Might as Well Be Dead

“What do you want of me?” she asked. They were her first words since he had called her a murderer.

“I want you to consider your position. Your husband advises you to say nothing, but he should consider it too. You are clearly open to a charge as accessory to murder. If you think you must not admit that Degan phoned you on January third, and suggested that you withdraw from the theater party and that Mrs. Molloy be asked in your stead, you are wrong. Such an admission would injure you only if it carried the implication that you knew why Degan wanted Mrs. Molloy away from her apartment-knew it either when he made the suggestion or afterward. And such an implication is not inherent. It is even implausible, since Degan wouldn’t want to disclose his intention to commit murder. He could have told you merely that he wanted a private conversation with you and asked you to make an opportunity for that evening, and his suggestion of Mrs. Molloy could have been offhand. If so, it is unwise and dangerous for you to keep silent, for silence can carry implications too. If Degan merely wanted an opportunity to discuss some private matter-”

“That was it!” she said, for all to hear.

Her husband let go of her hand.

Jerome Arkoff croaked, “Don’t be a goddam fool, Tom! This is for keeps!”

Rita sang out, “Go on, Fanny! Spit it out!”

Fanny offered both hands to her husband, and he took them. She gave him her eyes too. “You know me, Tom. You know I’m yours. He just said he had to see me, he had to tell me something. He came to the apartment, but now I see, because he didn’t come until nearly ten-”

Degan went for her. Of course it was a convulsion rather than a calculated movement. It couldn’t very well have been calculated, since Saul and Purley were right there beside him, and since, even if he got his hands on her and somehow managed to finish her, it wouldn’t have helped his prospects any. It was as Wolfe had said, after killing four people he was no better than a maniac, and, hearing her blurting out her contribution to his doom, he acted like one. He never touched her. Saul and Purley had him and jerked him back, and those two together are enough for any maniac.

Irwin was on his feet. So were the Arkoffs, and so was Cramer. Albert Freyer went loping over to my desk and reached for the phone.

Wolfe was speaking. “I’m through, Mr. Cramer. Twelve minutes short of my hour.”