“Yeah, but why?” I whined.
Ohls laughed. “You know damn well why.”
“You mean on account of I’m tall, dark, and handsome and somebody might look at me?”
“Cut it,” Hernandez said coldly. “Let’s get on with your statement. Start from the beginning.”
I gave it to them from the beginning: my interview with Howard Spencer, my meeting with Eileen Wade, her asking me to find Roger, my finding him, her asking me to the house, what Wade asked me to do and how I found him passed out near the hibiscus bushes and the rest of it. The stenotype operator took it down. Nobody interrupted me. All of it was true. The truth and nothing but the truth. But not quite all the truth. What I left out was my business.
“Nice,” Hernandez said at the end. “But not quite complete.” This was a cool competent dangerous guy, this Hernandez. Somebody in the Sheriff’s office had to be. “The night Wade shot off the gun in his bedroom you went into Mrs. Wade’s room and were in there for some time with the door shut. What were you doing in there?”
“She called me in and asked me how he was.”
“Why shut the door?”
“Wade was half asleep and I didn’t want to make any noise. Also the houseboy was hanging around with his ear out. Also she asked me to shut the door. I didn’t realize it was going to be important.”
“How long were you in there?”
“I don’t know. Three minutes maybe.”
“I suggest you were in there a couple of hours,” Hernandez said coldly. “Do I make myself clear?”
I looked at Ohls. Ohls didn’t look at anything. He was chewing on an unlighted cigarette as usual.
“You are misinformed, Captain.”
“We’ll see. After you left the room you went downstairs to the study and spent the night on the couch. Perhaps I should say the rest of the night.”
“It was ten minutes to eleven when he called me at home. It was long past two o’clock when I went into the study for the last time that night. Call it the rest of the night if you like.”
“Get the houseboy in here,” Hernandez said.
Ohls went out and came back with Candy. They put Candy in a chair. Hernandez asked him a few questions to establish who he was and so on. Then he said: “All right, Candy—we’ll call you that for convenience—after you helped Marlowe put Roger Wade to bed, what happened?”
I knew what was coming more or less. Candy told his story in a quiet savage voice with very little accent. It seemed as if he could turn that on and off at will. His story was that he had hung around downstairs in case he was wanted again, part of the time in the kitchen where he got himself some food, part of the time in the living room. While in the living room sitting in a chair near the front door he had seen Eileen Wade standing in the door of her room and he had seen her take her clothes off. He had seen her put a robe on with nothing under it and he had seen me go into her room and I shut the door and stayed in there a long time, a couple of hours he thought. He had gone up the stairs and listened. He had heard the bedsprings making sounds. He had heard whispering. He made his meaning very obvious. When he had finished he gave me a corrosive look and his mouth was twisted tight with hatred.
“Take him out,” Hernandez said.
“Just a minute,” I said. “I want to question him.”
“I ask the questions here,” Hernandez said sharply.
“You don’t know how, Captain. You weren’t there. He’s lying and he knows it and I know it.”
Hernandez leaned back and picked up one of the Sheriff’s pens. He bent the handle of the pen. It was long and pointed and made of stiffened horsehair. When he let go of the point it sprang back.
“Shoot,” he said at last.
I faced Candy. “Where were you when you saw Mrs. Wade take her clothes off?”
“I was sitting down in a chair near the front door,” he said in a surly tone.
“Between the front door and the two facing davenports?”
“What I said.”
“Where was Mrs. Wade?”
“Just inside the door of her room. The door was open.”
“What light was there in the living room?”
“One lamp. Tall lamp what they call a bridge lamp.”
“What light was on the balcony?”
“No light. Light in her bedroom.”
“What kind of light in her bedroom?”
“Not much light. Night table lamp, maybe.”
“Not a ceiling light?”
“No.”
