Ralston nodded.
“Please answer verbally.”
“Yes.”
“Are you aware what’s in her diary?”
Again Whiteside had to repeat the question. Ralston said no, he had never read it.
“It was there in the open on the dresser,” Whiteside said. “Is that where she usually kept it?”
Ralston nodded, then said, “Yes.”
“It was there in plain view, just a plain little notebook,” Whiteside said. “It wasn’t locked away, there was no lock on the book itself, and yet you were never tempted to look inside.”
Ralston looked somewhat dumbfounded, as if the question made no sense to him.
“You’re saying you never looked at it? Not once in all the time you were together?”
Ralston shook his head. “That would’ve seemed…”
“Seemed what, Mr. Ralston?”
“Wrong.”
“Wrong,” Whiteside said. “Well, you know what, I believe you. I believe exactly what you’re telling me when you say you never looked at that book. I believe it was such a habit
“No.”
“No.” Whiteside shook his head. “That’s why you didn’t know what she wrote there.”
He got up and came around the desk, pulled up a chair, and faced Ralston from a distance of less than two feet. “What she wrote in her diary, just two days ago, was how this old woman just died in that bedroom of yours, and how she gave you all this great deathbed gift, this rare book which Mr. Janeway says is worth a lot of money. Have I got it right so far?”
“Denise wanted…”
Whiteside waited. Ralston faltered again and dabbed at his eyes.
“You were saying, Mr. Ralston? Denise wanted something. What did she want?”
“She wanted to do what the old woman asked.”
“Find the other books, is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“But you didn’t want to do that, did you? You wanted the money. And you two quarreled about it, didn’t you?”
“We never quarreled about anything. Not ever.”
“What would you call it then, when she wrote these lines?” He fished a notebook out of his pocket. “‘Michael wants so badly to take the money. So we have our first strong disagreement, but he’ll come to see this was the right thing to do.’ How would you interpret that, Mr. Ralston?”
Ralston shook his head. “That wasn’t any quarrel.”
“Maybe that’s not how it started. Maybe it was just a disagreement at first, then it got to be more than that. Hey, I know how it is: I have disagreements with my wife all the time. Sometimes I’d like to shut her up so bad I feel like pushing a pillow in her face.”
“Hey, Whiteside,” I said. “None of that shit.”
He turned on his chair. “Another word from you and you’re out of here.” He turned back to Ralston. “That’s what happened, isn’t it?”
“Don’t answer that, Mike.”
Ralston looked dazed, horrified.
“Hell, if you didn’t mean for it to go as far as it did, I can understand that,” Whiteside said. “You’re a big, strong man—once something gets started, it can be hard to stop.”
“Don’t say another word, Mike. This guy has no honor, he’s trying to sandbag you and he’ll twist anything you say. He’s an asshole and a bad cop besides.”
Whiteside leaped up from his chair and grabbed my arm. “I warned you. Now you can get the fuck out of here or spend the night in jail. Go ahead, call a lawyer if that’s what you want.”
