«A pen,» I said, holding it out over the bureau, «and I’m opening it.»
I held it point up, and unscrewed the body in a gesture that took the longest two seconds of my life, for if nothing happened now I was in such deep trouble that I couldn’t begin to measure the consequences.
It came apart and a white powder spilled out upon the bureau.
I said unsteadily, «One will get you a hundred, Marsogliani, if that’s not heroin.»
It was not quite forty-seven hours since I had discovered the body.
6 ANTHONY MARSOGLIANI 11:57 A.M.
The next two hours were hectic. Strong went altogether wild and it took both of us to keep him down. His screaming, when it was coherent, removed any doubt that we had caught a link in the chain of drug transfer.
Marsogliani got out the other pens but didn’t open them, and he called in other members of Security, who took Strong away and, I understand, put him «under restraint.» Whether that meant handcuffs or being tied up or what, I didn’t know and didn’t care. It was Marsogliani’s baby from here on in and that was all right with me.
He said, «How did you know?»
I told him, and he kept writing it down and staring at me as though I were crazy. He kept saying, «Was that all you had?»
Each time, I said, «It was enough for me.»
«You took one hell of a chance.»
«I had to. I had to build up enough tension to break him down, and I had to do it when you were around. I was told you were honest.»
He didn’t thank me for that. His look made it clear that he was annoyed at me for feeling that I had to ask. He said, «You’ll have to talk to the police. Do you understand that?»
«I’ll be in town and available whenever they want me… You understand, he killed Giles Devore.»
«That’s as may be,» grunted Marsogliani. «If that’s heroin, and I agree with you that it probably is—»
«Come on, you heard him screaming to give it back or he’d be killed. Hell,» I added feelingly, «he had someone try to kill me last night.»
Marsogliani said, «Anything he said probably won’t matter. He hasn’t been warned, he has no lawyer. But if it’s heroin, then he’s had possession and we can go on from there.»
«Okay, you got him. Hotel Security broke this thing and nabbed its own sour apple. Who knows what will be pulled down through Strong. The police will be grateful.»
«Thanks,» he said sourly, «but you’ll still have to testify and I’d appreciate it if you would just give them the facts and speculate as little as possible.»
«As long as you remember what the speculations are.»
«I’m an honest man, you tell me.»
The police came and it was heroin. I gave them enough information to explain why Strong was under suspicion. I also gave them the impression, without saying so, that I had shared my information with Marsogliani and that it was he who had laid the trap.
It was after two o’clock when they had had enough. They warned me to keep myself available, and gave me permission to go.
7 SARAH VOSKOVEK 2:30 P.M.
It was getting on toward half past two when I got down to Sarah’s office.
Her first words were: «I know about it. It was Michael Strong.»
I said, «Yes. Do you mind if I sit down?»
It was just a form of words. I sat down and stretched my feet out in front of me. «You’ve had lunch, I suppose?»
«No,» she said, «I had to do something to get my mind off you and whatever it was you were doing with Tony, so I just pushed through the campaign and made the final decisions. It’s finished.»
«I’m glad, if it got your mind off my crisis.»
«It didn’t. But I had—»
«Faith in me?»
«No, I was too scared for faith. I had hope in you.»
«I came through, so the hope was justified. I haven’t had lunch, either. As long as you finished the project you were engaged in, how about calling it a day, and coming out with me?»
«I was wishing we could do so.»
«Well, wishing will make it so.»
She retired for a moment and I made use of the men’s room down the hall (I could not have used the one in 1511), and then we walked out of the hotel into the light and air.
What rain there had been that morning was over and the sun shone occasionally through the clouds. I put her into a taxi to get away from the scene more effectively than a walk would have made possible, and we went to a Scandinavian restaurant well uptown.
Since it was well past lunchtime, the restaurant was virtually empty and that was well. There was a small smorgasbord still available and we helped ourselves to it lavishly. Except for the filling of our coffee cups on two different occasions, we weren’t disturbed even by a waiter.
Sarah said, «You discovered who it was this morning, didn’t you? When you said something about a pen not being where it was supposed to be?»
I said, «I discovered it last night, I guess, when I was woozy and half asleep and the other half knocked out. When you told me what I had said, it came back.»
«Could you explain it to me?»
«I’d love to. So far, I’ve told it to Marsogliani and the police but just as little as possible, and I would love to explain it exactly. It’s all a matter of pens, you see, from beginning to end. There were the pens I forgot to bring up to Giles’s room, the pens Strong was using to transport the heroin, the pens that went dry. If I were writing it up, I’d call it The Case of the Three Pens, but Asimov will probably do the writing—I’ve got to get the facts to him—and he’s committed to calling it Murder at the ABA.»
She said, «Imagine carrying heroin in pens.»
«Why not? Everyone carries pens; no one pays attention to that. And people are always borrowing pens. Anyone could approach Strong, borrow a pen, use it briefly, and return a different pen. And in a hotel, nothing is noticed. Who knows how many others elsewhere are doing the same thing?»
«Why three pens, by the way? You said The Case of the Three Pens.»
I said, «That’s in reference to the three pens Giles used in the autographing session. He had one pen with him to begin with, an old one. Call it Pen One. He should have had more, and he did—in the package I never delivered. And because I didn’t deliver them, he went to the autographing session with Pen One and nothing else. It was an ordinary blue-black pen and it was monogrammed with his name.»
«Pen One ran out of ink but, according to Teresa Valier, who was sitting next to him, he exchanged it for another pen with the person whose book he happened to be autographing at the time. Giles got a pen with ink, and the person in front of him got a souvenir with the author’s name on it.»
«So now Giles had Pen Two, and he no longer had Pen One. Pen Two also had blue-black ink but it was not monogrammed. Then Pen Two ran out of ink, and Nellie Griswold brought him Pen Three, which was red ink. When Giles accepted Pen Three, he put Pen Two in his pocket—he routinely hung on to his pens even when they were dry—so now he had both Pen Two and Pen Three. When he was finished autographing, he was so nearly out of his mind that he threw Pen Three away petulantly. When he went up to his room with you, therefore, he had only Pen Two in his possession. Is that clear?»
Sarah nodded. «Yes. But what follows from that?»
«Two hours later,» I said, «when I was in Giles’s room, with Giles dead in the bathroom, there was a pen in the room. It was monogrammed and it was out of ink. It had to be Pen One. There was no sign of Pen Two. I didn’t actually look for it at the time, not knowing it should have been there, but the police listing of his possessions included ‘one pen, inscribed with name.’ No other pen.