Kincaid just fired me, with a strong assist from his father. They want no partof Dolly and her problems, now that the chips are down."

Her black eyes flashed. "I sawthrough that boy immediately. He's a moilycoddle."

"I don't have the resources to go onby myself. It isn't good practice, anyway. I need somebody to back me,preferably somebody with local standing and—I'll be frank—a substantial bankbalance."

"How much would it cost me?"

"It depends on how long the case goeson and how many ramifications develop. I get a hundred a day and expenses. AlsoI have a team of detectives in Reno working on a lead that may be a hotone."

"A lead in Reno?"

"It originated here, last night."

I told her about the man in theconvertible which belonged to Mrs. Sally Burke, a woman with many boy friends.She leaned forward in her chair in mounting interest:

"Why aren't the police working onthat lead?"

"They may be. If they are, I don'tknow about it. They seem to have settled for the idea that Dolly's guilty andeverything else is irrelevant. It's simpler that way."

"You don't accept that idea?"

"No."

"In spite of the gun they found in her bed?"

"You know about that, then."

"Sheriff Crane showed it to me thismorning. He wanted to know if I recognized it. Of course I didn't. I abhor thevery sight of guns myself. I've never permitted Roy to own a gun."

"And you have no idea who owned thatone?"

"No, but the Sheriff appeared to takeit for granted that it was Dolly's, and that it tied her to the murder."

"We have no reason to think it washers. If it was, the last place she'd put it would be under her own mattress.Her husband denies she did, and he was with her continuously once she got backto the gatehouse. There's the further point that there's no definite proof it'sthe murder weapon."

"Really?"

"Really. It will take ballisticstests, and they're not scheduled until Monday. If my luck holds, I think I can throwmore light on the situation by then."

"Do you have a definite theory ofyour own, Mr. Archer?"

"I have an idea that theramifications of this thing go far back beyond Dolly. It wasn't Dolly whothreatened Miss Haggerty's life. She would have recognized her voice, they wereclose friends. I think Dolly walked up to her house simply to ask her adviceabout whether to go back to her husband. She stumbled over the body andpanicked. She's still in panic."

"Why?"

"I'm not prepared to explain it. Iwant to go into her background further. I also want to go into Miss Haggerty'sbackground."

"That might be interesting," shesaid, as if she was considering attending a double-feature movie. "Howmuch is all this going to cost me?"

"I'll keep it as low as I can. But it could mountup in the thousands, two or three or even four."

"That's rather an expensive penance."

"Penance?"

"For all my selfishness, past and present andfuture. I'll think about it, Mr. Archer."

"How long do you need to think about it?"

"Call me tonight. Roy will betelephoning me around dinnertime—he telephones me every night when he'saway—and I couldn't possibly give you an answer before I discuss it with him.We live on a tighter budget than you might think," she said earnestly,fingering the diamonds at her throat.

chapter15

I drove up under the dripping trees toHelen Haggerty's place. Two deputies messing around outside the front doorwouldn't let me in or answer any questions. It was turning out to be a bad day.

I drifted over to the campus and into theAdministration Building. I had some idea of talking to Laura Sutherland, theDean of Women, but her office was locked. All the offices were locked. Thebuilding was deserted except for a white-headed man in blue jeans who wassweeping the corridor with a longhandled push-broom. He looked like FatherTime, and I had a nightmare moment of thinking that he was sweeping Helen'slast vestiges away.

In a kind of defensive reflex I got out mynotebook and looked up the name of the chairman of the modem languagesdepartment. Dr. Geisman. The old man with the push-broom knew where his officewas:

"It's in the new Humanity Building,down the line." He pointed. "But he won't be there on a Saturdayafternoon."

The old man was mistaken. I found Geismanin the department office on the first floor of the Humanities Building, sittingwith a telephone receiver in one hand and a pencil in the other. I had seen himcoming out of Bradshaw's conference the day before, a heavy middle-aged manwith thick spectacles imperfectly masking anxious little eyes.

"One moment," he said to me; andinto the telephone: "I'm sorry you can't help us, Mrs. Bass. I realize youhave your family responsibilities and of course the remuneration is not great

© Alexander Sviyash, 2009