Eileen watched him. “Yes. I think so.”
“While I was getting the beer, I noticed that he’s got a sort of workshop down there. It looks like he did a lot of homework on those bombs.” Pete smiled. “Didn’t it worry you that he might blow up the house some time?”
Eileen shook her head. “He never brought any powder or dynamite home with him. He just studied the mechanics of the bombs.”
Pete and I stayed another half hour and then we said good-bye.
Pete slipped behind the wheel of our car and turned on the ignition. “How long were they married, Fred?”
“Two years,” I said. “You know that as well as I do.”
He nodded. “Did you ever realize that most of the time you see people only when they’re wearing their Sunday clothes? You never know what they got on when you’re not around.”
“They got along all right,” I said. “If they didn’t, they could always have gotten a divorce, couldn’t they?”
Pete turned into the traffic at Eighth. “All kinds of diagrams lying around there. In the basement, I mean.”
He stopped for a traffic light. “It’s a terrible thing, Fred. But at least O’Brien was a considerate man. He once told me that he was insured up to the hilt. I think he said fifteen thousand.”
I tossed my cigarette out the window. “We’d better get back to Stuart before he gets a chance to see a lawyer.”
Stuart had had time to think, but his thoughts must have been bad ones. He flinched when Pete and I entered the room.
Pete took off his suitcoat and draped it over the back of a chair. “Well, here I am, Stuart. Have you been thinking about me?”
The movement of Stuart’s head was jerky. “I tell you I know nothing at all about the bombings.”
Pete put his face close to Stuart’s. “You never got anything big like this before. Just a few cripples. Now you’re big time. Everybody’s going to read about you.”
There was a flicker in Stuart’s eyes.
“Mr. Stuart,” I said. “All we ask is a simple statement from you. After that you may talk to the reporters if you want to. I’m sure you’ll be on the front pages for weeks.”
He licked his lips. “No,” he said finally. “I have nothing to say.”
“Mr. Stuart,” I said patiently. “We didn’t just pick you out of the crowd at random. We’ve seen you other times. Last week at the library, for instance.”
Pete tapped him lightly on the shoulder three or four times. “You’re a cop killer now, boy. You’re going to fall down a lot of stairs if you don’t co-operate.”
“Mr. Stuart,” I said. “We are not here to judge you. Perhaps you had some kind of legitimate grievance. Is that it?”
He almost spoke.
Pete broke the silence. “You know what’s waiting for you, Stuart? You know what happens to killers in this state?”
Stuart’s face went white.
I stepped back to where he couldn’t see me. I looked at Pete and shook my head warningly. “Mr. Stuart,” I said gently. “There is no danger of your going to the electric chair. I think we all realize that. You are a disturbed person and the state will recognize you as such. The worst that can happen to you is a few years in an institution for treatment.”
We gave Stuart a full minute to think, but he shook his head stubbornly. “No. I refuse to say anything.”
Pete moved closer and grabbed a handful of Stuart’s shirt. He slapped him hard. This was the only way he could operate.
“Now, Pete,” I said. “You know we can’t allow anything like that.”
Pete wiped the palm of his hand. “Why don’t you go downstairs for a cup of coffee, Fred? Come back in fifteen minutes.”
I shook my head. “No, Pete.” I studied Stuart. “Your scrapbook is quite comprehensive. Apparently bombings were your favorite subject.”
Pete grinned. “But that book of yours isn’t complete, Stuart. Your picture isn’t there.”
“I really must admire you, Mr. Stuart,” I said. “You were quite clever to escape detection all these years.”
I thought I saw smugness in his eyes.
“You’d be surprised how many confessions we get,” I said. “Right now there are three men downstairs who’re clamoring to get their pictures in the papers. They want credit for this bombing and for all those that preceded it.”
I believe it was indignation that made him flush.
“There’s that, Mr. Stuart,” I said softly. “And more. You know I won’t always be here. Pete’ll get to see you alone some time — and he gets what he’s after the tough way. There’s nothing I can do to prevent it unless you give me a statement.”
I lit a cigarette and let Stuart think.
I could almost see his thoughts reflected in his face, the idea of someone else getting the publicity, the idea of being alone with Pete. I didn’t know which fear was stronger.
Stuart rubbed his hands on his trousers and stared at the floor. Finally he sighed. “All right. I’ll tell you everything.”
Pete smiled tightly. “I’d especially like to hear about the last bomb.”
Temper flared in Stuart’s face. “I won’t say a word as long as you’re in the room.” He pointed to me. “I’ll talk only to him.”
Pete looked at me and shrugged. He went out and sent the stenographer in.
When Stuart finished telling about the thirteenth explosion, I lit a fresh cigarette. “About this last one,” I said. “The fourteenth. What made you use three pipes instead of one? Was it because you weren’t satisfied with the effects of the other bombs?”
He glanced at me slyly. “Yes. That was it.”
I let some smoke dribble through my nose. “This time you didn’t use a timing device. You had the package primed to explode when it was lifted. I don’t suppose you could possibly explain that, could you?”
He frowned for a moment. “I thought it would be more efficient that way.”
When the stenographer returned with the typed transcript, Stuart read it carefully and signed all the copies.
And then the two of us were alone again.
I went to the window and opened it. I leaned out and breathed the fresh early evening air.
Stuart came beside me. “Suppose I said I was just lying when I confessed. I could do that, couldn’t I?”
“Yes,” I said. “I suppose you could.”
“Two policemen killed,” he said, relishing it. “My picture should be on the front page of every newspaper in the country.”
I nodded.
A note of craftiness came into his face. “Suppose I denied setting off that last explosion? Suppose I admitted all the others, but denied that? Would my picture still be in all the papers?”
I pointed down below at the street. “I’ll be damned. Did you ever see anything like that?”
He leaned over the ledge and squinted.
It took me a second. Stuart screamed all the way down.
Pete took a stool at the counter and ordered a cup of coffee. “I learn something every day. I could have sworn Stuart wasn’t the type to jump out of a window.”
I shrugged. “Let’s not cry about it. We got the confession and that’s enough. He saved the state money.”
Pete watched the counterman draw the coffee. “You know, Fred, all the time I was riding Stuart I had other ideas about that last explosion. I still have and I’m going to work on them — just to satisfy my curiosity.”
“You’re wasting your time, Pete.”
“It’s my time, Fred. I won’t charge it to the department.” He put cream in his coffee. “I’m not saying Stuart wasn’t guilty. There’s too much to show he was. I just got the feeling that maybe he wasn’t guilty all the way down the line.”
He stifled a yawn and glanced at the wall clock. “I’d like nothing better than to be in my little old apartment now with my shoes off, but I promised my folks I’d drop in for a couple of hours.”