He fixed his gaze on the card and blushed. "Write 'To William---William Kinderman'---it's spelled on the back."
Chris eyed him with a wan and unexpected affection, checked the spelling of his name and wrote, William F. Kinderman, I love you! And signed her name. Then she gave him the card, which he tucked in his pocket without reading the inscription.
"You're a very nice lady," he told her sheepishly, gaze averted.
"You're a very nice man."
He seemed to blush harder. "No, I'm not. I'm a bother." He was opening the door. "Never mind what I said here today. It's upsetting. Forget it. Keep your mind on your daughter. Your daughter."
Chris nodded, her despondency surging up again as Kinderman stepped outside onto the stoop and donned his hat.
"But you'll ask her?" he reminded as he turned.
"I will," Chris whispered. "I promise. I will."
"Well, good-bye. And take care."
Once more Chris nodded; then added, "Yon too."
She closed the door softly. Then instantly opened it again as he knocked.
"What a nuisance. I'm a nuisance. I forgot my pencil." He grimaced in apology.
Chris eyed the stub in her hand, smiled faintly and gave it to Kinderman.
"And another thing..." He hesitated. "It's pointless, I know---it's a bother, it's dumb---but I know I won't sleep thinking maybe there's a lunatic loose or a doper if every little point I don't cover, whatever. Do you think I could---no, no, it's dumb, it's a ---yes; I should. Could I maybe have a word with Mr. Engstrom, do yon think? The deliveries... the question of deliveries. I really should...."
"Sure, came on in," Chris said wearily.
"No, you're busy. Enough. I can talk to him here. This is fine. Here is fine."
He had leaned against a railing.
"If you insist." Chris smiled thinly. "He's with Regan. I'll send him right down."
"I'm obliged."
Quickly Chris closed the door. A minute later, Karl opened it. He stepped down to the stoop with his hand on the doorknob, holding the door slightly ajar. Standing tall and erect, he looked at Kinderman with eyes that were clear and cool. "Yes?" he asked without expression.
"You have the right to remain silent," Kinderman greeted him, steely gaze locked tight on Karl's. "If you give up the right to remain silent," he intoned rapidly in a flat, deadly cadence, "anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak with an attorney and to have the attorney present during questioning. If you so desire, and cannot afford one, an attorney will be appointed for you without charge prior to questioning. Do you understand each of these rights I've explained to you?"
Birds twittered softly in the branches of the elder tree, and the traffic sounds of M Street came up to them muted like the humming of bees from a distant meadow. Karl's gaze never wavered as he answered, "Yes."
"Do you wish to give up the right to remain silent?"
"Yes."
"Do you wish to give up the right to speak to an attorney and have him present during questioning?"
"Yes."
"Did you previously state that on April twenty-eighth, the night of the death of Mr. Dennings, you attended a film that was showing at the Crest?"
"Yes."
"And what time did you enter the theater?"
"I do not remember."
"You stated previously you attended the six-o'clock showing. Does that help you to remember?"
"Yes. Yes, six-o'clock show. I remember."
"And you saw the picture---the film---from the beginning?"
"I did."
"And you left at the film's conclusion?"
"I did."
"Not before?"
"No, I see entire film."
"And leaving the theater, you boarded the D. C. Transit bus is front of the theater, debarking at M Street and Wisconsin Avenue at approximately nine-twenty P. M.?"
"Yes."
"And walked home?"
"I walk home."
"And were back in this residence at approximately nine-thirty P. M.?"
"I am back here exactly nine-thirty," Karl answered.
"You're sure."
"Yes, I look at my watch. I am positive."
"And you saw the whole film to the very end?"
"Yes, I said that."
"Your answers are being electronically recorded, Mr. Engstrom. I want you to be absolutely positive."
"I am positive."
"You're aware of the altercation between an usher and a drunken patron that happened in the last minutes of the film?"
"Yes."
"Can you tell me the cause of it?"
"The man, he was drunk and was making disturbance."
"And what did they do with him finally?"
"Out. They throw him out."
"There was no such disturbance. Are you also aware that during the course of the six o'clock showing a technical breakdown lasting approximately fifteen minutes caused an interruption in the showing of the film?"
"I am not."
"You recall that the audience booed?"
"No, nothing. No breakdown."
"'You're sure?"
"There was nothing."
"There was, as reflected in the log of the projectionist-, showing that the film ended not at eighty-forty that night, but at approximately eight-fifty-five, which would mean that the earliest bus from the theater would put you at M Street and Wisconsin not at nine-twenty, but nine-forty-five, and that therefore the earliest you could be at the house was approximately five before ten, not nine-thirty, as testified by Mrs. MacNeil. Would you care now to comment on this puzzling discrepancy?"
Not for a moment had Karl lost his poise and he held it now as he answered, "No."
The detective stared at him mutely for a moment, then sighed and looked down as he turned off the monitor control that was tucked in the lining of his coat. He held his gaze down for a moment, then looked up at Karl. "Mr. Engstrom..." he began in a tone that was weary with understanding. "A serious crime may have been committed. You are under suspicion. Mr. Dennings abused you, I have learned from other sources. And apparently you've lied about your whereabouts at the time of his demise. Now it sometimes happens---we're human; why not?---that a man who is married is sometimes someplace where he says that he is not. You will notice I arranged we are talking in private? Away from the others? Away from your wife? I'm not now recording. It's off. You can trust me. If it happens you were out with a woman not your wife on that night, you can tell me, I'll have it checked out, you'll be out of this trouble and your wife, she won't know. Now then tell me; where were you at the time Dennings died?"