[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
it was too late. Well, I don t know. Maybe it wasn t that
long.
Ummm. It was more like three minutes, maybe?
Yeah. That was probably it. About three minutes.
I see. But that still seems like quite a while for a man
to horse around with small talk when he s going to kill a
girl in an apartment house with people asleep just on the
other side of the wall. You d think he d want to get the
show on the road before you could scream. And,
incidentally, why didn t you? No wait at that time you
didn t know he intended to kill you. You just thought he
was going to rape you.
Uh yes. That was it.
Why? At that time, he still hadn t grabbed you.
Well I really didn t know what he wanted.
But you must have wondered? I mean, there didn t
seem to be much chance he was looking for the bus
station, or just wanted to borrow something to read.
The Long Saturday Night 114
What did you talk about during this period? He must
have said something.
Well, just some of his nutty stuff, I guess; he s
crazier n a bedbug. And I was too scared to remember
But what kind of nutty stuff? You must remember a
word or two. Did he mention Junior Delevan?
Her eyes avoided his as they began that characteristic
circuit of the wall behind him, seeking some way out. She
said nothing. I shot an oblique glance at George. He d
realized long since where this was heading, but his face
expressed nothing but an intelligent professional
interest.
Well, did he? Scanlon prodded.
Well
Did he?
I guess maybe he did
Why?
Well, how would I know? she asked sullenly.
Scanlon s cigar had gone out. He removed it from his
mouth and regarded the wet end of it thoughtfully. You
run into some weird ones in this business, Doris, but this
one may take the Scanlon Award for 1961. How are you
going to account for a man breaking into the room of a
pretty girl like you at three o clock in the morning and
tearing her clothes off just to talk about Junior Delevan?
Suddenly, without any warning at all, his flattened hand
came down on top of the desk with a sound like a pistol
shot and his voice lashed out. What did he ask you about
Delevan?
That was all it took. She came apart like a cheap toy
that d been left out in the rain. In less than five minutes
he had the whole conversation.
Did Junior ever ask you what that shop took in on an
average Saturday? he demanded.
She was crying now. Well, he might have. It was a
long time ago.
Did he have a key to the place?
No, she said. I m-mean, I don t know.
Did you have one?
The Long Saturday Night 115
No. Of course not. She lived there, so she always
opened up.
Then how did Delevan get one?
He d-didn t.
I think he did. There has to be some reason you never
did tell us you suspected he was killed in the back of that
shop, something that involves guilty knowledge on your
part. Either you planned the burglary with him, or you
had reason to believe he was going to do it himself.
Maybe it was only the fact you didn t want to have to
admit you knew he had a key. Where d he get it? Did you
steal it for him?
No! I didn t do any such thing.
Did he ever have a chance to get his hands on her
keys?
She hesitated fearfully. Wh-what will they do to me?
I can t make any promises, but probably nothing, if
you tell us.
All right. But I didn t have anything to do with it.
Just tell us.
It was one day when she was out somewhere and
she d left her keys on the showcase next to the cash
register. Junior was there, talking to me, and then a
customer came in. While I was waiting on her, I
happened to look over where he was, and he d taken out
his chewing gum and was pressing one of the keys into
it.
And when was this? Scanlon asked.
About two weeks before before he was killed.
And you never did tell her Frances Kinnan, I mean?
She began to cry again. I was afraid to. Junior could
be real mean when he wanted to.
Scanlon gestured wearily. All right, you can go.
She went out. He relit his cigar, and sighed. We ll
never be able to prove a word of it.
That s right, I said. Unless you catch the man that
was in the apartment with Frances that night, the man
who killed him. And for once you can look somewhere
else. I was in Tampa, Florida.
The Long Saturday Night 116
He gestured impatiently. Hell, it hasn t got anything to
do with this, anyway.
I banged my manacled hands on the desk. Dammit, it
has everything to do with it!
Oh, cut it out, he snapped. You killed Roberts
because you thought he was having an affair with your
wife. And you killed her for the same reason. All this
guesswork about Delevan and where he was or wasn t
killed that night doesn t change the facts in the slightest.
You haven t got a chance in the world, so why don t you
come clean and get it over with?
It had all been for nothing, I thought. I wondered
where Barbara was and what she was trying to do. Well,
it really didn t matter; nothing would help me. Listen to
me a minute, I said wearily, knowing before I started it
was futile. I ll try to explain it in words of one syllable.
Roberts was blackmailing her. Not because of Delevan,
because he didn t know anything about that. But because
of something else that happened before she ever came
here; the thing, whatever it was, that made her change
her name. If we ever find out who she really was, and
who brought her here
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]