`I expected better cooperation, Mr. Hillman. You've had cooperation from us. But come to think of it, we haven't had it from you at any time.'
`Don't give me any lectures, Lieutenant. My son is home, and it wasn't thanks to you that we got him back.'
`A lot of police work went into it,' I said. `Lieutenant Bastian and I have been working closely together. We still are, I hope.'
Hillman transferred his glare to me. He looked ready to order us both out. I said to Bastian: `You've got something to show us, Lieutenant, is that right?'
`Yes.'
He held up his evidence case. `You've already seen it, Archer. I'm not sure if Mr. Hillman has or not.'
`What is it?'
`I'll show you. I prefer not to describe it beforehand. Could we sit down at a table?'
Hillman led us to the library and seated us at a table with a green-shaded reading lamp in the middle, which he switched on. It lit up the tablecloth brilliantly and cast the rest of the room, including our faces, into greenish shadow. Bastian opened the evidence box. It contained the hunting knife with the striped handle, which I had found stuck in Mike Harley's ribs.
Hillman drew in his breath sharply.
`You recognize it, do you?' Bastian said.
`No. I do not.'
`Pick it up and examine it more closely. It's quite all right to handle it. It's already been processed for fingerprints and blood.'
Hillman didn't move. `Blood?'
`This is the knife that was used to kill Mike Harley. We're almost certain that it was also used to kill the other decedent, Carol Harley. Blood of her type was found on it, as well as her husband's type. Also it fits her wound, the autopsist tells me. Pick it up, Mr. Hillman.'
In a gingerly movement Hillman reached out and took it from the box. He turned it over and read the maker's name on the broad shining blade.
`It looks like a good knife,' he said. `But I'm afraid I don't recognize it.'
`Would you say that under oath?'
`I'd have to. I never saw it before.'
Bastian, with the air of a parent removing a dangerous toy, lifted the knife from his hands. `I don't want to say you're lying, Mr. Hillman. I do have a witness who contradicts you on this. Mr. Botkin, who owns the surplus goods store on lower Main, says that he sold you this knife.'
He shook the knife, point foremost, at Hillman's face.
Hillman looked scared and sick and obstinate. `It must have been somebody else. He must be mistaken.'
`No. He knows you personally.'
`I don't know him.'
`You're a very well known man, sir, and Mr. Botkin is certain that you were in his store early this month. Perhaps I can refresh your recollection. You mentioned to Mr. Botkin, in connection with the purchase of this knife, that you were planning a little trip to Oregon with your son. You also complained to Botkin, as a lower Main Street businessman, about an alleged laxness at The Barroom Floor. It had to do with selling liquor to minors, I believe. Do you remember the conversation now?'
`No,' Hillman said. `I do not. The man is lying.'
`Why would he be lying?'
`I have no idea. Go and find out. It's not my job to do your police work for you.'
He stood up, dismissing Bastian. Bastian was unwilling to be dismissed. `I don't think you're well advised to take this attitude, Mr. Hillman. If you purchased this knife from Mr. Botkin, now is the time to say so. Your previous denial need never go out of this room.'
Bastian looked to me for support. I remembered what Botkin had said to me about The Barroom Floor. It was practically certain that his conversation with Hillman had taken place. It didn't follow necessarily that Hillman had bought the knife, but he probably had.
I said: `It's time all the facts were laid out on the table, Mr. Hillman.'
`I can't tell him what isn't so, can I?'
'No. I wouldn't advise that. Have you thought of talking this over with your attorney?'
`I'm thinking about it now.'
Hillman had sobered. Droplets of clear liquid stood on his forehead as if the press of the situation had squeezed the alcohol out of him. He said to Bastian: `I gather you're more or less accusing me of murder.'
`No, I am not.'
Bastian added in a formal tone: `You can, of course, stand on your constitutional rights.'
Hillman shook his head angrily. Some of his fine light hair fell over his forehead. Under it his eyes glittered like metal triangles. He was an extraordinarily handsome man. His unremitting knowledge of this showed in the
