by Parnell Hall
“Were you?”
“I certainly was. But coincidences happen.”
“Yes, but at the speed of light? The way you tell it, you left the falls, drove straight here, checked in, went out to the pool, and there she was. Now, does that make any sense to you?”
“Of course not. That’s not what happened. When we got here, we had to check in. Then we had to go upstairs and unpack. Discuss what we were going to do. As a matter of fact, I didn’t go swimming right away. I went to watch TV. There was a ball game on. There’s no TV in the rooms here. So I had to go to the TV room in the main building—” I broke off, looked at him. “But why are we talking about this? What does it matter?”
“It’s important that things make sense. When something doesn’t make sense, it needs to be explained. And if it can’t be explained, there must be a reason why it can’t be explained, and that in itself may be important. At the moment, I’m trying to establish your relationship with Christine Cobb.”
“I didn’t have a relationship with Christine Cobb.”
“And yet she shows up everywhere you go. Who else was also at the swimming pool at the time?”
“No one.”
“No one?”
“That’s right. When I got there, she was sunbathing in one of the deck chairs.”
“Sunbathing?”
“Yes.”
“She was nude?”
“No. She was wearing a bikini.”
“You recognized her as the woman from the falls?”
“Not at first. She was lying on her stomach, and I couldn’t see her face. I went for a swim, later I saw it was her.”
“Did you speak to her?”
Oh, dear.
I didn’t want to talk about it. I’m not sure why. Maybe I still felt guilty about the fact I’d had a conversation with her without mentioning Alice. Or maybe I didn’t want to talk about it because it was totally unimportant. Or maybe I didn’t want to talk about it because it was only a one-minute conversation, but I knew we’d be talking about it forever.
Already my interrogation was running even longer than Alice’s had.
And we hadn’t even gotten around to discussing the murder yet.
15.
“YOU WENT OUT?”
“I went to the bathroom.”
“You went to the bathroom?”
“That’s right.”
“Why?”
“Chief, I wouldn’t want to accuse you of overintellectualizing, but this doesn’t require that much thought. I had to go to the bathroom, so I went.”
Well, we’d finally gotten around to discussing the murder. Not that it made any difference. Since I didn’t really know anything, I had little to contribute.
Not that Pinehurst was willing to leave it at that. Naturally, he wanted to know every little thing.
“When was it that you went to the bathroom?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know.”
“I’m not in the habit of consulting my watch on such occasions. Doubtless there are people who are.”
“I’m not concerned with your watch. I was hoping you could tell me relative to your meal.”
“That I can do. I went to the bathroom after we placed our orders.”
“See. That wasn’t so hard. And on your way to the bathroom, did you happen to pass by this booth?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Why of course?”
“Don’t be silly. Look where my table is. The bathroom’s out there. To get to it you walk right by.”
“And as you went by did you look in the booth?”
“Actually, I couldn’t see in the booth.”
“Why was that?”
“The busboy was in the way. He was serving the drinks.”
“The busboy, Randy?”
“That’s right.”
“Whom you’d observed kissing Christine Cobb?”
“That’s the only busboy Randy I know.”
“Uh-huh. And did that register with you at the time—I mean who all those people were?”
“Yes, it did.”
“So you are absolutely certain it was the busboy, Randy, you saw at their booth?”
“That’s right.”
“He was serving them drinks?”
“Yes, he was.”
“You saw that too?”
“Yes, I did. He had a tray with drinks. He was placing them on the table.”
“And did you notice what those drinks were?”
“No, I did not.”
“You don’t know what Christine Cobb was drinking?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Or Lars Heinrick?”
“Or Lars Heinrick.”
“Were they both in the booth when the drinks were being served?”
“Yes, they were.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“As you say, I was aware of who these people were. I saw who it was who was serving them drinks. The significance was not lost on me. I took note of it. If Lars had not been there, that would have been very interesting, and I would have taken note of that. But I didn’t. I did not see the busboy, Randy, alone with Christine Cobb at the booth. I saw him serving drinks to the two of them.”
Pinehurst nodded. “Very convincing. I’m sure that you’re right. Now, when you returned from the bathroom, what did you see then? Assuming you went by the booth?”
“Yes, I did.”
“So what did you see?”
I told him about Lars Heinrick glaring at Christine Cobb, and about seeing the tear running down her cheek.
“Interesting,” Pinehurst said. “Particularly in terms of the sequence. The busboy serves them drinks. They immediately have a fight. Lars is angry, and she’s tearful. Can we conclude he was aware of what was going on?”
“Of course not,” I said. “It could have been any number of things.”
“Yes, yes,” Pinehurst said. “That question was rhetorical, still I thank you for answering it. Anyway, after that you went back to your table?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And immediately told your wife and her friend what you saw?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“I didn’t think so. Or your wife might have mentioned it. Why didn’t you tell your wife what you’d just seen?”
“I told you that.”
“Don’t be silly. How could you have told me that? The subject just came up.”
“No, no. I mean the other thing. Seeing her at whatjamacallit—Glen Ellis Falls. I hadn’t had a chance to tell my wife about that, and I didn’t want to bring up the subject.”
“What subject? This is an entirely different matter. Talking to her at Glen Ellis Falls and seeing her at dinner in the booth.”
“Even so. I didn’t want to talk about her at all. I simply didn’t mention it.”
“But your wife did. At least she says she did. She said the three of you noticed and commented on the fact it was the busboy, Randy, who was serving them drinks.”
“Yes, I guess we did.”
“So there you are. Wouldn’t that have been the perfect time to have mentioned that right after that you’d seen the young woman with a tear in her eye and the young man looking somewhat less than pleased?”
“If I’d wanted to get into it. As I say, I was avoiding the topic until I had a chance to talk with my wife.”
“You felt you needed to explain?”
“No. I wanted to explain. I wanted to tell my wife exactly what the young woman said, so she’d realize the position I’d been put in.”
“You thought you were in a bad position?”
“Haven’t I said that? The woman asked me to keep a secret. One that had already been told. It was a very uncomfortable position.”
“And that’s all there was to it—this uncomfortable feeling of yours?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your only real concern with this woman was keeping or not keeping he
r secret? She wasn’t a threat to your relationship with your wife?”
“Don’t be silly.”
“Why is that silly? An attractive young woman like that. If she were to make a play for you ...”
“Yes, but she didn’t. She barely noticed me at all. She was involved with the busboy.”
“So you say.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Pinehurst shrugged. “Well, we only have your word for it. Everyone else, it’s all hearsay. They’re all repeating stories told by you. You’re the only one who actually saw anything. So, in the event you were mistaken ...”
“I’m not.”
“Or in case you didn’t happen to be telling the truth ...”
“I beg your pardon?”
“No offense meant, but I’m a policeman. And I can’t take anyone’s story at face value. All these things have to be checked. Now, your story is not corroborated. Other people may know of it, but you’re the only source of the information. So what if this rendezvous never took place? What if the busboy wasn’t there? What if you were the man Christine Cobb was kissing?”
“Are you serious?”
“Works for me. You see her at Champney Falls. You’re immediately smitten—and who could blame you. An attractive young woman, and crying, too. A damsel in distress. You arrive at the inn, spot her at the swimming pool. Sunbathing alone. You can’t resist. You go out, strike up a conversation. Your wife arrives to interrupt, but not before you’ve established a relationship, leading to your rendezvous later that night.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sakes.”
“You have a problem with that? It certainly works for me. Here you are, your first night at the inn, and yet you leave your wife and go stumbling around in the dark. One would think a man would have to have a motive.”
“One would be wrong. I did not leave my wife. My wife left me. She went to watch The Bridges of Madison County in the recreation room. I did not wish to see The Bridges of Madison County. If that’s a crime, I plead guilty as charged. I did not wish to go back to my room alone because it is somewhat cheerless and does not have a television. I went in there, to the TV room—where you’re holding Lars Heinrick now—I went in there to see what was on, but there were some people watching some dreadful TV movie. It was the Mclnnernys, that couple at the table over there. If you want to check, they were the ones who told me about the stream and the pond. That’s why I went out there to take a look, and that’s how I happened to see the busboy, Randy, kissing Christine Cobb.”
“Uh-huh,” Pinehurst said. If he was convinced, you wouldn’t have known it.
“The Mclnnernys will confirm everything I’ve just said.”
“By that, I assume you mean they will confirm telling you about this pond. So,” Pinehurst said, “you leave your wife at the movie. You come back to the inn, looking for Christine Cobb. You look in the TV room, but she’s not there. Of course you can’t tell the couple watching TV you’re looking for Christine Cobb, so you become involved in a brief conversation with them about the grounds, during which they tell you about the pond.
“You leave the TV room and encounter Christine Cobb. Naturally, you want to take her someplace you won’t be seen. You’ve just been told about this pond across the road. It sounds romantic to you. You tell the young woman about it, suggest you check it out. Which you do.”
“Chief?”
“Yes?”
“Not to tell you your business, but have you considered asking the busboy if he was involved with Christine Cobb? If he admits it, you’re done. Even if he denies it, I can’t imagine a callow youth like that fooling you for long.”
“Thanks for your vote of confidence. I certainly intend to question the busboy again. It’s on my list.”
“Your list?”
“Yes, of course. At the moment, I’m concerned with you. Now, you admit you passed by the booth twice. The time you got up and went to the bathroom.”
“Admit?”
“You did pass by the booth twice, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did.”
“There you are. Now, was that the only time you got up from the table during the meal?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Well, that’s something I can check with your wife. And with the other woman at the table. But say it’s true. Say you only got up that one time. On your way out of the dining room the busboy was serving the drinks. That’s fairly well established both by you and by your wife. So let’s assume that that’s true.
“So, on your way back from the bathroom the drinks have already been served. They’re there on the table. Now, according to your story, as you pass by the booth, you see the young man glaring at the young woman and a tear running down her cheek. Is that right?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Yet, here again, we have only your word for that. There’s no corroboration of any kind. In this case, it’s worse than your story of her kissing the busboy by the pool. Because you didn’t even tell your wife. You didn’t tell anyone. So here’s a story you chose not to tell until after the crime. After the murder, questioned as to what you did, you suddenly spring this tale. That on your way back from the bathroom, this is what you saw.
“Well, it could have happened like that. What you describe is certainly in keeping with the situation. Not too inventive, of course, but seeing the woman crying is what you’ve described before. If you’re making something up, it’s hard to be artistic. It’s better to be sound. The soundest thing is something that fits in with what’s gone before. One would describe something similar to, or identical to, a past event, in order to give the story validity, make it seem real.
“So, you say you saw a tear running down her cheek. And the boyfriend glaring at her. Like the incident from Champney Falls. The fact she was crying and the sound of the slap. You put that together in your head, and you create the scene you describe in the booth.”
“Oh, is that right? And why do I do that?”
“To cover what you actually did. Which was to stop at the booth and put poison in her glass.”
“Poison?”
“Surely you’ve guessed that poison was involved. Assuming you’re guessing. And don’t know for sure because you did the deed. But, yes, that is the apparent cause of death.”
“There was poison in her glass?”
“That’s what I suspect. Of course, I have to await the report from the lab. But, let us assume for the sake of the discussion the young woman was poisoned. And let us assume that you stopped by her booth to put poison in her glass.”
“And why would I do that?”
“Because she’s a woman.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m sorry. That was a sexist remark. I was generalizing, and one should not generalize. But say you were having an affair with her. And say she was not willing to leave it at that. Say she wanted you to leave your wife, which you weren’t willing to do, so she threatened to tell her. You can see the whole sorry pattern begin to emerge.”
“I certainly can.” I rubbed my head. “Chief, is there any way we could move this along? We could always come back to the matter, should any of these unfounded suspicions pan out.”
Pinehurst pursed his lips. “So, you’re somewhat touchy on the subject of poison.”
I took a breath, exhaled. “I’m somewhat exasperated by the suggestion I might have administered it.”
“Uh-huh. Well, help me out then. Show me a reason why you couldn’t.”
“How about this? When I returned from the bathroom, both Lars Heinrick and Christine Cobb were in the booth. If I had stopped by to drug her drink, don’t you think Lars might have wondered why?”
“Sure, if your story’s true. If Lars was indeed in the booth at the time.”
“But he was.”
“According to who?”
“There’s no according to who about it. He was.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I saw him get
up and go out.”
“When was that?”
“Later. After I’d returned to my table.”
“And who saw him go out?”
“I did.”
“There again, we have your unsubstantiated word.”
“Didn’t anyone else see him go out?”
“Actually, people did. But no one’s that accurate on the time. And, as to whether he went out before or after you came back, well, I don’t think anyone can help us there.”
“Try my wife.”
“Oh?”
“I’ll bet she’d remember.”
“Perhaps. But then a wife will alibi her husband.”
“Alibi?”
“Yes, of course.”
“But, but, but—”
“But what?”
“But you say my motive for killing her was to keep my wife from finding out. So why would my wife give me an alibi for the killing?”
Pinehurst shrugged. “I could be wrong. You could have another motive entirely. And you and your wife could be coconspirators.”
“Give me a break.”
“But let’s not get off on a tangent,” Pinehurst said.
I blinked. I couldn’t quite believe he’d said that.
“The point is, so far no one can confirm the time Lars Heinrick went out. So it’s entirely possible you could have had a moment alone in the booth with Christine Cobb. Long enough to lean over, whisper something in her ear, and administer the poison.”
“Are you telling me I have to find someone who remembers when I came back, and who saw Lars Heinrick go out?”
“That would be nice. Though it wouldn’t solve your problem.”
“Why not?”
“Because you could have done it anyway. Say Lars Heinrick hasn’t left yet when you come back. You stop by the booth under some guise of talking to the two of them. You distract their attention in some way, and slip the poison in the glass.”
“Yes, but Lars Heinrick is alive.”
“Yes, of course. You only poison one glass.”
“No, no. You miss the point. He’s alive, so you can ask him. If I stopped by the booth while he was there, he will remember it. Ask him if I came by the booth. Ask him if I had any opportunity to put the poison in that glass.”
“Are you sure you want me to do that?”
