“He told me you had just been knocked out by somebody when you were talking with Jackson and you couldn’t remember much. But he showed it to you, didn’t he? What did it look like?”
“It looked like a piece of white paper, not a big piece. I was still in a daze and couldn’t hardly sit up. But I remember one thing all right, and that ought to be enough for you. He told me that he got it from Squint Hurley that morning. It was Hurley that—”
“I know. Much obliged. Did you take the paper in your hand?”
“I don’t think I did. I’m sure I didn’t. I was using my hands to hold my head up. He saw I was no good and he took me down and drove me home. That was after I realized the bag was gone — my niece’s handbag that I had.”
“Was there writing on the paper?”
“I didn’t see any, but I didn’t really look. But there must have been, because he had told me on the phone that what was on it didn’t mean anything to him and that was one reason he wanted me to come and look at it, to see if it meant anything to me.”
“Didn’t he tell you on the phone what was on it?”
Pellett regarded him a moment, then said quietly, “It strikes me you’re acting pretty damn foolish. Even making all allowances. If you just want to find out what was on that paper, all you have to do is ask Squint Hurley; he gave it to Jackson. But I notice you seem to be wanting to ride me, and another thing I notice is that you don’t seem to have the paper or you wouldn’t have to ask Hurley or me either. Is the paper gone?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t got it. Have you?”
“That’s more like it.” Pellett nodded approvingly. “I like a straight question. I haven’t got it. If there was any good reason for me to lie to you about it I guess I would all right, but there isn’t. I didn’t see what the writing was and Dan didn’t tell me on the phone. There in his office I didn’t see the writing, except maybe so hazy that I don’t remember it, and he didn’t hand me the paper and I didn’t take it away, which is what I suppose you had in mind. Is it gone?”
“It hasn’t been found.” Baker was frowning at him. “Why did he want to show it to you? Why did he want to consult you about it?”
“I suppose because he knew I’d be interested and I might be able to help. He knew that the detectives my sister had hired for over a year had reported to me as much as to her. He knew that I never had believed Squint Hurley had killed Charlie.”
“Why hadn’t you?”
“Well, besides the evidence about the bullet, I knew Squint and the kind of man he was. I had been getting specimens from him for years — coyotes and pronghorns and other things. I knew him.”
“Can he read?”
“What? Read? Certainly he can read.”
“How do you know he can?”
“I’ve seen him. I’ve been with him in the hills, getting hides and showing him how to handle them. I’ve given him old magazines and things—”
“Can he read writing?”
“Writing I couldn’t say.” Pellett screwed up his lips, considering. “I don’t know that I ever saw him read writing. But I should— Oh, I see! That’s it! He can’t tell you what was on that paper because he couldn’t read it? Godamighty!”
“So he says. So you never thought Hurley killed Brand?”
“No, I didn’t. And I don’t.”
“Have you any idea who did kill him?”
“No. My sister spent a fortune on high-priced detectives from San Francisco, and they never really started a trail.”
“Have you any idea who killed Jackson?”
“Yes. I have.”
“You have?”
“Wait a minute.” Pellett shook his head. “Not the identity of him. But I said it to Bill Tuttle yesterday, and now that you say that paper can’t be found, I say it double. It might have been only coincidence that Dan was killed only a few hours after he got that paper from Squint Hurley, but if the paper’s gone it must have been taken from him and that couldn’t be coincidence. It’s not just guessing, it’s a cinch. It was one and the same man that killed Charlie and Dan both. And what hauls me up, it was the same man that cracked me on the skull when I went upstairs there Tuesday afternoon. That’s when he got the bag with the gun in it. I’ve wished to God fifty times I’d let that bum walk off with that bag. Then at least Delia — my niece wouldn’t have been mixed in it.” Pellett’s lips tightened, and his shoulders sagged more than ordinarily.
Baker eyed him and said, “There are objections to that theory.”
“I know it. I’ve thought about it. Why did he want to use that particular gun so bad that he knocked me out in order to get it? And how did he know I had it — did he see me taking it from the bum that stole it? Or say he wasn’t after the gun at all, but after he knocked me downstairs he saw the bag and felt what was in it and that gave him the idea of using that gun — in that case, why was he laying for me? What did he want to ambush me for? He couldn’t have mistaken me for Jackson, even up there in the dark, because he must have known Dan was there in his office. Another thing, if he wanted that paper so bad he killed Dan to get it, why hadn’t he got it by killing Hurley, or not necessarily killing him even, long before? Sure, I know there’s objections, but when there’s no objections to a theory it stops being a theory. That’s your job, to clear them up.”
Baker grunted. “I was going to ask you about that blow you got on the head. You have no idea who did it, huh?”
“If I did—” Pellett’s lips tightened again. He said shortly, “I haven’t.”
“You didn’t hear anything or catch a glimpse of anyone?”
“All I caught was a piece of that ore right here.” Pellett touched the bandage on the side of his head. “Anyway Dan and the doctor said it was a piece of ore.”
“And you think it was the murderer of both Brand and Jackson who did it.”
“I do. Also I think you might be a lot further along than you are now if you hadn’t lost two whole days taking it for granted — with my niece locked in a cell charged with murder—”
“Under the circumstances anyone would have taken it for granted. Her bag on the desk, her gun in her hand—”
“You learned about the bag being stolen yesterday noon, nearly thirty-six hours ago.”
“We learned it from you. Her uncle. Without corroboration.” The county attorney gestured. “But I admit it was unfortunate and God knows I admit we’ve lost time. I’m much obliged for your theory and we’ll work on it along with others. Regarding one of the others, I’d like to ask you a question. I’d rather ask you than anybody else, and I expect you’d rather have me. It was generally known around here that before she married Dan Jackson Amy Sammis was — well, she had a good opinion of Charlie Brand. That was common knowledge. But Charlie married your sister. I was just a kid in school then. Now around three years ago there was talk. You must have heard it. It concerned Charlie Brand and Amy Jackson — God knows no one could have blamed Amy, the deal she was getting from Dan. What about it? What was there to it?”
“I don’t know,” Pellett muttered.
Baker appealed to him: “Charlie’s dead. Your sister’s dead. Amy’s life is ruined anyhow. They can’t be hurt any more, Pellett. If anyone can answer that question, you can. I don’t mean the talk, I mean the facts.”
“No.” Pellett shook his head. “I don’t know any facts. If I did know any I’d bury them. If there were any, there’s no place you can get them, thank God. My sister is dead but her memory is not and her children are not. No. No!”
“You want this murder solved, don’t you?”
“That wouldn’t solve it.”
“You don’t know whether it would or not. Your own theory may be right and it may be wrong. I have no intention and no desire—”