'Where anyone could ring the bell at any moment, even though no one has in the longest time—' She heaved a sigh. 'What do you think it means?'
'I think we're still hot for each other,' I said, 'after all these years.'
'Well, I know that. I mean the booze that wasn't on Whitfield's breath, which is uncannily like the dog that didn't bark in the nighttime, isn't it? What do you make of it?'
'I don't know.'
'You're sure you noticed it at the time? Noticed the absence of it, I mean, and the contradiction between what he said and what you observed. It wasn't just something your imagination supplied when you were lighting candles and cursing the darkness?'
'I'm positive,' I said. 'I thought of it at the time, and then I just plain forgot about it because there were too many far more important things to think about. Here was a man sentenced to death by a killer who'd built up a pretty impressive track record. He wanted me to help him figure out a way to stay alive. That had more of a claim on my attention than the presence or absence of booze on his breath.'
'Of course.'
'I smelled the scotch when he opened the bottle and poured the drink. And it struck me that I hadn't smelled it on his breath when he let me into the apartment. We shook hands, our faces weren't all that far apart. I'd have smelled it if it had been there to smell.'
'If the man hadn't been drinking,' she wondered, 'why would he say he had?'
'I have no idea.'
'I could understand if it was the other way around. People do that all the time, especially if they think the person they're talking to might have a judgment on the subject. He knew you didn't drink so he might assume you disapprove of others drinking. But you don't, do you?'
'Only when they throw up on my shoes.'
'Maybe he wanted to impress you with the gravity of the situation.
'I'm not much of a drinker, I never have more than one a day, but this creep with the poisoned pen has me so rattled I've had a few already and I'm about to have another.' '
' 'And then I'll stop, because stress or not I'm no rummy.' I thought of that.'
'And?'
'Why would he think he needed to do that? He just got a death threat from a guy with maximum credibility. Will's been all over the front pages for weeks, and so far he's batting a thousand. And here you've got Adrian Whitfield, a worldly man, certainly, and one professionally accustomed to the company of criminals, but all the same a far cry from a daredevil.'
'You wouldn't mistake him for Evel Knievel.'
'You wouldn't,' I said, 'because when all is said and done he's a lawyer in a three-piece suit, and the chances he takes tend not to be physical in nature. Of course he's going to take a letter from Will seriously. He doesn't have to prove it to me by pretending to have had drinks earlier.'
'You don't suppose…'
'What?'
'Could he have been a closet teetotaler?'
'Huh?'
'You said he poured a drink in front of you. Are you sure he actually drank it?'
I thought about it. 'Yes,' I said.
'You saw him drink it.'
'Not in a single swallow, but yes.'
'And it was whiskey?'
'It came out of a scotch bottle,' I said, 'and I got a whiff of it when he poured it. It smelled like booze.
In fact it smelled like a single-malt scotch, which is what it claimed to be on the label.'
'And you saw him drink it, and you smelled it on his breath.'
'Yes to the first part. Did I smell it on his breath afterward? I don't remember one way or the other. I didn't have occasion to notice.'
'You mean he didn't kiss you goodnight?'
'Not on the first date,' I said.
'Well, shame on him,' she said. 'I kissed you goodnight, on our first date. I can even remember what you had on your breath.'
'You can, huh?'
'Whiskey,' she said. 'And moi'
'What a memory.'
'Well, it was memorable, you old bear. No, what I was getting at, I know there are people who drink but try to hide it. And I wondered if there might also be people who don't drink, and try to hide that.'
