The Wrong Gun

“No. Of course not.”

“So it was unlocked when you took the shower?”

“Right.”

“So anyone could have come in and taken the gun?”

“Sure.”

“Would you have seen ’em or heard ’em?”

“No.”

“Was the bathroom door open or closed?”

“Closed.”

“How long were you in the shower?”

“I don’t know. Pretty long, I guess. I was pissed off, the water felt good, I didn’t want to see anyone. There was no reason for me to get out. I guess I was in there a fairly long time.”

“It would have to be.”

“What?”

“Long enough for someone to have taken the gun, gone downstairs, shot Potter, got back upstairs and replaced the gun.”

Timberlaine frowned. “Right.”

“That would take some time.”

“Yeah.”

“And, of course, Potter is not cooperating. I mean, it’s not like he’s standing there waiting to be shot.”

Timberlaine frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, the whole thing has to make sense. Either the killer brings Potter to the gun room, leaves him there, runs upstairs, gets your gun, comes back and shoots him. Or, the killer gets your gun, then finds Potter, brings him to the gun room and shoots him.” Steve shrugged. “Either way, it’s going to take time.”

“I see that.”

“And the killer would have to replace the bullet.”

“Huh?”

“When you gave Lieutenant Sanders the gun, it was fully loaded with one empty shell. That was the shot you fired up in the air on the path. If the murderer took the gun and shot Jack Potter, he’d have to reload one bullet, or there would have been two empty shells in the gun.”

Timberlaine frowned. “That’s right.”

“Which is why it makes much more sense the other way around.”

“What do you mean?”

“We have two bullets fired, one into the air and one into Jack Potter. By rights, one gun fired one and one the other. We know the fake gun killed Potter. So the whole thing would be simple if the real Pistol Pete gun were the gun you fired up in the air.”

“But it wasn’t.”

“Stick with me a moment. I know. That gun was stolen and the other substituted and the whole bit. But look. If the gun you wore at the auction were the real gun, you could shoot it in the air, go back to your room and leave it on your end table. And the murderer could kill Potter with the fake gun, then sneak upstairs and swap guns while you were in the shower. That would leave each gun with one bullet fired and you with the murder weapon. Simple, easy and possible.”

“Yeah, but it’s not possible,” Timberlaine said. “I didn’t have the gun.”

“I know you think you didn’t. But what if the murderer who swapped the guns swapped them back? Maybe just that afternoon? And you didn’t notice and so you wore the real gun at the auction and shot it in the air? After all, there’s no reason why you’d notice.”

“But I did.” Timberlaine said. “When I put the gun on, I looked at it particularly. And it was not the real gun. Believe me, I would know.”

Steve took a breath, blew it out again. “All right, fine,” he said. “But you see why it would be much better if it were?”

“Of course. But the facts are the facts.”

Steve rubbed his head. “Great. O.K. We’ll leave it. But whatever happened, one way or another, had to have happened while you were in the shower. Let’s get back to that. Before I digressed, I was trying to jog your memory. You came upstairs, the door was unlocked, you opened the door, you closed the door, you walk over to the bed and you start getting undressed. You take off the gun belt first?”

“No, I take off the hat.”

“You take off the hat first?”

“Yeah.”

“Then how does it wind up on top of the gun belt?”

Timberlaine frowned. “Son of a bitch.”

“You didn’t put it there?”

“I’m trying to remember. Let’s see. I took off my hat, I threw it down on the bed. Then I took off the gun belt, put it on the end table. Then I sat down on the bed to take off my boots and-” He broke off.

“What?”

“When I sat down I moved the hat off the bed.”

“And set it on the end table over the gun?”

“Probably.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. I know. But that’s what I did.”

“Do you remember putting it on the gun belt?”

“No, but that’s what I must have done.”

Steve took a breath, exhaled. “O.K. And when you came out of the shower-do you remember seeing the hat or the gun belt then?”

“Not particularly.”

“Think. Was there anything that you noticed-doesn’t have to be the gun belt, or the hat, or the cowboy outfit at all-but was there anything in the room you noticed different when you came out of the shower than when you went in?”

Timberlaine narrowed his eyes a few moments, then shook his head. “No, I can’t remember.”

“O.K. But if you think of anything, anything at all, no matter how trivial, let me know.”

“Of course. Of course.”

“You understand, if what you say is true, this is the only time someone could have taken the gun. The only time Potter could have been killed.”

“I see that.”

“That is a fact, though-from the time you went back to your room, you never left the room till the time you came down to find the cops-is that right?”

“Hey, I told you. I took a shower, watched the ball game.”

“You did that because you were pissed off about the auction and you didn’t want to see anybody.”

“Right.”

“Ordinarily, with a houseful of guests, and it being cocktail hour and all, you would have put in an appearance.”

“Ordinarily.”

“But you were pissed off, so you didn’t.”

“That’s right.”

“And the thing that pissed you off was Melvin Burdett buying that cavalry piece.”

“Of course.”

“And you still think he got a tip?”

“I know he got a tip.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t know. I just do.”