I said, “Stop. I’m afraid I do mind you talking about it. Let’s skip anything that was, or ever was, between you and Lola. It doesn’t matter now.”
“All right, we’ll speak of her abstractly. Wayne, you don’t know, being blinded by loving her and being too close to her, what that woman was capable of, what she was under that beautiful exterior of hers. Or maybe you do at that. Maybe you found out tonight for the first time. Is that right?”
I said, “You’re righter than you know, Adrian.”
“Then—let’s do this. Let’s go to the best lawyer I know. Right now. We’ll wake him up in the middle of the night. We’ll talk it over with him and then you give yourself up, taking his advice on what to say and what not to say. If you’re guilty, I doubt if he’s going to be able to get you a habeas corpus, but he can—”
“No, Adrian,” I said. “Listen, can you make a car backfire?”
“Can I— Are you crazy?”
“Can you?”
“You’d have to disconnect the muffler or something, wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t think so, Adrian. Your engine’s still running, isn’t it? Try turning the ignition off and on and goosing the gas pedal at the same time. I mean it. Go ahead and try it. I want to know, for sure.”
He turned and stared at me a moment in the dimness of the car, and then he leaned forward and turned the ignition key. There was a loud backfire.
“Couple more times,” I said. “I want to see how close together you can space them, doing it on purpose that way.”
“You want to draw the cops here?”
“I’ll take a chance on that. You want me to give myself up anyway.”
He tried it; the explosions were only about a second apart.
I said, “All right, let’s go.”
“To Taggert’s? You’re really going to follow through with that silly business of wanting the role in the Bluebeard play?”
“Yes.”
IV
Backfire
ADRIAN SHRUGGED, and backed out of the parking place. He drove on across the park and over East Seventy-second past Third Avenue. He parked in front of a remodeled brownstone front halfway down the block.
“This it?” I asked.
“Sure. Haven’t you been to Taggert’s place before?”
“I’ve seen him around,” I said. “I’ve never been in his home up till now.”
Adrian started to get out of the car. Then he said, “Wait a minute, Wayne. I’ve been thinking while I drove. I think I’ve got your angle, now. It threw me for a while. You’re going to try an insanity plea, aren’t you? That’s the reason for this build-up of keeping after a Bluebeard role just after you’ve killed your wife. That’s why you locked Mike in his closet. That’s why you tried the backfires, or had me do it. That’s why you’ve been telling everyone you killed Lola, but not going to the cops. You—you aren’t really crazy, are you?”
I said, “I sometimes think that maybe I am, Adrian.”
He clapped me on the shoulder. “That’s the boy. If that’s your story, stick to it. I’ll ride along for a little while yet. Not too much longer, or I’m going to have to cop an insanity plea myself.”
I didn’t say anything, and we got out of the car. He led the way to the door and pushed a button in the hallway. The latch of the lock clicked almost right away, and we went in and walked up two nights.
Dane Taggert was standing in the doorway of his apartment. He said, “Took you fellows long enough to get here.”
Adrian said, “I went home to get those scene sketches to show you, Taggert. How goes the rewrite on the third-act curtain?”
We were inside by then. Taggert said, “Finished, but don’t know whether you’ll like it or not. Let’s have a drink first. Rye and sparkling okay? Sit down; I’ll get it.”
Adrian sank into a chair, and I wandered over to the radio. It was a big Zenith console, the kind with four wave bands. It wasn’t playing but I looked at the setting. It was on short-wave and the dial was turned for police calls. I moved it out from the wall a little and reached in behind. The tubes were warm; it had just been shut off.
Taggert must have heard me move the set; he stepped to the doorway of the kitchen, an open bottle in one hand.
“Nice set you’ve got,” I told him, moving it back. “Is it good on police calls?”
His eyes missed mine and went to the dial. He said, “Very good. I sometimes get story ideas from them. I still do an occasional detective short.”
“Tubes are warm,” I said. “You must have been listening in before we came.”
“For a few minutes. How do you want your highball, Dixon? Strong? Medium?”
“Medium will do, thanks.”
I sat down across from Adrian and felt his eyes on me curiously, but I paid no attention until Taggert came in with the drinks on a tray. I took one and sipped it.
Taggert said, “About that third-act curtain, Adrian. What do you think of the idea of—”
“It stinks,” I said.
They both turned to stare at me. Their eyes took in the gun—the nickel-plated, .32 revolver—that was in my hand, resting on the arm of my chair with the muzzle pointed between Carr and Taggert. Then their eyes came back to my face. I wouldn’t know, being behind it instead of in front, but I think my face was pretty deadpan, and I kept my voice that way too.
I said, “I’ve got one idea for a third-act curtain. It’s corny as hell. Why don’t you have your wife-killer shoot the rest of the cast and then himself?”
Adrian cleared his throat. He said, “It’s been done, Wayne. Othello. Roderigo, Iago, Othello.”
“Not quite the same,” I said. “Othello himself doesn’t kill either Roderigo or Iago. My plot is different.” I saw Taggert start to get up and I said, “Sit down, Taggert. I’m not kidding.” I cocked the revolver.
Taggert had sunk back in the chair. He looked sideways at Adrian. He asked, “Is this a bad joke, Adrian, or is he… crazy?” There was a little sweat, not much, on Taggert’s forehead.
Adrian was staring at me intently. He said, “I’m not sure.”
I said, “You had the police short-wave on, Taggert. You know there’s a pick-up order out for me. Let’s take the gloves off. Even this one.”
With my free left hand I took a man’s right leather glove from my coat pocket and tossed it to the floor in front of me. I asked Taggert, “Ever see it before?”
He shook his head slowly.
I explained, to Adrian rather than to Taggert, “Lola had it in her purse, along with the gun. This gun.”
Adrian stared at me, bewildered. I said “You’re on the outside of this, Adrian. Taggert knows what I’m talking about, but you don’t. I’ll straighten you out. Don’t move, Taggert.
“Tonight Lola suggested we take a walk in the park. It puzzled me a little, because it’s a cool night, not the kind that makes you want to take a walk at eleven in the evening. But Lola wanted to—and she was sober tonight and very nice to me, so we went for the walk.
“There was hardly anyone else in the park at that hour. We were near the lake and suddenly Lola wanted to walk over to the bridle path—through a dark spot. She didn’t give a reason; maybe she had one ready if I’d argued but I didn’t argue. We were behind a big clump of bushes, concealed from the drive—if there’d been anyone on the drive. Out on Central Park West, a little past the bridle path, a car began to backfire.”
I had them both now. They were staring at me and Adrian’s eyes were wide.