Fougere looked at Rita. “That’s a new one, my pet. Shallow. You should have told me.” To Wolfe: “Certainly I could have had a motive for killing her. I could name four men that could-counting Kirk, five.”
“What would yours have been?”
“That would depend on when. Two months ago it would have been for my-well, for my health.”
“And Monday? I’m not just prattling. Monday?”
“It’s prattle to me. Monday, that would have been different. It would still have been for my health, but in a different way. Very different. Do you want me to spell it out?”
“I think not. So much for you. If your wife killed her, what was her motive?”
“Now that’s a thought.” He grinned. “That appeals to me. We hadn’t touched each other for nearly a year and she wanted me back. I’m shallow, but I’ve got charm. I’m not using it right now, but I’ve got it, don’t think I haven’t.”
I was looking at Rita because I had had enough of looking at him, and from the expression on her face I would have given twenty to one that she was thinking what I was: that he was one in a million. He actually had no idea of how she felt about Kirk. Not that he would necessarily have brought it in, but his tone, even more than his words, made it obvious. I took another look at him. A man that dumb could batter a woman’s skull with a vodka bottle and mosey to the nearest bar and order a vodka and tonic.
Wolfe had the thought too, for he asked, “Have you no other motive to suggest for your wife?”
“No. Isn’t that enough? A jealous wife?”
“There are precedents. I assume Mr. Kirk presents no difficulty. Since you think you know he killed her, you must know why.”
“So do you.”
“Correct. Since like the others it’s an if. He could no longer abide her infidelities, he couldn’t break loose because he was infatuated, and he couldn’t change her, so he took the only way out, since he wanted to live. You agree?”
“Sure. That has precedents too.”
“It has indeed. That leaves only Mr. Vance, and I suppose he does present difficulties, but call on your ingenuity. If he killed her, why?”
Fougere shook his head. “That would take more than ingenuity. You might as well pass Jimmy Vance. He was still hoping.”
“Hoping for what?”
“For her. She had poor Jimmy on a string, and he was still hoping.”
“Mr. Kirk told me that she regarded him as a nice old guy-his phrase-and rather a bore.”
Fougere grinned. I had decided the first time he grinned that I would never grin again. “Martin wouldn’t know,” he said. “She told me all about it. She had a lot of fun with Jimmy. Bore, my eye. When she was bored she would go up and use one of his pianos, that was just an excuse, and dangle him. Of course it wasn’t only fun. He had started it, reaching for her, and he owned the house and she liked it there, so she played him.”
“But he was still hoping.”
“Oh sure, for her that was easy. If you had known Bonny- Hell, she could have played you and kept you hoping. Bonny could play any man alive.”
“Have you told the police this?”
“You mean about Vance? No. Why would I? I don’t know why I’m telling you.”
“I invited it. I worked for it.” Wolfe leaned back and took a deep breath, then another one. “I am obliged to you, sir, and I don’t like to be in debt. I’ll save you a dollar. We’ll call the bet off.”
“We will not,” Fougere squeaked. “You want to welsh?”
“No. I want to show my appreciation. Very well; it can be returned to you.” Wolfe swiveled. “Madam, it’s fortunate that you came with your husband. There will be three of us to refresh his memory on what he has told me if at some future time he is inclined to forget. I suggest that you should write it down and…”
I was listening with only one ear. Now that I knew which target he was aiming at, I should certainly be able to spot what had made him pick it, and I shut my eyes to concentrate. If you had already spotted it, as you probably had, and are thinking I’m thick, you will please consider that all four points went back to before the body was discovered. I got one point in half a minute, but that wasn’t enough, and by the time I opened my eyes Fougere had gone and Rita was on her feet, prattling. Wolfe looked at me. I am expected-by him-both to understand women and to know how to handle them, which is ridiculous. I’ll skip how I handled her and got her out because I was rude again, making twice in less than two hours.
When I returned to the office after shutting the door behind her I had things to say, but Wolfe was leaning back with his eyes closed, and his lips were working, so I went to my desk and sat. When we’re alone I’ll interrupt him no matter what he’s doing, with only one exception, the lip exercise. When he’s pushing his lips out and then pulling them in, out and in, he’s working so hard that if I spoke he wouldn’t hear me. It may take only seconds or it may go on and on. That time it was a good three minutes.
He opened his eyes, sat up, and growled, “We’re going to need Mrs. Fougere.”
I stood up. “I might possibly catch her. Is it urgent?”
“No. After dinner will do. Confound it.”
“I agree.” I sat down. “I’m up with you. There were two things. Right?”
“Four.”
“Then I’m shy a couple. I have his phoning and his letting me have the tie. What else?”
“Only seven ties. Why?”
“Oh.” I looked at it. “Okay. And?”
“Well… take you. What have you that is a part of you? Say the relics you keep in a locked drawer. Would you give one of them to someone casually?”
“No.” I gave that a longer look. “Uhuh,” I conceded. “Check. But all four points wouldn’t convince a jury that he’s a murderer, and I doubt if they would convince Cramer or the DA that he ought to be jugged.”
“Certainly not. We have a job before we’re ready for Mr. Cramer, and not an easy one. Phenomena needed for proof may not exist, and even if they do they may be undiscoverable. Our only recourse-”
The doorbell rang. I got up and went to the hall, took a look, stepped back into the office, and said, “Nuts. Cramer.”
“No,” he snapped.
“Do you want to count ten?”
“No.”
I admit it’s a pleasure to slip the bolt in, open the door the two inches the chain permits, and through the crack tell a police inspector that Mr. Wolfe is engaged and can’t be disturbed. The simple pleasures of a private detective. But that time I didn’t have it. I was still a step short of the door when a bellow came from the office, my name, and I turned and went back.
“Bring him,” Wolfe commanded.
The doorbell rang. “Maybe this time you should count ten,” I suggested.
“No. Bring him.”
I went. From my long acquaintance with Cramer’s face I can tell with one glance through the glass if he’s on the warpath, so I knew he wasn’t before I opened the door. He even greeted me as if it didn’t hurt. Of course he didn’t let me take his hat, that would have been going too far, but he removed it on his way down the hall. When he’s boiling he leaves it on. From the way he greeted Wolfe it seemed likely that he would have offered a hand to shake if he hadn’t known that Wolfe never did.