“Are all the brothers married?”
“Nino. The other two are single. Do you want me to get to the murder or don’t you?”
“I’m nothing but ears.”
“When Ennis showed up for work this morning, he made his rounds of the three apartments, he says, the way he always does, to get squared away for the day. He found Julio, who’s the youngest brother, dead. Bloody dead-a real mess.”
“Where did he find him?”
“In Julio’s apartment, the library there. Importunato had his head beaten in. I mean he was zonked. Just one sock, but it was a beaut-clobbered his brains into mush. On that side, anyway. It’s a nasty homicide, Ellery, and considering the murderee is one of the ruling dynasty of the Importuna empire, it’s a sizzler. The shock waves… “ Inspector Queen gulped generously.
“What shock waves?”
“Didn’t you listen to the six o’clock news?”
“I haven’t turned the radio on all week. What happened?”
“Julio Importunato’s murder rocked the stock market. Not only Wall Street-the money markets of Europe, too. That was the first aftereffect. The second came down from the commissioner. He’s putting the squeeze on, son-so is the mayor-and I’m one of those caught between the nutcrackers.”
“Damn.” Ellery shafted a malevolent glance at his stubborn typewriter. “And? Well?”
“On second thought, what’s the point? It’s no use, Ellery. You go on back to your work.” The Inspector made a rather theatrical move to rise. “I’ll manage. Somehow.”
“You know, you can be an exasperating old man?” Ellery exclaimed. “What do you mean, it’s no use? There’s always a ‘use’! But I can’t be of use if you keep me in ignorance. What are the facts? Are there any clues?”
“Oh. Well, yes. At least two.” He stopped.
“And?” Ellery snapped after a while. “Specify!”
“In fact,” the Inspector replied joylessly, “they both point straight at the killer.”
“They do? At whom?”
“Marco.”
“His brother?”
“Right.”
“Then what’s the problem? I don’t understand, dad. You’re acting as if you’re stumped, and in the same breath you say you have a couple of clues that link the victim’s brother directly to the crime!”
“That’s correct.”
“But… For heaven’s sake, what kind of clues are they?”
“The open-and-shut kind. The real old-fashioned variety, you’d have to call ‘em. The kind,” Inspector Queen said, shaking his mustache, “you mystery writers wouldn’t be caught dead putting in one of your stories in this day and age.”
“All right, you’ve whipped my interest to a bloody froth,” Ellery said in a grim voice. “Now let’s get down to cases. What-precisely-are these open-and-shut, old-fashioned, downright corny clues?”
“From the condition in which we found Julio’s library, there’d been a fight, a violent struggle. Real donnybrook. Well, we found on the scene a button-”
“What kind of button?”
“Solid gold. Monogram MI on it.”
“Identified as Marco Importunato’s?”
“Identified as Marco Importunato’s. Threads still hanging from it. That’s clue the first.”
“Button,” Ellery repeated. “Buttons-found-on-scene-of-crime went out with spats and Hoover collars. And the other clue?”
“Went out with zoot suits.”
“But what is it?”
Inspector Queen said, “A footprint.”
“Footprint! You mean of a naked foot?”
“Of a shoe. A man’s shoe.”
“Where was it found?”
“Dead man’s library. Scene of the homicide.”
“But… And you tied the print into Marco?”
“We sure did.”
“A button and a footprint,” Ellery said, marveling. “In the year 1967! Well, I suppose anything’s possible. A time warp, or something. But if it’s that pat, dad, what’s bothering you?”
“It isn’t that pat.”
“But I thought you said-”
“I told you. It’s very complicated.”
“Complicated how? By what?”
The old man set his empty glass on the floor, where presumably it could be more conveniently kicked. Ellery watched him with sharpening suspicion.
“I’m sincerely sorry I told you anything about it,” his father said sincerely, and rose. “Let’s forget it, son. I mean, you forget it.”
“Thanks a heap! How do I do that? It’s apparently one of those lovely deceptive ones that only appears to be a simple case. Therefore… “
The “Yes?” came out of the Inspector’s birdy face like an impatient twitter.
“I’ve suddenly come down with a recurrence of my old enteric fever. You know, dad, the aftermath of the jezail bullet that grazed my subclavian artery and shattered my shoulder at the battle of Maiwand?”
“Shattered your shoulder?” his father cried. “What bullet grazed your artery? At which battle?”
“I’ll consequently have to notify my publisher that there will be a slight delay in the delivery of my next book. After all, what difference can it make to anyone there? It’s probably wandering around somewhere on their schedule, hopelessly lost. Nobody in the publishing profession pays any attention whatever to a mystery writer except when banking the profits from his mean endeavors. We’re the ditchdiggers of literature.”
“Ellery, I don’t want to be the cause of-”
“You’ve already said that. Of course you do, or you’d have swallowed a few mouthfuls of Fabby’s well-meant swill and crept into bed without my being aware you’d even come home. And why not? There are heavyweight VIPs involved, the crunch is on downtown, you’re not getting any younger, and did I ever leave you in the lurch? Now let’s get to it.”
“You really want to, son?”
“I thought I’d just said so.”
A beautiful change came over Inspector Queen. The relief map of his face turned into a map of relief.
“In that case,” he cried, “you get your jacket!”
Ellery rose to oblige. “Where to?”
“Lab.”
A sergeant, Joe Voytershack, one of the Technical Services Bureau’s most reliable men, was/ on overtime duty tonight, by which Ellery gauged the importance of the case in the eyes of the budget-conscious brass. Sergeant Voytershack was studying a button under his loupe. The button was of gold, and a clump of navy blue threads protruded from it.
“What’s the problem, Joe?” Inspector Queen asked. “I thought you’d finished with the button.”
“I had.”
“Then why are you examining it again?”
“Because,” Sergeant Voytershack said sourly, “I’m goddam unhappy about it. Because I don’t like this button. Because I don’t like it from bupkes. And I don’t see you leaping for joy, either, Inspector.”
“Ellery wants a look.”
“Hello, Joe,” Ellery said.
“Be my guest.” The sergeant handed him the loupe and the button.
Ellery peered.
“I thought, dad, you said this button was torn off during a struggle.”
“Did I say that?”
“Not exactly. But I naturally assumed-”
“I think you’re going to find out, my son,” Inspector Queen said, “that in this case assumptions are kind of risky. What I said was that there were indications of a violent struggle, which there are, and that we found a gold button on the scene, which we did. I didn’t say one necessarily had to do with the other. Just for ducks, Ellery: What do you see?”
“I see a clump of threads of identical length, with very sharp, clean ends. If the button had been yanked off during a struggle-that is, by hand-the lengths of the threads would vary and the ends, instead of being sharp and clean, would be ragged. This button was snipped off whatever it was attached to by a sharp-edged instrument, a scissors or knife, more likely a scissors.”