CHAPTER XXIX
Friday, 10:00 AM.-4:15 P.M.
When Watly was through with his story, silence reigned for a moment. Fellows was playing with his key chain, matching keys together, separating them and evening them up again. At length he said without looking up, “Most of what you told us, I guess, is true, Mr. Watly. But that part about her coming at you with a knife—that part, I think, is a lie.”
Watly, white-faced, said, “Every word is true. I told it exactly as it happened.”
“Mr. Watly, I think you killed her. You killed her because she told you she was going to have a baby. You didn’t burn just her head and limbs, you also destroyed some of her internal organs.”
“She didn’t tell me that, I swear it. She wasn’t going to have a baby. It was in the papers, so you know that’s true. She never said it.”
“You still destroyed those organs.”
“I wasn’t trying to hide anything. I had finished with the other parts and I was starting in on the body. I just happened to start there.”
The chief raised his eyes. “You say you didn’t kill her, but you bought a knife and a hacksaw. You purchased them at Cutler’s Hardware store. We traced them there ”
“I know that. I admit that, but I didn’t buy them before she died, I bought them afterwards.”
“When?”
“I bought them—let’s see—Monday.” He reaffirmed it. “I put Jean Sherman on the train and then I bought the saw and knife. That hardware store is near the station. That’s why I bought them there.”
Fellows shook his head. “I don’t believe you, Mr. Watly. I think you bought them there before Monday.”
“I wasn’t near the station before Monday. I wouldn’t have bought them near the station if I hadn’t been taking Jean to the train.”
“You’d buy them there because it’s out of the way. You work in this town. You wouldn’t shop where you might be known.”
“I swear it. She fell and hit her head. I bought them Monday.” Fellows exhaled. “All right, Mr. Watly. Now we’ll go over your story again. You tell us the whole thing all over again, just what you did and what she did. And you might start with that lease you signed. Where’d you get the name Campbell and the Gary Hardware Company?”
“I made up the name Campbell and I remembered the Gary Hardware Company from ads I’d seen. I told Joan, so if anybody asked she’d say I worked in hardware.”
“That’s a lot of scheming to hide a love affair, Watly. It makes better sense if you admit you planned to kill her right along.”
“I didn’t,” he pleaded. “I bought the saw and knife after she died. I only bought them when I decided to destroy her body.”
“What did you do with her belongings, the things that might identify her for us?”
“I burned them. I burned everything I could.”
“You didn’t bum the house down. Why didn’t you do that?” Watly was a real estate man. He looked at the chief in real surprise. “Bum down a house?” He shook his head. “I never even thought of such a thing.”
“And you told your wife you were going away for the weekend, but you didn’t actually get home until Monday night.”
“I called her from New York after Jean said she’d meet me. I said I’d be held up an extra day.”
“And she didn’t question it?”
“No. Why should she? I’m an honest man.” He leaned forward. “You’re holding it against me because I made some mistakes in my youth. You’re holding it against me because I play around. You’re holding it against me because I had a woman back to the house. I admit that looks bad, but that doesn’t make me a murderer.” He raised his voice. “I didn’t kill her!”
“All right. Let’s have the whole thing all over again.”
“Why? I told it to you once.”
“Tell it to us again.”
Watly did. He related the whole story, only this time he was interrupted with question after question by Fellows. Despite the jarring effect of the chief, he made no changes, he didn’t trip himself. She had rushed at him with a knife, tripped, and struck her head.
“There was no mark on the fireplace where you say she hit it.”
“Then she didn't leave any mark, but that’s what she did.”
“What kind of a knife was she waving at you?”
“A long kitchen knife, like a carving knife. I don’t remember it exactly.”
“You put it back. You ought to remember it. What’s the knife look like?”
“A wood-handled knife. That’s all I remember.”
“It was the knife you bought at Cutler’s, wasn’t it?”
“No! I didn’t buy that knife until Monday.”
“Go on.”
When he had told it a second time, he was made to tell it again and this time Wilks as well as Fellows kept interrupting, kept quizzing him on major points and minor details. It came out the same way.
At noon they took a break for lunch, having it served in the office, and then they went at it again and still again, always with the same result. He wouldn’t be shaken on his claim that she had rushed at him in a rage, fallen headlong against the brick fireplace, and dropped dead.
By four o’clock Watly was hoarse. They were all hoarse. They paused and Watly was nearly in tears and nervous prostration, but he clung to his story with an earnestness that was pathetic and, because it was pathetic, it was convincing. But Fellows and Wilks wouldn’t be convinced.
They gave up finally and had him put in a cell. Sergeant Gorman and one of the patrolmen locked him in and Ed Lewis departed to type up the statement for the real estate agent’s signature. Fellows and Wilks stayed behind in the office and their frustration was evident.
“The trouble is,” Wilks complained bitterly, “we can’t prove otherwise.”
“I don’t care how often he denies it, he killed her. I’d bet my life on it.”
“What good does the betting do? We’re
