Death of a Doxy (Crime Line)

"Right," I agreed. "As for her, if she's a liar she's pretty good. Orrie certainly thinks she knows nothing about Isabel Kerr, and if she does it would take a lot of digging to prove it. If she doesn't she's crossed off completely and is absolutely useless. As for Cramer, he probably has got a diary, but so what, we knew he had something hot, and I doubt if it says at the end, 'He is reaching for the ashtray and is going to hit me with it,' which is the point. Cramer may have needed a diary to tell him that it would be handy for Orrie if she died, but we don't, we already knew it. What we need is somebody else it is handy for. It is for Jill Hardy, in a way, but I doubt if she knew it. As you say, nothing."

He opened his eyes. "You think Orrie killed her."

"No. I have looked over Saul's point, from all angles, and I like it. At the very least it packs a reasonable doubt, which is enough for a jury, so it will do for me. Anyhow, we're now on record. With Cramer. If it turns out that Orrie did it I'll never forgive him. I'll cop his girl. She already thinks I look like him."

He grunted. "Now what? Who?"

"I suppose the sister. Or Avery Ballou."

"We would have to discuss Mr. Ballou. The sister first." He straightened up and reached for Invitation to an Inquest.

Chapter 5

There was a Barry Fleming in the Bronx phone book – address, 2938 Humboldt Avenue. Of course I didn't dial the number. According to the Times, she wasn't talking to reporters, and naturally she would think I was trying a dodge. I consulted the Bronx street guide to locate Humboldt Avenue, then grinned to myself as my hand went automatically to a pocket for my keyfold. Because of a regrettable occurrence some years back, I had made it a hard and fast rule never to go on an errand connected with a murder without a gun, and the rules you make yourself are the hardest to break, but there's a limit. Sororicide is by no means unheard of, but to suppose that Stella Fleming might have killed her sister, and therefore anyone who got in her reach should be ready to shoot, would be overdoing it, at least until I had a look at her. I returned the keyfold to my pocket, told Wolfe not to expect me for lunch, and left. After descending the stoop to the sidewalk I turned up my collar, even for the short stretch around the corner to the garage. Instead of a January thaw we were having a good long freeze, and the wind was doing its best to help.