The Second Confesion

“I got cramps Saturday,” he said in an irritated tone, as if I should have had sense enough to know that. “How does it stand now?” “What? The cramp situation?” “The Rony situation.” “Oh. He's still dead.” “That's surprising.” The eminent broadcaster flicked a glance at me, but liked the sunlight on the water better. “I bet he rises from the grave. I hear it was your car.” “Mr Wolfe's car, yeah. So they say.” “Yet here you are without a guardian, no handcuffs. What are they doing, giving you a medal?” “I'm waiting and hoping. Why, do you think I deserve one?” Emerson tightened his lips and relaxed them again, a habit he had. “Depends on whether you did it on purpose or not. If it was accidental I don't think you ought to get more than honourable mention. How does it stand? Would it help any if I put in a word for you?” “I don't-excuse me, I'm being paged.” I stooped to grab the hand Madeline was putting up at me, braced myself, and straightened, bringing her out of the water on to the marble and on up to her feet.

“My, you're big and strong,” she said, standing and dripping. “Congratulations!”

“Just for that? Gee, if I wanted to I could pull Elsa Maxwell-” “No, not that. For keeping out of jail. How did you do it?” I waved a hand. “I've got something on the DA.” “No, really? Come and sit while I let the sun dry me, and tell me about it.” She went and stretched out on the grassy slope, and I sat beside her. She had been doing some fast swimming but wasn't out of breath, and her breast, with nothing but the essentials covered, rose and fell in easy smooth rhythm.