outside. Open the safe and take the money out. Take it and the gun you shot her with away and hide them so well that they haven’t been found yet.Then go back and pretend to discover the body and phone the police. And—nyah! Too ridiculous to talk about. Especially while you were drunk. Sane or insane you couldn’t have worked out all those details—and well enough to fool the police—while you were drunk.”
It did sound ridiculous, the way he put it.
He stopped a minute and got his pipe going again; it had gone out while he was talking. He shook out the match and tossed it at the open window behind him; it missed and fell to the floor.
He said, “Newspaper stories always get a few things wrong, and that’s all I got to go on. Mind talking about it, answering some questions?”
“Shoot.”
“What’s the first thing, chronologically, that you remember?”
“I was standing with a telephone in my hand, in a lighted room, and apparently I’d been talking into the telephone. Somebody had just asked me my name, I remembered that, and I was trying to answer. I couldn’t think of it. I remember how silly I felt, trying to think of my own name and not being able to. And I was aware of being pretty drunk. But the shock of not remembering my own name—well, that’s the first thing I remember.”
“Not even a few seconds sooner? Someone asking you?”
“Well—no. I mean, I don’t remember the question or the way it was worded. But I had the telephone in my hand and I knew someone had just asked me who I was.”
“Your first reaction?”
“Annoyance. The kind of mild annoyance you feel when you’re trying to think of a word or a name and you just can’t think of it.”
“Aphasia. We all get touches of it now and then. But—go on.”
“I looked around me. And there was a dead woman lying on the floor—and I still couldn’t remember who I’d been talking to on the phone or who I was or what anything was all about. It was the God damnedest feeling. I’d never seen the dead woman before in my life, as far as I knew. Or the room.”
“You knew right away she was dead?”
“There was a bullet hole in her forehead, over one eye. There was a lot of blood on the rug under her. And the way she lay there—yes, I knew she was dead. Then the telephone was talking in my ear. With a man’s voice. ‘Hello, hello! Are you still there?’ And I said, ‘I’m still here.’ ‘Who is this? Who’s calling?’ And I said, ‘I—don’t know.’ The voice got tough. ‘Listen, Mister, you just reported a murder. Are you crazy?’ I said the only thing I could think of that made sense; I said, ‘You’d better trace this call and send someone here.’ I put the telephone down on the desk with the receiver off the hook so he could trace it.”
Radik’s pipe had gone out again and he was puffing at it, trying to get it started again. He gave up. “For someone as confused as you must have been, that was pretty clear thinking. Especially drunk. How much had you had to drink?”
“How the hell would I know?”
He chuckled. “That sounded like a trap question, but I didn’t mean it that way. I meant, has it been learned since where you did your drinking or how much of it you did?”
“No to both questions. Do you think, Pete, that I’d have gone off on a solitary bender or that I’d have hunted company to drink with?”
He thought that over a minute before he said, “Damned if I know, Rod. That would have been the first time since I’ve known you that you deliberately set out to drown your sorrows—if that’s what you did do. Ordinarily you’re not a solitary drinker, but that could have been an exception because of the circumstances. But why worry about it? If you were with someone, you’ll find out sooner or later. If you don’t find out, it’s pretty good proof that you were alone.”
It sounded sensible.
CHAPTER 4
S UNDAY afternoon, five o’clock. I left the Lincoln—with several
It did sound ridiculous, the way he put it.
He stopped a minute and got his pipe going again; it had gone out while he was talking. He shook out the match and tossed it at the open window behind him; it missed and fell to the floor.
He said, “Newspaper stories always get a few things wrong, and that’s all I got to go on. Mind talking about it, answering some questions?”
“Shoot.”
“What’s the first thing, chronologically, that you remember?”
“I was standing with a telephone in my hand, in a lighted room, and apparently I’d been talking into the telephone. Somebody had just asked me my name, I remembered that, and I was trying to answer. I couldn’t think of it. I remember how silly I felt, trying to think of my own name and not being able to. And I was aware of being pretty drunk. But the shock of not remembering my own name—well, that’s the first thing I remember.”
“Not even a few seconds sooner? Someone asking you?”
“Well—no. I mean, I don’t remember the question or the way it was worded. But I had the telephone in my hand and I knew someone had just asked me who I was.”
“Your first reaction?”
“Annoyance. The kind of mild annoyance you feel when you’re trying to think of a word or a name and you just can’t think of it.”
“Aphasia. We all get touches of it now and then. But—go on.”
“I looked around me. And there was a dead woman lying on the floor—and I still couldn’t remember who I’d been talking to on the phone or who I was or what anything was all about. It was the God damnedest feeling. I’d never seen the dead woman before in my life, as far as I knew. Or the room.”
“You knew right away she was dead?”
“There was a bullet hole in her forehead, over one eye. There was a lot of blood on the rug under her. And the way she lay there—yes, I knew she was dead. Then the telephone was talking in my ear. With a man’s voice. ‘Hello, hello! Are you still there?’ And I said, ‘I’m still here.’ ‘Who is this? Who’s calling?’ And I said, ‘I—don’t know.’ The voice got tough. ‘Listen, Mister, you just reported a murder. Are you crazy?’ I said the only thing I could think of that made sense; I said, ‘You’d better trace this call and send someone here.’ I put the telephone down on the desk with the receiver off the hook so he could trace it.”
Radik’s pipe had gone out again and he was puffing at it, trying to get it started again. He gave up. “For someone as confused as you must have been, that was pretty clear thinking. Especially drunk. How much had you had to drink?”
“How the hell would I know?”
He chuckled. “That sounded like a trap question, but I didn’t mean it that way. I meant, has it been learned since where you did your drinking or how much of it you did?”
“No to both questions. Do you think, Pete, that I’d have gone off on a solitary bender or that I’d have hunted company to drink with?”
He thought that over a minute before he said, “Damned if I know, Rod. That would have been the first time since I’ve known you that you deliberately set out to drown your sorrows—if that’s what you did do. Ordinarily you’re not a solitary drinker, but that could have been an exception because of the circumstances. But why worry about it? If you were with someone, you’ll find out sooner or later. If you don’t find out, it’s pretty good proof that you were alone.”
It sounded sensible.
CHAPTER 4
S UNDAY afternoon, five o’clock. I left the Lincoln—with several
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