“In the Heron sedan which Mr. Wolfe owns and I drive. Five-fifteen? Grand Concourse, headed for the East River Drive.”
“Who was with you?”
“Saul Panzer.”
He grunted. “You and Wolfe are the only two men alive Panzer would lie for. Where had you been?”
“Ball game. Yankee Stadium.”
“What happened in the ninth inning?” He flipped a hand. “To hell with it. You’d know all right, you’d see to that. How well do you know Max Maslow?”
I raised the brow again. “Connect it, please.”
“I’m investigating a murder.”
“So I gathered. And apparently I’m a suspect. Connect it.”
“One item in Kenneth Faber’s pockets was a little notebook. One page had the names of four men written in pencil. Three of the names had checkmarks in front of them. The last one, no checkmark, was Archie Goodwin. The first one was Max Maslow. Will that do?”
“I’d rather see the notebook.”
“It’s at the laboratory.” His voice went up a notch. “Look, Goodwin. You’re a licensed private detective.”
I nodded. “But that crack about who Saul Panzer would lie for. Okay, I’ll file it. I don’t know any Max Maslow and have never heard the name before. The other two names with checkmarks?”
“Peter Jay. J-A-Y.”
“Don’t know him and never heard of him.”
“Carl Heydt” He spelled it.
“That’s better. Couturier?”
“He makes clothes for women.”
“Including a friend of mine, Miss Lily Rowan. I have gone with her a few times to his place to help her decide. His suits and dresses come high, but I suppose he’d turn out a little apron for three Cs.”
“How well do you know him?”
“Not well at all. I call him Carl, but you know how that is. We have been fellow weekend guests at Miss Rowan’s place in the country a couple of times. I have seen him only when I have been with Miss Rowan.”
“Do you know why his name would be in Faber’s notebook with a checkmark?”
“I don’t know and I couldn’t guess.”
“Do you want me to connect Susan McLeod before I ask you about her?”
I had supposed that would be coming as soon as I heard the name Carl Heydt, since the cops had had the notebook for four hours and had certainly lost no time making contacts. Saving me for the last, and Cramer himself coming, was of course a compliment, but more for Wolfe than for me.
“No, thanks,” I told him. “I’ll do the connecting. The first time Kenneth Faber came with the corn, six weeks ago today, the first time I ever saw him, he told me Sue McLeod had got her father to give him a job on the farm. He was very chatty. He said he was a freelance cartoonist, and the cartoon business was in a slump, and he wanted some sun and air and his muscles needed exercise, and Sue often spent weekends at the farm and that would be nice. You can’t beat that for a connection. Go ahead and ask me about Susan McLeod.”
Cramer was eying me. “You’re never slow, are you, Goodwin?”
I gave him a grin. “Slow as cold honey. But I try hard to keep up.”
“Don’t overdo. How long have you been intimate with her?”
“Well. There are several definitions for ‘intimate.’ Which one?”
“You know damn well which one.”
My shoulders went up. “If you won’t say, I’ll have to guess.” The shoulders went down. “If you mean the very worst, or the very best, depending on how you look at it, nothing doing. I have known her three years, having met her when she brought the corn one day. Have you seen her?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know how she looks, and much obliged for the compliment. She has points. I think she means well, and she can’t help it if she can’t keep the come-on from showing because she was born with it. She didn’t pick her eyes and voice, they came in the package. Her talk is something special. Not only do you never know what she will say next; she doesn’t know herself. One evening I kissed her, a good healthy kiss, and when we broke she said, ‘I saw a horse kiss a cow once.’ But she’s a lousy dancer, and after a show or prize fight or ball game I want an hour or two with a band and a partner. So I haven’t seen much of her for a year. The last time I saw her was at a party somewhere a couple of weeks ago. I don’t know who her escort was, but it wasn’t me. As for my being intimate with her, meaning what you mean, what do you expect? I haven’t, but even if I had I’m certainly not intimate enough with you to blab it. Anything else?”
“Plenty. You got her a job with that Carl Heydt. You found her a place to live, an apartment that happens to be only six blocks from here.”
I cocked my head at him. “Where did you get that? From Carl Heydt?”
“No. From her.”
“She didn’t mention Miss Rowan?”
“No.”
“Then I give her a mark. You were at her about a murder, and she didn’t want to drag in Miss Rowan. One day, the second summer she was bringing the corn, two years ago, she said she wanted a job in New York and asked if I could get her one. I doubted if she could hold a job any friend of mine might have open or might make room for, so I consulted Miss Rowan, and she took it on. She got two girls she knew to share their apartment with Sue — it’s only five blocks from here, not six — she paid for a course at the Midtown Studio — Sue has paid her back — and she got Carl Heydt to give Sue a tryout at modeling. I understand that Sue is now one of the ten most popular models in New York and her price is a hundred dollars an hour, but that’s hearsay. I haven’t seen her on a magazine cover. I didn’t get her a job or a place to live. I know Miss Rowan better than Sue does; she won’t mind my dragging her in. Anything else?”
“Plenty. When and how did you find out that Kenneth Faber had shoved you out and taken Sue over?”
“Nuts.” I turned to Wolfe. “Your Honor, I object to the question on the ground that it is insulting, impertinent, and disgusticulous. It assumes not only that I am shovable but also that I can be shoved out of a place I have never been.”
“Objection sustained.” A corner of Wolfe’s mouth was up a little. “You will rephrase the question, Mr. Cramer.”
“The hell I will.” Cramer’s eyes kept at me. “You might as well open up, Goodwin. We have a signed statement from her. What passed between you and Faber when he was here a week ago today?”
“The corn. It passed from him to me.”
“So you’re a clown. I already know that. A real wit. What else?”
“Well, let’s see.” I screwed my lips, concentrating. “The bell rang and I went and opened the door and said, quote, ‘Greetings. How’s things on the farm.’ As he handed me the carton he said, ‘Lousy, thank you, hot as hell and I’ve got blisters.’ As I took it I said, ‘What’s a few blisters if you’re the backbone of the country.’ He said, ‘Go soak your head.’ and went, and I shut the door and took the carton to the kitchen.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Okay.” He got up. “You don’t wear a hat. You can have one minute to get a toothbrush.”
“Now listen.” I turned a palm up. “I can throw sliders in a pinch, and do, but this is no pinch. It’s close to bedtime. If I don’t check with something in Sue McLeod’s statement, of course you want to work on me before I can get in touch with her, so go ahead, here I am.”
“The minute’s up. Come on.”
I stayed put “No. I now have a right to be sore, so I am. You’ll have to make it good.”
“You think I won’t?” At least I had him glaring. “You’re under arrest as a material witness. Move!”
I took my time getting up. “You have no warrant, but I don’t want to be fussy.” I turned to Wolfe. “If you want me around tomorrow, you might give Parker a ring.”
“I shall.” He swiveled. “Mr. Cramer. Knowing your considerable talents as I do, I am sometimes dumfounded by your fatuity. You were so bent on baiting Mr. Goodwin that you completely ignored the point I was at pains to make.” He pointed at the piles on his desk. “Who picked that corn? Pfui!”
“That’s your point,” Cramer rasped. “Mine is who killed Kenneth Faber. Move, Goodwin.”