“I haven’t got one. I think Kinney has a master key. I don’t know where he keeps it.”
“Fifteen to two,” Durkin informed us, or maybe just talking to himself. “Giants batting in the ninth, two down. Garth got a home run, bases empty. It’s all—”
“Shut up!” Chisholm yelled at him.
Since Kinney would soon be with us, and since Ferrone’s locker had first call, I thought I might as well wait there for him. However, with our client sitting there glaring at me, it would be well to display some interest and energy, so I moved. I took in the room. I went to filing cabinets and looked them over. I opened a door, saw a hall leading to stairs down, backed up, and shut the door. I took in the room again, crossed to another door in the opposite wall, and opened that.
Since I hadn’t the faintest expectation of finding anything pertinent beyond that door, let alone a corpse, I must have made some sound or movement in my surprise, but if so it wasn’t noticed. I stood for three seconds, then slipped inside and squatted long enough to get an answer to the main question.
I arose, backed out, and addressed Soffer. “Take a look here, Doc. I think he’s dead. If so, watch it.”
He made a noise, stared, and moved. I marched out, into the clubroom, crossed to Wolfe, and spoke. “Found something. I opened a door to a closet and found Nick Ferrone, in uniform, on the floor, with a baseball bat alongside him and his head smashed in. He’s dead, according to me, but Doc Soffer is checking, if you want an expert opinion. Found on contiguous premises.”
Wolfe grunted. He was seated on the leather couch. “Mr. Ferrone?” he asked peevishly.
“Yes, sir.”
“You found him?”