
“Which means we need to get going. Did you tell her that I would be with you?”
“I did, and she was fine with that. She remembers meeting you once.”
“Then she has the better of me. Where’s the orphanage?”