“No, I don’t think so, I really don’t. But Polly seemed to feel Doug was the right person for me, and she was always real friendly to him when he came by to pick me up or when he stopped over for a beer. She always built him up to me when we were alone, and I also think — although I don’t know this for sure — that he would call Polly to, you know, talk about me.”
“Ah, it’s the old story,” I said, waving a hand. “Lovestruck lad seeks advice from the best girlfriend of the object of his affection.”
“Something like that,” Noreen replied, this time favoring me with a sheepish but full-blown smile.
“All right, so it seems likely that Mr. Rojek knew you had been out with Barton Linville. But as to whether he knows anything about that night, and what happened, you’re not sure at all?”
“No. He never has mentioned Sparky’s name, not once. But then, Doug wouldn’t. If he’s the jealous type, he’s never shown it to me. Wait a minute Mr.... Archie,” she said, looking directly at me. “Do you think that Doug would have...?” She let the sentence evaporate.
“Right now I don’t think anything,” I said evenly. “Understand, at this point we are operating on the assumption that your brother had nothing to do with the violent death of one Barton Linville. That being the case, someone else conked Mr. L. in that parking garage. Now, it’s possible that Linville had dozens of people you’ve never met or heard of lining up to give him a one-way trip, but not very likely. The circles he appears to have moved in favor hot air and bluster and posturing — that type wouldn’t be apt to resort to murder. Chances are stronger that the person who dispatched him is someone you know — and care for. I mention that because even if your brother is cleared, you may not like the way this business turns out.”
“I know,” she said softly, shaking her head and looking at the tips of her shoes.
“I honestly don’t know how you were able to bottle this up for a whole month,” I told her. “Didn’t you at least see a doctor?”
“Yeah, I did. And that... was really hard.” Noreen chewed her lower lip and allowed as to how she could use a glass of water, which I got from the chilled carafe on the table that doubles as a service bar. She thanked me and took a couple of healthy swallows. “He’s somebody a friend of mine goes to — no way was I about to call the doctor my mother and I use. Anyway, I made up a story about... getting carried away one night, and he gave me a whole batch of tests for, you know... everything. God, it was awful.”
“Sorry to be so damned nosy, but it’s an occupational necessity. Next rough question: Weren’t you afraid Linville might... be back?”
“Umm, in a way, but for one thing, I, well, sort of hurt him, you know?”
“You mean physically?”
Noreen nodded, finishing the rest of her water.
“Dare I ask how?”
“Oh, not what you’re probably thinking,” she said, coloring slightly. “I scratched him pretty good on the face, for one thing. And I hit him in the eye — I know that hurt because he... yelled. Loud I shouldn’t say this, but... I wish I’d killed him.” She sounded like she meant it.
“Did you kill him, Noreen?” I said, keeping my expression impassive.
She held my eyes for several seconds without blinking, then scraped at a tooth with her thumbnail. “No, but I’ve had a lot of dreams the last few weeks — nightmares, really — where I, well, murdered him different ways,” she said with a quavering voice. “I know that sounds terrible, but I keep getting them — the nightmares, I mean.”
I studied her, trying to factor out the histrionics, then decided there weren’t any. Whatever neighborhood in my brain decides such things told me I was getting it straight, without any malarkey.
Noreen seemed to sense that I was processing what she’d said, and she waited a discreet period before speaking. “You’re really convinced that he was killed because of what happened to me, aren’t you?”
“Given the timing, it looks that way. You’d kept quiet about the episode for more than a month, and it didn’t come out until a few days ago. And then, not much more than twenty-four hours later, Linville is dead. You have any other theories?”
Her lower lip was getting a workout. “None, but it is possible, isn’t it, that this could have been something else? Like a robbery — you know, someone hiding in a parking garage waiting for a person who drives an expensive car to pull in late at night, when nobody is likely to be around?”
“In this city, anything’s possible,” I admitted. “But chances are somebody trying a holdup would have a gun or would make you think they had a gun — as intimidation, not with any intent to use it. But somebody carrying a sap is ready for action.”
“A sap?”
“Blackjack, truncheon, tire iron, wrench, whatever. Last I knew, the police hadn’t found the weapon.”
“But one thing’s sure — it must have been a man who did it, right?” she asked.
“I’m sorry to be so indefinite about everything, but even that isn’t a sure thing. I know of cases where women have wielded some pretty mean shillelaghs. For openers, Mr. Wolfe once helped send a female from Bayside to prison for life because of the way she’d used a baseball bat on her husband. Anybody with any strength at all can unload at least a stunning blow with, say, a wrench, especially if the target doesn’t expect it. And after the first whack, the rest is—”
“Please, don’t go on!” Noreen cried, covering her ears. “It’s... awful.”
“Violent death is awful. It’s only on TV shows that it gets sanitized. End of sermon.”
She nodded woodenly. “All right, I think you’ve laid things out pretty clearly for me. What happens next?”
“Next Mr. Wolfe and I confer and I get instructions. But you already know something about our plans from what Mr. Wolfe said: I’ll want to see your brother, your roommate, your friend Rojek. I’ll also probably be asking to talk to both your mother and father again. And that’s just for starters.”
“How long will all this take?”
“That’s hard to say, but I’ll tell you one thing: It’s tough to get Nero Wolfe into high gear. I can push him better than anyone else on the planet, but even then, it’s like trying to get a charcoal fire going without starter fluid. All I can promise is that I’ll do my best. But before you go, one more question.”
“Yes?”
“What were you doing Wednesday night after nine o’clock?”
“I was at my mother’s. Why? Oh!” she said, jerking upright. “I know why. Because you want to know where I was when... he was killed.”
“That’s right, client or not. Mr. Wolfe will have expected me to ask.”
Her cheeks blazed the color of my favorite power tie and she reached into her purse for a cigarette, which she lit with a match before I could produce a lighter. Whatever anger she felt about the question she was working hard to suppress.
“Well, the truth is, I was out part of the evening. I was so depressed about Tuesday night, you know, with Mother and everything, that I went out walking for, oh, several hours. Just to get out of the house and away from everybody.”
“I suppose you were alone?”
She nodded. “I went east, over around Beekman Place and Sutton Place, and also walked up and down First and Second avenues.”
“About what time was this?”
“I was gone from maybe nine-forty-five to twelve-thirty or so. To be honest, I didn’t look at my watch once while I was walking.”
“And you didn’t see anyone you know the whole time?”
She shook her head. “Nobody I knew. The streets were crowded, especially Second Avenue, but, no. Does all this make me a suspect?” she snapped.