phoned the Sheriff and found out where I was. The Sheriff called us over therejust now. They found the murder gun."

"Where?"

Alex was slow in answering, as though thewords in his mouth would make the whole thing realer when he let them out. Hisfather answered for him:

"Where she hid it, under the mattress of the bedin that little hut she's been living in—"

"It isn't a hut," Alex said. "It's agatehouse."

"Don't contradict me, Alex."

"Did you see the gun?" I said.

"We did. The Sheriff wanted Alex to identify it,which naturally he couldn't do. He didn't even know she had a gun."

"What kind of a gun is it?"

"It's a Smith and Wesson revolver,.38 caliber, with walnut grips. Old, but in pretty fair condition. She probablybought it at a pawn shop."

"Is this the police theory?"

"The Sheriff mentioned the possibility."

"How does he know it's hers?"

"They found it under her mattress,didn't they?" Kincaid talked like a prosecutor making a case, using it tobring his son into line. "Who else could have hidden it there?"

"Practically anybody else. Thegatehouse was standing open last night, wasn't it, Alex?"

"It was when I got there."

"Let me do the talking," hisfather said. "I've had more experience in these matters."

"It hasn't done you a hell of a lotof good. Your son is a witness, and I'm trying to get at the facts."

He stood over me with his hands on hiships, vibrating. "My son has nothing whatever to do with this case."

"Don't kid yourself. He's married tothe girl."

"The marriage is meaningless—a boyishimpulse that didn't last one full day. I'm having it annulled. It wasn't evenconsummated, he tells me."

"You can't annul it."

"Don't tell me what I can do."

"I think I will, though. All you cando is annul yourself and your son. There's more to a marriage than sexualconsummation or legal technicalities. The marriage is real because it's realfor Alex."

"He wants out of it now."

"I don't believe you."

"It's true, isn't it, Alex, you wantto come home with me and Mother? She's terribly worried about you. Her heart iskicking up again." Kincaid was throwing everything but the kitchen sink.

Alex looked from him to me. "I don'tknow. I just want to do what's right."

Kincaid started to say something, probablyhaving to do with the kitchen sink, but I talked over him:

"Then answer another question or two,Alex. Was Dolly carrying a gun when she came running back to the gatehouse lastnight?"

"I didn't see one."

Kincaid said: "She probably had it concealedunder her clothes."

"Shut up, Kincaid," I saidcalmly from my sitting position. "I don't object to the fact that you're abloodless bastard. You obviously can't help it. I do object to your trying tomake Alex into one. Leave him a choice, at least."

Kincaid sputtered a couple of times, andwalked away from me. Alex said without looking at either of us: "Don'ttalk to my father that way, Mr. Archer."

"All right. She was wearing a cardigan and ablouse and skirt. Anything else?"

"No."

"Carrying a bag?"

"I don't think so."

"Think."

"She wasn't."

"Then she couldn't have been carrying a concealed.38 revolver. You didn't see her hide it under the mattress?"

"No."

"And were you with her all the time, between thetime she got back and the time she left for the nursing home?"

"Yes. I was with her all the time."

"Then it's pretty clear it isn'tDolly's gun, or at least it wasn't Dolly who hid it under the mattress. Do youhave any idea who it could have been?"

"No."

"You said it was the murder gun. Howdid they establish that? They haven't had time for ballistics tests."

© Alexander Sviyash, 2009