"Then what?"
men tie rusnec to me flouse, ai'u after him. David and Alan were upstairs, outside the door to Father's den. He was in there, you see, even though he's got a very large and beautiful study downstairs."
"Did he use the den often?"
"Yes. As a retreat, I suppose. He has his favorite books in there, and his music. A retreat."
"Was he in the habit of locking the door?"
"Yes."
"He always locked the door when he went up there?"
"As far as I know, yes. I know I've often gone up to call him for dinner or something, and the door's been locked."
"What happened when you came upstairs with Mark?"
"Well, Alan said they'd been trying to open the door, and it was probably locked, and they were going to force it."
"Did he seem anxious about your father in-law?"
"Yes, of course he did. They'd been pounding on the door and making all sorts of noise and they'd got no answer.
Wouldn't you have been anxious?"
"What? Oh, yes. Sure, I would. Then what?"
"They stuck the crowbar into the crack between door and jamb, and forced the lock."
"Then what?"
"Then Mark tried to open it, but it still wouldn't open. So they tugged on it and saw ... saw .
that the old man had hanged himself, is that right?"
"Yes." C'nristine's voice dropped to a whisper.
"Yes, That's right."
"Who was the first to notice this?"
"I was. I was standing a little bit away from them as they pried the door open. I could see the crack, and I saw ... this ... this figure hanging there, and I ... I realized it was Father and I ... I screamed!"
"Who noticed it next?"
"Alan did. And he took a knife out of his pocket and then reached into the room and cut the rope."
"And then the door opened easily, did it?"
"Yes."
"Then what?"
"They called Roger and asked him to phone the police."
"Did anyone touch anything in the room?"
"No. Not even Father."
"None of them went to your father-inlaw?"
"They went to him, but they didn't touch him. They could see immediately that he was dead. David didn't think they should touch him."
"Why not?"
"Why, because he was dead."
"So?"
"He... he knew there would be policemen here, I
"But he also knew his father had committed suicide, didn't he?"
"Well ... well, yes, I suppose so."
"Then why did he warn the others not to touch the body?"
"I'm sure I don't know," Christine said curtly. Carella cleared his throat.
"Do you have any idea how much your father-in-law was worth, Mrs. Scott?"
"Worth? What do you mean worth?"
"In property," Carella said.
"In money."
"No. I have no idea."
"You must have some idea, Mrs. Scott.
Surely you know he was a very wealthy man."
"Yes, of course I know that."
"But not how wealthy, is that right?"
"That's right."
"Did you know that he left $750,000 to be divided equally among his three sons.
Not to mention Scott Industries, Inc." and various other holdings. Did you know that?"
"No. I didn't-" Christine stopped.
"What are you implying Detective Carella?"
"Implying? Nothing. I'm stating a fact of inheritance, that's all. Do you find the fact has implications?"
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, damnit, it has implications. It implies that perhaps someone deliberately ... that's your damn implication, isn't it?"
"You're making the implications, Mrs. Scott. Not me."
"Go to hell, Mr. Carella," Christine Scott said.
"Mmm," Carella answered.
"You're forgetting one little thing, aren't you?"
"What's that?"
"My father-in-law was found dead in a windowless room, and the door was bolted from the inside. Now perhaps you can tell me how your implication of murder..
"Your implication, Mrs. Scott." of murder ties ties in with what are obvious facts.
Or do all detectives automatically go around looking for dirt? Is that your job, Mr. Carella? Looking for dirt?"
"My job is law enforcement. And crime detection.~~ "No crime has been committed here. And no law has been broken."
"Suicide is a crime against the state," Carella said flatly.
"Then you do admit it was suicide."
"It looks as if it might have been. But a lot of suicides that look like suicides turn out to be homicides. You don't mind if I'm thorough about it, do you?"
"I don't mind anything except your excess of bad manners. Provided you don't forget what I mentioned earlier."
"What's that?"
"That he was found in a windowless locked room. Don't forget that, Mr.
Carella."
"Mrs. Scott," Carella said fervently, "I wish I could."
CHAPTER 8
Alf Miscolo lay crumpled against the door to the Men's Room. Not thirty seconds had passed since the slug took him in the back. The people in the squad room had frozen completely as if the explosion of the .38 had rendered them impotent, incapable of either speech or movement. The stench of cordite hung on the air with the blue-gray after smoke of the explosion.
Virginia Dodge, in clear silhouette against the gray of the smoke, seemed suddenly to be a very real and definite threat. She whirled from the railing just as Cotton Hawes broke from his desk in the corner.
"Get back!" she said.
"There's a hurt man out there," Hawes said, and he pushed through the gate.
"Come back here or you're next!"
Virginia shouted.
"The hell with you!" Hawes said, and he ran to where Miscolo lay against the closed door.
The bullet had ripped through Miscolo's back with the clean precision of a needle passing through a piece of linen. Then, erupting at its point of exit, it had torn a hole the size of a baseball just below his collarbone. The front of his shirt was drenched with blood. Miscolo was unconscious, gasping for breath.
"Get him in here," Virginia said.
"He shouldn't be moved," Hawes answered.
"For God's sake, he ..
"All right, hero," Virginia said tightly, "the nitro goes up!" She turned back toward the desk swinging the gun so that it was dangerously close to the bottle of clear liquid.