“You always are,” Wolfe said, in the tone he uses only to the few people he really likes. “Have you read about the Rony case?”
“Of course. Since you’re involved in it — or were.”
“I still am. The body is at the morgue in White Plains. Will you go there? You’ll have to go to the District Attorney’s office first to get yourself accredited. Tell them I sent you, and that I have been engaged by one of Mr. Rony’s associates. If they want more than that they can phone me, and I’ll try to satisfy them. You want to examine the body — not an autopsy, merely superficially, to determine whether he died instantly or was left to suffer a prolonged agony. What I really want you to inspect is his head, to see if there is any indication that he was knocked out by a blow before the car ran over him. I know the chance of finding anything conclusive is remote, but I wish you’d try, and there’ll be no grumbling about your charge for the trip.”
Vollmer blinked. “It would have to be done this afternoon?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you any idea what weapon might have been used?”
“No, sir.”
“According to the papers he had no family, no relatives at all. Perhaps I should know whom I’m representing — one of his professional associates?”
“I’ll answer that if they ask it. You’re representing me.”
“I see. Anything to be mysterious.” Vollmer stood up. “If one of my patients dies while I’m gone—” He left it hanging and trotted out, making me move fast to get to the front door in time to open it for him. His habit of leaving like that, as soon as he had all he really needed, was one of the reasons Wolfe liked him.