going to be plenty embarrassing for you— I’ll personally see to that.” He waggled his finger warningly at Wolfe.
“Put your finger away, Mr. Cramer. I have no intent of flummoxing you or anybody else. You will find the proceedings straightforward and easy to follow. Now, to continue, I appreciate that you all have pressing schedules, and I’m grateful that you took the time to be here,” he said as his eyes traveled over the faces in front of him.
“Well, we’re not grateful for the invitation,” Scott snapped, and, encouraged, some of the others joined in. We’d have a full-scale riot on our hands in no time. I sat back to enjoy it, keeping my eyes on all of them, but paying particular attention to our client.
“That’s understandable. Nonetheless, you all came, and I vow not to prolong the evening unnecessarily, although one among you may not wish for a swift denouement.”
“So you’re back to thinking it’s a murder.” Dean’s eyes bulged above the little mustache.
“I never stopped calling it a murder,” Wolfe replied blandly. “All of you know I have contended from the start that Harriet Haverhill did not die by her own hand. I found no adherents to my position, with the possible exception of Mr. Goodwin, and you may wish to discount his vote, as he is in my employ.” I made a face at him, but his eyes stayed on our guests.
“Why was I convinced Mrs. Haverhill was not a suicide?” he asked, turning a palm over. “As I told some of you earlier, including Inspector Cramer, my conviction was based on one conversation I had with her in this room a little more than a week ago. But that meeting, and the impression it left, were enough to convince me that this woman would not under any circumstances destroy herself. And I maintained this even when I learned a fact which I am not free to divulge, but which might well be seen as sufficient motivation for self-destruction.” He shot a look at Cramer, who scowled back at him.
“My dilemma was that no one had sufficient motive to kill her.” Again his eyes traveled over the faces, stopping at each one. There was some satisfactory fidgeting when he did so.
“Mr. MacLaren, to all appearances, getting Mrs. Haverhill out of the way would do you no good. You either had the shares necessary for control of the Gazette or you didn’t. Her death could have no effect on those shares, and her own substantial holding was already committed to a trust, as everyone knew.
“Mr. Haverhill,” he said, turning to David, “you were determined to sell your shares to Mr. MacLaren for a tidy sum, and your stepmother had no legal means of preventing this foolish action. The same held true for your cousin.” He gestured toward Scott. “As for your sister, she too had made the decision to sell to Mr. MacLaren. And your wife,” he said, turning toward Carolyn, “may have wielded considerable influence on the paper through you, but could hardly be seen to gain from the death of its chairman. That brings us to Messrs. Bishop and Dean; they were outspoken in their loyalty to Mrs. Haverhill and her causes. One would be hard put to suspect either of them.
“Manifestly,” he continued, “it would seem that no one stood to profit in any way from the death of Harriet Haverhill. It would appear that she had lost her valiant battle to retain control of the Gazette. Therefore, why would anyone want to murder her?”
“You’re making your own case for her suicide,” Cramer growled.
“So it would appear,” Wolfe admitted. “But I refused to accept the apparent. The key had to lie in the mathematics of the situation.”
“What the hell do mathematics have to do with all of this?” David looked like he was going to have a stroke. He splashed liquor on his tie, and Carolyn’s smile faded.
“I’ll get to that, sir, if you’ll allow me. The mathematics are those involving the percentages of Gazette stock owned by each of the shareholders. I confess the answer should have been immediately obvious, given the signs. You have my mea culpa.
“But to move on: the shares owned by Arlen Publishing and the Demarest family were committed to Mr. MacLaren. Does anyone challenge that?” He raised his brows and looked around. MacLaren, I blush to disclose, simpered triumphantly. Dean looked like he was about to spit fire.
“No? Then we may assume that these holdings, slightly more than twelve