Free Kill as Directed by Ellery Queen

permissive. Yes, if you crossed him I think he’d be dangerous. But a little adultery … I think he thinks she’s entitled. Wide open, no. Discreet, yes. He knows she’ll always come home to Big Daddy.”
    Harry inhaled cigarette smoke. “Where does he go?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œEvery Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday evening. For a couple of hours. Without fail.”
    â€œWith fail. If he’s out of town, he doesn’t go.”
    â€œBut where?”
    â€œBusiness.”
    â€œEvery Monday, Wednesday, Friday—even Sunday?”
    â€œ His business.”
    â€œBut you’re his lawyer—”
    â€œThat’s right. Not his partner.”
    â€œYou never asked?”
    â€œWhy should I ask?”
    â€œHow’d you meet him originally, Tony?”
    â€œAs a client.”
    â€œTen years ago?”
    â€œTen years ago, as a client.”
    Harry drank coffee. He rubbed out his cigarette. “You’re a criminal lawyer.”
    â€œThat I am.”
    â€œIs Gresham a criminal?”
    Tony’s white teeth flashed in a smile. “That’s a phony syllogism, pal. I’m a criminal lawyer. I have clients. Therefore, all my clients are criminals. Nonsense.” Now Tony lit a cigarette. “As a matter of fact, I did meet him through one of my criminal-type clients. The guy was a broker who’d got into trouble with the SEC. They prosecuted, and I got him off. Gresham had done business with this guy, and he admired the job I did. So he retained me on certain civil matters, and that’s how I became his lawyer—on civil matters, pal, not criminal. It’s a pleasure to hear you talk, even if all you’re doing is asking questions. Anything else, Mr. District Attorney?”
    â€œI am sorry,” said Harry.
    â€œSorry? For what?”
    â€œFor pushing.”
    â€œPush any time, bud. It’s good finding out you’re alive.”
    â€œYou wish something?” said the waiter.
    â€œPlenty,” said Dr. Harrison Brown. “But I don’t think I can get it here.”
    â€œWe’ll settle,” smiled Tony Mitchell, “for another pot of espresso.”

SEVEN
    On Tuesday there were five patients. It was a hot day; summer had come early to New York, and he was thankful for the quiet, expensive air conditioning of his office. Between patients he sat with his ankles crossed and wondered what his receptionist thought about her employer’s “practice.” At twelve-thirty, Dr. Stone telephoned to apologize and request postponement of their meeting to seven P.M. Harry readily agreed; only when he had hung up did he remember his appointment with Karen for eight o’clock. He decided that he would tell the good doctor he had to make a house call at eight. He remembered, guiltily, Peter Gross’s admonition to “listen” to Dr. Stone. Hell, he thought, I can listen fast. He wondered what Dr. Stone could possibly want to talk to him about, and shrugged.
    Promptly at two o’clock he left his office, telling his receptionist that he could not possibly be back before four-thirty. “If anybody calls,” he said, “don’t make any appointment before half-past four.”
    â€œYes, Doctor,” she said.
    What a farce, he thought.
    He went out, to nowhere.
    He had lunch of roast beef, spinach and potatoes at the Automat. Tony Mitchell wouldn’t be caught dead in the Automat. The hell with Tony Mitchell.
    Afterward, he walked over to his bank and cashed a check for two hundred dollars. He could never predict how much an evening with Karen would cost him; she was an expensive date. Then he strolled to Central Park and sat on a bench in the sun and thought about Kurt Gresham and Karen and Tony Mitchell. And himself.
    What had he learned last night about his pal Tony? What actually had he hoped to learn? Two things: whether Mitchell knew of Gresham’s narcotics