Fellows said irritably, “Don’t be silly, Sid. Of course we have a chance.”
“Show me where. How did she die? Nobody knows. It could have been an accident like he says. As for the knife and saw, Cutler’s has no record. How’re we going to prove he bought them Friday, or before that even? It could have been Monday like he says. We have our version of what happened and he has his. The only trouble is, we have to prove ours.”
Fellows’s voice was snappish. “All right, Sid. You don’t have to tell me all that. I’m not stupid.”
“A brilliant job of catching the guy and then we can’t touch him—all because a lousy hardware store doesn’t keep records.”
“All right, Sid. Cut it out.” Fellows got to his feet and threw open the door, stalking into the main room. Gorman, at the desk, said, “I just got a call from a reporter on Watly. I confirmed it.”
“The hell with the reporters.”
“They’re going to be coming here.”
Fellows ignored him and stood with his hands on his hips, glowering at the steel door to the cell block. Wilks walked slowly out of the office and leaned against the door frame, watching the chief. Fellows growled in unaccustomed anger. “This damned place looks like a pigsty. Look at the dust in the corners. Sweep this place up, Gorman.”
The tone of Fellows’s voice was so foreign to his nature that Gorman said quickly, “Yes, sir,” and jumped to obey. The chief said, “And empty those ash trays. Clean up this place. Goddamn it, what are we running here?” He jammed his hands in his pockets and his eyes searched out the room for more omissions. His voice came up sharply again, but this time there was a different note in it. “And who’s the sloppy guy in charge of this office? It’s March. It’s the thirteenth day of March. What’s February still doing on the calendar?” He stalked to the bulletin board and tore off the offending sheet, but the vengeance of his action wasn’t quite like the anger he’d shown before. He came back, folding the sheet into uneven quarters and thrust it at Gorman. “Here,” he snapped. “Never mind the broom. Take this in to Watly. Tell him it’s a present from me.”
Gorman said another quick, “Yes, sir,” and hastened to obey. He hurried for the keys, hastened to unlock the door, and went quickly down the concrete corridor. Sidney Wilks, watching the performance, moved up beside the chief and looked sideways at the glint in Fellows’s eyes. He jerked his head after the retreating sergeant and said, “What’s all that big act for?”
Fellows’s face broke into a sly grin. “You know something, Sid? I’m a lousy detective. I don’t know when I’d’ve caught on if I hadn’t looked at that calendar. Monday, the twenty-third of February, the day Watly claims he bought the knife? That’s in red numbers. It’s a legal holiday. The stores were closed.”
From the cell at the end of the hall there came the sudden sound of sobbing.
