“And then?”
“More walking, and finally I stopped in a coffee shop on Lexington, where I mainly sat and stared at my dinner. By then, it was past eight, and I had to take a cab to get to the apartment on time.”
Wolfe looked at Milner, but said nothing. He still wanted beer, but he wasn’t going to ask me to get it for him, and I wasn’t about to offer.
The silence and the gaze made Milner uneasy, so he went on: “I got to the apartment and asked for Mr. Stevens in the lobby. Now, this is what I don’t understand: The hallman called upstairs and said I was there, and Mr. Stevens told him to send me up. But two or three minutes later, when I got there...”
“Go on,” Wolfe said.
“I think you pretty much know the rest. When I got off the elevator, the apartment door was standing open. I said ‘Anyone home?’ twice, or maybe three times, and then I knocked loudly. No answer, so I walked in and called Mr. Stevens’s name again. And Maria’s too, on the chance that she might be home. There was a light on in the living room, but nobody there. Then I walked into the library and saw him lying in the corner.”
“And you fled the apartment at that point?”
“No, I went over to him, and when I got there, I saw the blood, and the knife on the floor — I guess it was really a letter opener. I knelt next to him, feeling for a pulse. There wasn’t any, though, and I was sure he was dead.”
“Mr. Milner, I’m confident you would describe yourself as a responsible citizen, reared with a respect for the law,” Wolfe said. “Why didn’t you call the police?”
“As I told Inspector Cramer, I panicked. I guess I was thinking about how bad it would have looked for me, although I can’t reconstruct what was going on in my mind at the time — and I’ve tried. All I remember is leaving the apartment, taking the elevator down, and walking out the front door.”
“Other than the hallman, did you encounter anyone in the building?”
“Nobody. I was alone in the elevator going up and coming down, and there was no one else in the lobby or the upstairs entrance hall.”
“Where did you go after you left the building?”
“I just walked again, this time up and down Fifth and Madison and Park and Lexington, all over Manhattan until past midnight. I tried to sort things out. I knew I was in big trouble — I’d given the hallman my name and all, but I couldn’t face up to going to the police, and I certainly couldn’t call Maria. I finally took the subway to Queens, and on the way I decided to call the police when I got home. But as you know, they were already there, waiting outside for me.” Milner took a deep breath and slumped in the chair, looking like he’d just completed the Boston Marathon.
Wolfe didn’t look so hot himself. For the last several minutes, he’d been in a pout, and rather than risk having him quit in the middle of the evening, I decided to play the man of action. “Look,” I said, “you two have been at it for well over an hour, and I think drinks are in order. Mr. Milner?”
“Yes, yes, I will have something now, thanks. Do you have sherry?” I told him we did, both dry and sweet, and he said he’d take dry. I went to the liquor cabinet and poured him a glass, which I placed on the small table at his elbow. Then, without a word, I left the office and went down the hall to the kitchen, where I got two cold bottles of beer from the refrigerator and a tall glass from the shelf. I put all three on a tray and went back, trying to imitate Fritz’s walk as I entered the room. I placed the tray in front of Wolfe with what I thought was a suitable flourish. He glowered at me, and his “Thank you” had icicles all over it. I shrugged and went back to the liquor cabinet, where I poured myself two fingers of bourbon before getting settled again.
After he’d drained about a half-glass and dabbed his lips with his handkerchief, Wolfe considered Milner again. “You have proclaimed your innocence; would you care to speculate on Mr. Stevens’s killer?”
Milner set his glass down and stared at it. “I really can’t,” he said. “I’ve thought about it a lot the last couple of days, as you might guess. But I simply don’t know who would have wanted to kill him.”
“What about other members of the orchestra? Were there any who might bear him a special grudge?”
“A special grudge? I don’t know,” Milner said between sips of sherry. “Musicians often resent their conductor, particularly if he pushes them hard, as Mr. Stevens did. I never heard more than what I think of as the usual amount of grumbling, though. Except...”
“Yes?” Wolfe prompted.
“Well, a while back, there was a lot of talk around the lounge backstage that Mr. Hirsch, the associate conductor, had wanted the job as music director when Mr. Stevens was named. But that all happened a few months before I joined the orchestra. If there’s any bad feeling between them, I haven’t been aware of it.”
For another hour-plus, Wolfe pumped Milner on the orchestra and its people, but he didn’t get enough out of him to fill a small bucket. It was evident that Milner was right about himself in at least one respect: He was for down the totem pole at the Symphony, and had little knowledge of its movers and shakers.
“Mr. Milner, it’s getting late,” Wolfe said, “and we’ve covered those areas that interest me. Have all of your own questions been answered?”
He managed a weak smile. “Yes, I think so, although I still wonder who wrote those notes to Mr. Stevens. The police of course insist it was me.”
“That’s what they want to believe,” Wolfe said. “And since the notes were neither typed nor handwritten, but printed, proof of authorship is difficult. Now, if you’ll excuse Mr. Goodwin and me, we need to talk for a few minutes. Archie, show Mr. Milner to the front room. The others must be down by now.”
I refilled Milner’s sherry glass and steered him across the hall, where Lily and Maria were drinking coffee. Maria popped up when she saw her man, and started right in asking him questions before I cut in. “Pardon me, but Mr. Wolfe and I need to confer. Has Fritz been good to you?”
Lily spoke. “We just came down from the plant rooms, and I think Maria was as impressed as I always am. And yes, Fritz has been a dear.” Maria gave me an obligatory smile and then shifted her attention back to Milner. No accounting for taste, I thought, closing the door behind me.
“Well?” Wolfe demanded as I lit in my chair.
“Well, what?” I shot back. “Well, am I tired? Hell, yes. Well, has Milner been a help to us? Not much. Well, do I think I can steal Maria away from him? Maybe, given a little time. Well, are we—”
“Confound it, stop blathering. You know very well what I’m asking.
I shrugged and turned my palms up. “I’ll hold my odds at nine-to-two against, unless he’s a far better actor than he seems. I think the guy would find it tough to stomp on an ant, let alone carve up a maestro. But the law’s feeling a lot of pressure on this one.”
Wolfe nodded. “That pressure is undoubtedly intense, and Mr. Milner provides a convenient solution, which is precisely what the murderer planned on.”
“Yeah, it looks that way. But who? And how did the killer get into the apartment?”
Wolfe ignored the questions. “Call Miss Radovich in. She’s entitled to know our position, and that we’re prepared to go on.”
I got Maria from across the hall, and Wolfe gave her the good news — at least it was good compared to most of what she’d been getting lately. She was so happy about someone else believing in Milner’s innocence that I thought she was going to start the waterworks right there, which would have sent Wolfe running to his room. But she got herself under control and tried again to bring up the subject of fees. Wolfe deflected it and said the best thing she could give us was total cooperation all along the way. His first request was that she persuade Milner to stay with us, at least for the night. “Bond has been posted,” he said, “and neither the police nor the district attorney’s office should have any need for him for at least a few days. If he remains here, he’ll be away from the press and their probings, and he’ll also be readily available should we have any further questions about the workings of the orchestra.”