Death on Deadline - Robert Goldsborough Page 0,33

say you got these people to come here. All you really got was Mr. Bishop. You’re relying on him to pull in the others—there’s no guarantee he can do that. And to get him, you traded on the goodwill we’ve built up with the newspaper.”

“I’d like to win my sawbuck back,” I told him. “I’ve got ten that says they’ll all be here before the weekend’s over. And as for goodwill—hell, you’re still so far ahead of the Gazette on points, regardless of what you tell Lon when he comes for dinner, that they could do you favors for decades without balancing the books.”

Wolfe sniffed. “No bet,” he said.

I grinned. “Okay, let’s assume they’ll all be here by tomorrow. Maybe one of them will turn out to be a client—as in money. We’ll need a slug of it just to break even on this project.”

“I’m not interested in securing a client,” Wolfe said stiffly. “Get Inspector Cramer.”

That one threw me, but who am I to argue with genius? I dialed the Homicide number, which I knew from memory, while Wolfe picked up his receiver. After going through an underling, I heard the familiar gruff voice; I stayed on the line.

“Cramer here.”

“Good afternoon, Inspector, this is Nero Wolfe. If your schedule allows, I’d like to discuss the murder of Harriet Haverhill with you at my office.”

A silence of maybe five seconds followed, although it seemed longer. “Suicide, you mean.”

“No, sir, I mean murder.”

Cramer spat a word, then took a deep breath. “Wolfe, this isn’t funny.”

“I’m not attempting to be comedic, I assure you. I take murder every bit as seriously as you do. And I think it would be mutually beneficial if you could spare time for a conversation.”

“By God, I’ll ... All right, dammit, but this better be good,” he wheezed, slamming down his phone.

I looked at Wolfe. “I agree that it better be good. I can hardly wait.”

“Archie, shouldn’t you start lining those people up? I didn’t take your wager, but it still remains to be seen whether you can deliver them, despite your braggadocio.”

It’s just like him to change the subject. I spun around and dialed Lon’s number at the Gazette, figuring he’d still be at work, Saturday or not. “I know, Archie, you’re calling to nag me about the visits to your office,” he said. “I think Carl’s set them up, but he wants to talk to your boss first—I’ll transfer you.”

I cupped the receiver and signaled Wolfe to get on the line, whispering Bishop’s name. “Mr. Bishop? This is Nero Wolfe.

“Yes, Mr. Wolfe. I told Lon I wanted to speak to you before coming over. I’ve talked to David, Donna, and Scott about seeing you. But everything has its price.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes, and here’s ours. We want an exclusive for the Gazette that you’re claiming Harriet was murdered and are conducting an investigation into her death. I’ve discussed it with all three of the Haverhills, and they agree with this stipulation.”

“All right,” Wolfe said. I shot a look at him, but his big mug revealed nothing.

“I’ve also talked to our editor-in-chief, Lloyd Williams, and he concurs with me that Lon Cohen is the man to write the story, because you know each other so well.”

“Tell Mr. Cohen he’s welcome to call me—immediately, if he wishes.”

“Excellent,” Bishop said. “I can be at your office anytime today. As for the other three, here’s the situation: David and Donna insist on seeing you together— preferably tomorrow afternoon. Scott doesn’t mind coming alone, and he says sometime tomorrow is fine; he’s not particular.”

Wolfe looked at the wall clock. “Can you be here at six? I invite you to stay for dinner, as well. We’re having pork tenderloin.”

“Six is fine,” Bishop said. “I’m sorry I’ll have to decline on dinner, though. Lon’s told me what marvelous meals you serve, but I have a previous engagement.” Wolfe left it to me to handle the Sunday appointments with Bishop, and we worked it out that the brother-sister act would come at two and the nephew at four. Any other day Wolfe would be up with the orchids at the later hour, but Sundays he strays from his schedule.

Moments after I hung up with Bishop, Lon called for his interview, and I listened in at my desk. It was fairly brief, a few basic questions asked by a skillful reporter and answered tersely by Wolfe. “You know what this means, of course?” I said sourly after he’d finished. “We get flooded with media calls all over