Nero Wolfe 16 - Even in the Best Families by Rex Stout Page A

I’m going.”
    “I’m sorry,” I said regretfully, “but I like to know where. If it’s White Plains or a barracks, I would need a different kind of invitation. Either that or physical help.”
    “Oh, you’re a lawyer.”
    “No, but I know a lawyer.”
    “Congratulations.” He leaned toward me andspoke through his nose. “Mr. Goodwin, I’m driving to Mrs. Rackham’s house, Birchvale. Would you care to join me?”
    “I’d love to, thanks so much,” I said warmly and climbed in.

Chapter 5
    T he rest of that night, more than six hours, from half-past midnight until well after sunrise, I might as well have been in bed asleep for all I got out of it. I learned only one thing, that the sun rises on April ninth at 5:39, and even that wasn’t reliable because I didn’t know whether it was a true horizon.
    Lieutenant Con Noonan was at Birchvale, among others, but his style was cramped.
    Even after the arrival of District Attorney Cleveland Archer himself, the atmosphere was not one of singleminded devotion to the service of justice. Not that they weren’t all for justice, but they had to keep it in perspective, and that’s not so easy when a prominent wealthy taxpayer like Mrs. Barry Rackham has been murdered and your brief list of suspects includes (a) her husband, now a widower, who may himself now be a prominent wealthy taxpayer, (b) an able young politician who has been elected to the state assembly, (c) the dead woman’s daughter-in-law, who may possibly be more of a prominent wealthy taxpayer than the widower, and (d) a vice-president of a billion-dollar New York bank. They’reall part of the perspective, though you wish to God they weren’t so you could concentrate on the other three suspects: (e) the dead woman’s cousin, a breeder of dogs which don’t make friends, (f) her secretary, a mere employee, and (g) a private dick from New York whose tongue has needed bobbing for some time. With a setup like that you can’t just take them all down to White Plains and tell the boys to start chipping and save the pieces.
    Except for fifteen minutes alone with Con Noonan, I spent the first two hours in the big living room where we had looked at television, having for company the members of the family, the guests, five members of the domestic staff, and two or more officers of the law. It wasn’t a bit jolly. Two of the female servants wept intermittently. Barry Rackham walked up and down, sitting occasionally and then starting up again, speaking to no one. Oliver Pierce and Lina Darrow sat on a couch conversing in undertones, spasmodically, with him doing most of the talking. Dana Hammond, the banker, was jumpy. Mostly he sat slumped, with his chin down and his eyes closed, but now and then he would arise slowly as if something hurt and go to say something to one of the others, usually Annabel or Leeds. Leeds had been getting a blaze started in the fireplace when I was ushered in, and it continued to be his chief concern. He got the fire so hot that Annabel moved away, to the other side of the room. She was the quietest of them, but from the way she kept her jaw clamped I guessed that it wasn’t because she was the least moved.
    One by one they were escorted from the room for a private talk and brought back again. It was when my turn came, not long after I had arrived, that Ifound Lieutenant Noonan was around. He was in a smaller room down the hall, seated at a table, looking harassed. No doubt life was hard for him—born with the instincts of a Hitler or Stalin in a country where people are determined to do their own voting. The dick who took me in motioned me to a chair across the table.
    “You again,” Noonan said.
    I nodded. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. I haven’t seen you since the time I didn’t run my car over Louis Rony.”
    I didn’t expect him to wince, and he didn’t. “You’re here investigating that dog poisoning at Hillside Kennels.”
    I had no comment.
    “Weren’t