terrible!”
“Thanks,” Ernie said. I frowned at him, but
all he did was grin back at me. I was right, though. He looked
terrible.
“I believe you, Mercy,” said Phil, sounding
as if he wished he were elsewhere. “But the police department has a
big job to do, and we have to corroborate all the evidence that’s
discovered at a crime scene. Unfortunately, there’s no
corroboration of Ernie’s condition when you arrived at the
Chalmers’ home, because no one but you saw him.” He eyed me for a
second and said, “You said the servants were out?”
“Yes. The house was unlocked, and
because I was worried about Ernie, I entered. I suppose that’s a crime too?”
Phil sighed. “No. I understand why you
entered. I only wish you’d had someone with you and that the
someone else had seen Ernie. The only story we have is yours, and
you work for him. For all we know, you’re the one who tied him up
in order to divert suspicion from him.”
“I beg your pardon?” My voice came out like sharp, pointy
icicles.
“They think we staged the thing,” said Ernie
wearily.
“They what ?” That time my voice was more like a
shriek. Both men winced.
Phil shrugged. “I know you wouldn’t do
anything like that, but I’m not the only detective on the
case.”
“But look at his wrists!” I said, lowering my
voice slightly. “There are marks there! I wouldn’t tie him up so
tightly! In fact, I doubt that if I’d tied him up there would be
any marks at all, because the ropes wouldn’t have been on his
wrists for very long.”
Phil appeared disgruntled, as well he should.
“Listen, all of this is relevant. But the fact is I’ll probably be
taken off the case, since Ernie and I are good friends. I suspect
Detective O’Reilly will be assigned to lead the investigation.”
“Which is bad for me,” said Ernie wearily.
“O’Reilly hates my guts. And vice-versa.”
“But that’s not fair! If you’re Ernie’s
friend and they won’t let you handle the case, why would they give
the case to a man who hates his guts?” Gee, I don’t think I’d ever
said the word guts before.
Another shrug from Phil. “That’s just the way
these things work sometimes.”
“And why would I tie up my own boss? For that
matter, why would I have to? Why would Ernie kill Mrs. Chalmers?
There’s no motive!”
“Well, one of my colleagues suggested that
Ernie and Mrs. Chalmers had been . . . engaged in some sort of . .
.”
Phil’s face turned a dull, brick red. I
didn’t understand what he was trying to convey, so I prompted him.
“Engaged in what?”
“Oh, Christ, Mercy,” said Ernie disgustedly.
“Some cop thinks the Chalmers dame and I were playing sex games,
and I must have accidently pushed her down the stairs.”
I was speechless. In fact, I don’t think I
could have uttered a word if I’d tried.
Fortunately for me, Phil said, “You don’t
have to be so blunt, Ernie.” He nodded his head toward me. In other
words, he considered me too innocent to hear such things.
The awful truth was that I seemed to be
exactly that. I gave myself a hard mental shake. “If they were
playing . . . those kinds of games, why would Ernie hit her on the
head?”
“I don’t know,
Mercy!” Phil said, throwing his hands in the air in a gesture of
futility and frustration. “Somebody only mentioned the possibility,
is all.”
A silence descended among the three of us
that lasted a good year or two. Then I asked, feeling desperate,
“Well, what about fingerprints? Wouldn’t there be fingerprints on
the ropes and gag? And has anyone found the weapon she was bashed
with?”
“No weapon has been found. The only
fingerprints they’re liable to find on anything in that room are
yours and mine and those of Mrs. Chalmers,” Ernie told me. “Ropes
don’t take good fingerprints. Anybody have any headache
powders?”
I stared at him bleakly and ignored his
question. “But . . . but . . .” I couldn’t even bring my
“Thanks,” Ernie said. I frowned at him, but
all he did was grin back at me. I was right, though. He looked
terrible.
“I believe you, Mercy,” said Phil, sounding
as if he wished he were elsewhere. “But the police department has a
big job to do, and we have to corroborate all the evidence that’s
discovered at a crime scene. Unfortunately, there’s no
corroboration of Ernie’s condition when you arrived at the
Chalmers’ home, because no one but you saw him.” He eyed me for a
second and said, “You said the servants were out?”
“Yes. The house was unlocked, and
because I was worried about Ernie, I entered. I suppose that’s a crime too?”
Phil sighed. “No. I understand why you
entered. I only wish you’d had someone with you and that the
someone else had seen Ernie. The only story we have is yours, and
you work for him. For all we know, you’re the one who tied him up
in order to divert suspicion from him.”
“I beg your pardon?” My voice came out like sharp, pointy
icicles.
“They think we staged the thing,” said Ernie
wearily.
“They what ?” That time my voice was more like a
shriek. Both men winced.
Phil shrugged. “I know you wouldn’t do
anything like that, but I’m not the only detective on the
case.”
“But look at his wrists!” I said, lowering my
voice slightly. “There are marks there! I wouldn’t tie him up so
tightly! In fact, I doubt that if I’d tied him up there would be
any marks at all, because the ropes wouldn’t have been on his
wrists for very long.”
Phil appeared disgruntled, as well he should.
“Listen, all of this is relevant. But the fact is I’ll probably be
taken off the case, since Ernie and I are good friends. I suspect
Detective O’Reilly will be assigned to lead the investigation.”
“Which is bad for me,” said Ernie wearily.
“O’Reilly hates my guts. And vice-versa.”
“But that’s not fair! If you’re Ernie’s
friend and they won’t let you handle the case, why would they give
the case to a man who hates his guts?” Gee, I don’t think I’d ever
said the word guts before.
Another shrug from Phil. “That’s just the way
these things work sometimes.”
“And why would I tie up my own boss? For that
matter, why would I have to? Why would Ernie kill Mrs. Chalmers?
There’s no motive!”
“Well, one of my colleagues suggested that
Ernie and Mrs. Chalmers had been . . . engaged in some sort of . .
.”
Phil’s face turned a dull, brick red. I
didn’t understand what he was trying to convey, so I prompted him.
“Engaged in what?”
“Oh, Christ, Mercy,” said Ernie disgustedly.
“Some cop thinks the Chalmers dame and I were playing sex games,
and I must have accidently pushed her down the stairs.”
I was speechless. In fact, I don’t think I
could have uttered a word if I’d tried.
Fortunately for me, Phil said, “You don’t
have to be so blunt, Ernie.” He nodded his head toward me. In other
words, he considered me too innocent to hear such things.
The awful truth was that I seemed to be
exactly that. I gave myself a hard mental shake. “If they were
playing . . . those kinds of games, why would Ernie hit her on the
head?”
“I don’t know,
Mercy!” Phil said, throwing his hands in the air in a gesture of
futility and frustration. “Somebody only mentioned the possibility,
is all.”
A silence descended among the three of us
that lasted a good year or two. Then I asked, feeling desperate,
“Well, what about fingerprints? Wouldn’t there be fingerprints on
the ropes and gag? And has anyone found the weapon she was bashed
with?”
“No weapon has been found. The only
fingerprints they’re liable to find on anything in that room are
yours and mine and those of Mrs. Chalmers,” Ernie told me. “Ropes
don’t take good fingerprints. Anybody have any headache
powders?”
I stared at him bleakly and ignored his
question. “But . . . but . . .” I couldn’t even bring my
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