“Very neat,” Wolfe agreed.
“Too damn neat. Of course there may be others who wanted Bianca Voss out of the way, but as it stands now, those four are out in front. And they’re all—”
“Why not five? Alec Gallant himself?”
“All right, make it five. They’re all in the clear, including him, if she was killed at eleven-thirty. So suppose she wasn’t. Suppose she was killed earlier — half an hour or so earlier. Suppose when Flora Gallant phoned her from here and put you on to talk with her, it wasn’t her at all, it was someone else imitating her voice, and she pulled that stunt, the groan and the other noises, to make you think you had heard the murder at that time.”
Wolfe’s brows were up. “With the corpse there on the floor?”
“Certainly.”
“Then you’re not much better off. Who did the impersonation? Their alibis still hold for eleven-thirty.”
“I realize that. But there were nineteen women around there altogether, and a woman who wouldn’t commit a murder might be willing to help cover up after someone else had committed it. You know that.”
Wolfe wasn’t impressed. “It’s very tricky, Mr. Cramer. If you are supposing Flora Gallant killed her, it was elaborately planned. It wasn’t until late last evening that Miss Gallant persuaded Mr. Goodwin to make an appointment for her here for eleven this morning. Did she kill Miss Voss, station someone there beside the corpse to answer the phone, rush down here and maneuver me into ringing Miss Voss’ number? It seems a little farfetched.”
“I didn’t say it was Flora Gallant.” Cramer hung on. “It could have been any of them. He or she didn’t have to know she was going to come to see you and get you to ring that number. His plan might have been to ring it himself, before witnesses, to establish the time of the murder, and when your call came, whoever it was there by the phone got rattled and went ahead with the act. There are a dozen different ways it could have happened. Hell, I know it’s tricky. I’m not asking you to work your brain on it. You must know why I brought it up.”
Wolfe nodded. “Yes, I think I do. You want me to consider what I heard — and Mr. Goodwin. You want to know if we are satisfied that those sounds were authentic. You want to know if we will concede that they might have been bogus.”
“That’s it. Exactly.”
Wolfe rubbed his nose with a knuckle, closing his eyes. In a moment he opened them. “I’m afraid I can’t help you, Mr. Cramer. If they were bogus, they were well executed. At the time, hearing them, I had no suspicion that it was flummery. Naturally, as soon as I learned that they served to fix the precise moment of a murder, I knew they would be open to question, but I can’t challenge them intrinsically... Archie?”
I shook my head. “I pass.” To Cramer: “You’ve read the statement, so you know that right after I heard it my guess was that something hit her and she dragged the phone along as she went down and it struck the floor. I’m not going to go back on my guess now. As for our not hearing the blow, read the statement. It says that it started out as if it was going to be a scream, but then it was a groan. She might have seen the blow coming and was going to scream, but it landed and turned the scream into a groan, and in that case we wouldn’t hear the blow. A chunk of marble hitting a skull wouldn’t make much noise. As for supposing she was killed half an hour or so earlier, I phoned within three minutes, or John H. Watson did, and in another six or seven minutes Carl Drew was talking to me, so he must have seen the body, or someone did, not more than five minutes after we heard the groan. Was she twitching?”
“According to Drew, no. You don’t twitch long with a scarf as tight as that around your throat.”
“What about the medical examiner?”
“He got there at two minutes after twelve. With blood he might have timed it pretty close, but there wasn’t any. That’s out.”
“What about the setup? Someone left that room quick after we heard the sounds. If it was the murderer, he or she had to cradle the phone and tie the scarf, but that wouldn’t take long. If it was a fill-in, as you want to suppose, all she had to do was cradle the phone. Whichever it was, wasn’t there anyone else around?”
“If there was they’re keeping it to themselves. So far. As you know, Bianca Voss wasn’t popular around there. Anyway, that place is a mess, with three different elevators — one in the store, one at the back for service and deliveries, and one in an outside hall with a separate entrance so they can go up to the offices without going through the store.”
“That makes it nice. Then it’s wide open.”
“As wide as a barn door.” Cramer stood up. To Wolfe: “So that’s the best you can do. You thought the sounds were open to question.”
“Not intrinsically. Circumstantially, of course.”
“You know a lot of long words, don’t you? After we study this statement we may have some questions.” He was going. After two steps he turned. “I don’t like gags about homicide, murder is no joke, but I can mention that if it was Bianca Voss you had on the phone, she had you wrong. Scum. Stinking sewer. That’s too strong. That’s a little too strong.” He headed out.
When I returned to the office from going to hold his coat for him, which he didn’t deserve after his parting crack, Wolfe had turned his chair to reading position and was opening a book.
Crossing to my desk to get the carbons of the statement for filing, I remarked, “That would help, if he can prove that what we heard was a phony. You might not have to sit on a hard bench in a courthouse, after all.”
“He won’t. No such luck.” He looked at me. “Archie.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Am I a dolt?”
“No. That would be a little too strong.”
“Then I will not be taken for one.”
“That sounds as if you’re contemplating something. Can I be of any help?”
“At the moment, no.”
“Any instructions for this evening?”
“No.”
He went to his book and I went to the cabinet with the carbons.
The next morning, Wednesday, eating breakfast in the kitchen with the paper propped up in front of me — which is routine, of course — I read the account of the Bianca Voss murder. There were various details that were news to me, but nothing startling or even helpful. It included the phone call from John H. Watson, but didn’t add that he had been identified as Archie Goodwin, and there was no mention of Nero Wolfe. I admit that the cops and the D.A. have a right to save something for themselves, but it never hurts to have your name in the paper, and I had a notion to phone Lon Cohen at the Gazette and give him an exclusive. However, I would have to mention it to Wolfe first, so it would have to wait until eleven o’clock. He eats breakfast in his room from a tray delivered by Fritz, and doesn’t come down to the office until after his morning session with the orchids.
As a matter of fact, another item in the paper meant more to me personally. Sarah Yare had committed suicide. Her body had been found Tuesday evening in her little walk-up apartment on East Thirteenth Street. I have never written a fan letter to an actress, but I had been tempted to a couple of years back when I had seen Sarah Yare in Thumb a Ride. The first time I saw it I had a companion, but the next three times I was alone. The reason for repeating was that I had the impression I was infatuated and I wanted to wear it down, but when the impression still stuck after three tries, I gave up. Actresses should be seen and heard from no closer than the fifth row, and not touched. At that, I might have given the impression another test in a year or two if there had been an opportunity, but there wasn’t. She quit Thumb a Ride abruptly some months later, and the talk was that she was an alco and done for.