Cramer protested. “You actually — you walk out just when—”
“When what?” Wolfe demanded. Halfway to the door, he had turned. “You’ve got this wretch cornered, and you’re clawing away at him for something to implicate another wretch, that unspeakable Horan, in the most contemptible enterprise on record. I admit it’s necessary, indeed it is admirable, but I’ve contributed my share and you don’t need me; and I’m not after blackmailers, I’m after a murderer. You know my schedule; I’ll be available at eleven o’clock. I would appreciate it if you’ll remove these miserable creatures from my premises. You can deal with them just as effectively elsewhere.”
“You bet I can.” Cramer was out of his chair. “I’m taking your men along, all four of them — Goodwin, Panzer, Durkin, and Cather — and I don’t know when we’ll be through with them.”
“You may take the first three, but not Mr. Cather. He isn’t here.”
“I want him. Where is he?”
“You can’t have him. He’s on an errand. Haven’t I given you enough for one morning? Archie, do you remember where Orrie has gone?”
“No, sir. Couldn’t remember to save me.”
“Good. Don’t try.” He turned and marched out.
Chapter 15
I have never seen as much top brass in one day as I did during the next eight hours, from nine in the morning to five in the afternoon that Tuesday, one week from the day Pete Drossos had called to consult Wolfe about his case. At the Tenth Precinct station house it was Deputy Police Commissioner Neary. At 24 °Centre Street it was the Commissioner himself, Skinner. At 155 Leonard Street it was District Attorney Bowen in person, flanked by three assistants, including Mandelbaum.