Death on Deadline - Robert Goldsborough Page 0,16
and its residents, more than 900,000 of whom pay thirty cents a day to read it.
Now a few facts about Ian MacLaren:
1. He controls newspapers in England, Scotland, Ireland, Australia, New Zealand, Canada, South Africa, and the United States.
2. His three American papers have not won a single Pulitzer prize in the years he has owned them—more than a decade in each case. Yet his Los Angeles paper won Pulitzers in three of the last five years before he purchased it in 1974.
3. His American papers speak with a single editorial voice—Mr. MacLaren’s. For instance, in each of the last three presidential campaigns, all three of his newspapers supported the Republican candidate. And in every campaign for the Senate or House of Representatives in that period, his papers have endorsed the Republican.
Again, each of you will attach your own degree of significance to the above information, which can be documented. But I suggest that you buy a copy of any of his publications at an out-of-town newspaper stand. His United States papers are the Los Angeles Globe-American, Detroit Star, and Denver Times-Arrow. His Canadian paper, the Toronto Banner, also may be available. You will find them interesting reading, and I invite comparison between each of these newspapers and the Gazette.
My bias is of course apparent, and it is the reason I purchased this advertisement. Although my work as a private investigator has enabled me to live in relative comfort, I am by no means a rich man, and the cost of this page has made a substantial impact on my balance sheet.
However, I feel strongly that the Gazette should remain free of Mr. MacLaren’s control, and I offer my services as a catalyst to bring together individuals or groups interested in the future of the Gazette.
I stress that I have no financial holding in the Gazette. I have never met Mr. MacLaren or any of the current owners of the paper. I have not the capital, nor the inclination, to become one of its principals. I represent no individual or syndicate— indeed, I am not aware if any potential buyers exist, other than Mr. MacLaren. My concern is solely as a newspaper reader and a resident of the city of New York.
In both of these roles, I will be the poorer if the Gazette becomes the property of Mr. MacLaren. I bear him no ill will, but I will do whatever I can, given my limited resources, to prevent him from gaining control of the newspaper.
If you have a serious interest in pursuing an ownership role in the Gazette, I will be happy to meet with you, although it must be with the understanding that I have no credentials and am in no way an agent for the current owners of the newspaper. My telephone number and address are printed below.
—NERO WOLFE
“The fat’s in the fire now,” I said, walking over to Wolfe’s desk and slapping the page down in front of him. “Do you have any idea how many calls we’re going to get tomorrow?” I asked as he looked up peevishly from his book. “We ought to put in some extra lines and hire a battery of operators. Come to think of it, right after breakfast I may go over to Lily Rowan’s and help her mop the kitchen floor. She was toying with firing her maid, and I can’t stand the thought of her facing a task that menial alone.”
“Archie, shut up!” Wolfe barked as he picked up the paper and scanned it.
“Yes, sir.”
“Most of the calls can be disposed of easily, certainly the ones from the media, and they’ll undoubtedly comprise the majority. As to the others, your notebook. Instructions.”
For the next ten minutes, I took down notes on how he wanted the callers handled. After he finished, I yawned, stretched, and announced that I was turning in. “Tomorrow’s going to be a bear, whatever you think. I need every minute of sleep I can get. And what’s really fun about this deal is all the money it’s bringing in for us. Remember what you said in the Times—you are by no means a rich man.”
I figured that might at least get a small rise, but he ignored me. He was poring over his prose in the Times between sips of beer, and the expression he wore—I call it his smug look—drove me from the room.
And he claims he doesn’t gloat.
Five
I did have the satisfaction, for what it was worth, of being right: all hell did