Pity Him Afterwards

“There’s one more point,” he said again. “We have what we believe is one good fingerprint. It’s a right-thumb print, and we got it from the cake of soap the killer used when he wrote, ‘I’m sorry,’ on the mirror. We’ve photographed the print and sent it down to the state capital for enlargement and copying. At the time, we still couldn’t be sure whether Cissie Walker’s killer was someone living in this house or not, so we asked that the thumb print simply be run through the normal check in the FBI files in Washington. But now, because of what happened last night, there’s no longer any doubt. So I’ve called the state police at the capital, and I’ve asked their assistance. They will be here at three o’clock this afternoon, with equipment and personnel to take the fingerprints of everyone living in this house. All we’ll have to do after that is match our thumb print against the prints we take this afternoon. I believe, therefore, that I can assure you that this whole business will be over by this afternoon, but between now and then none of you are to leave this building without my express permission.”

He paused, thinking over what he’d said, and preparing what he was to say next. The obvious flaw in his little lie was the fact that he intended to search the house. If they had such a great clue, and it was going to give them the killer at three o’clock this afternoon anyway, why bother to make the search? It was a question that might occur to the killer, and it had to be answered now. Also, in case this didn’t work out, it would be nice if Sondgard had left himself an out. So he proceeded to kill two birds with one stone:

“I told you that I believe this whole business will be finished this afternoon. But we can’t as yet be sure. I don’t know if any of you know much about fingerprints and their detection, but they are far less useful and far less frequent than detective stories might lead you to believe. The killer, as a matter of fact, left prints all over Cissie Walker’s room, but they were all smeared and smudged and useless, all except this one print on the cake of soap. Now, that looks like a good print to the naked eye. And it looks like a good print in a small negative. And it looks like a good print in a contact print from that negative. But we won’t really be able to tell if it’s a good print or not until we get the answer from downstate, until after the enlargement has been made. I would say right now that the chances are ninety-ten that it is a good print, and that we won’t need any more. But there is, I must admit, that one chance in ten that it won’t be a good print. Just in case, I intend to go ahead as though we had no print at all. We are dealing with a madman, and I don’t want to waste time, I don’t want to sit around an entire day waiting for one clue, if there’s even the remotest chance that the clue won’t turn out as good as we’d expected.”

Again he paused, and again he looked over what he had said. It sounded good to him, and he was a little surprised at his ability to lie extemporaneously. Maybe he’d chosen the wrong professions, maybe he should have been a lawyer. Or a politician; he could do television debates with the best of them.

He was pleased with his lie. It had a fullness to it. It was so full with details and facts, so ringed around with secondary truths, that he couldn’t see how anyone could challenge the primary lie.

It should work.

If it worked, someone would make a run for it before three o’clock this afternoon.

If it didn’t work, Sondgard had no idea what he’d try next.

Then he remembered The Three Faces of Eve again, his Jekyll and Hyde theory. What if Jekyll were in control right now, and he was standing up here threatening Hyde? Jekyll might not even know there was any reason to make a run for it.

But didn’t Eve’s secondary personalities have contact with the primary personality? As he remembered it, the primary personality knew nothing about the second and third faces, but they did have knowledge of her, and did have some awareness while she was in control.

It didn’t matter. Maybe the killer was a Jekyll and Hyde, and maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he knew what was going on, and maybe he didn’t. But at the moment it just didn’t matter; Sondgard had already committed himself.

He said, “That’s all for the moment. Now, I imagine you all want your breakfasts. Mrs. Kenyon won’t be working here for a while, and I don’t suppose any of us can blame her, so you’ll have to root for yourselves. We’ve already got our photos of the kitchen table, and we’ve finished with everything else in there, so you can have it back. I suggest the girls go out now and rustle up some breakfast for everyone. If you have extra, I could use some food myself.”

Mary Ann McKendrick spoke up, the first to break the general silence of his audience: “Is it all right for us to clean the table?”

“Yes. Go ahead.”

Tom Burns was next. “What about us boys? You want us to stay in here?”