Murder in the Queen's Armes

'He is right-handed.'

Julie peered worriedly up into his face, trying to see his eyes in the dark. “Gideon, darling, don't get angry, but I think you're still a little—'

'I'm not a little anything. What I'm trying to say is that Leon used to be left-handed, probably as a kid, but was made to switch over. Parents do that, you know that. Only it wasn't complete—it hardly ever is. And so of course he might have swung a mallet with his left hand, particularly if he was excited.'

'But how could you possibly know that?'

They began to walk again, more slowly. “Look,” Gideon said, “you know the way a left-hander typically holds his hand when he writes?'

'Sort of scrunched over, you mean?'

'Right, with the hand curled around like a hook; inverted writing posture, it's called. It's the way Conley was writing.'

'Yes, I know,” Julie said with transparent confusion. “But not all left-handers write that way. My sister Karen doesn't.'

'That's true, but most of them do, possibly because of the way they're taught to slant their paper in school. But almost no right-hander does.'

'I believe you, but I think something is escaping me.'

Gideon stopped as they came from the mud and gravel of Barr's Lane to the concrete sidewalk of The Street, Charmouth's concisely named main thoroughfare.

'Julie,” he said, “when I looked at Leon in the mirror today and thought he was writing left-handed, it wasn't the mirror-image that made me think so; it was the way he was writing—hook-handed. But with his right hand.'

'So...” Julie frowned, seeing what he was driving at. “You think he learned to write that way as a child—a left- handed child—and then just kept the same position when he was made to change, because that was what he was used to?'

'That's exactly what I think.'

'That makes sense, but isn't it kind of...well, tenuous?'

'But there's more. There are some problem characteristics that follow when left-handed kids are forced to change hands, at least some of the time, according to a lot of psychologists. And Leon Hillyer's got ‘em.” Purposefully, he started across the quiet street toward the Queen's Armes.

'Well, what are they?'

'He stutters when he's nervous, and he has a tendency to transpose numbers. He'd written a ‘twenty-one’ on that find card I told you about, then had to cross it out and put in a ‘twelve.’ He laughed it off and told me he does it all the time. Damn! And I never figured it out!'

In the dark doorway of the Queen's Armes, she stopped him again, standing in his way. “Gideon, you never stop astonishing me. How do you know such things? Transposed numbers, inverted writing posture—after all, you're an anthropologist, not a—'

'Julie, do you think I don't know what you're doing?'

Even in the darkness he saw her widen her eyes innocently. “Doing?'

'You're temporizing. You're trying to keep me out of there because you think I'm mad enough to do something dumb.'

'Well, aren't you? Gideon, if you really think he's a murderer, what you ought to do is tell the police about it.'

'I'll tell the police later. First, I want to talk to him. Now, are you going to get out of my way?'

It seemed to Gideon that he said it with convincing menace, but she didn't move, except to fold her arms. “Will you stop being so ridiculously macho?” she said. “What are you going to do, for God's sake, beat him up or something?'

'No, I'm not going to beat him up,” he said angrily, but Julie's arms-crossed, feet-planted, no-nonsense barring of the door made him laugh and then relax. “I don't know what I'm going to do,” he said sheepishly. “I guess I haven't thought it out.'

He laughed again and put his arms around her. “Hey, you were pretty magnificent yourself out there in the meadow.'

Headlights suddenly loomed, flooding the entryway with light, and they jumped apart like a couple of kids caught necking. A dark car pulled up to the curb, the light blinked out, and a bulky form slowly emerged.

'Well now,” Inspector Bagshawe boomed softly, “no need to look so guilty. I don't suppose that's the first time this old doorway's seen a bit of slap-and-tickle. Mrs. Oliver, I presume? No offense, ma'am.'

'Yes, this is my wife,” Gideon said, “happily for us all. Julie, this is Inspector Bagshawe.'

Bagshawe murmured something and lifted his hat, the first time in a long while that Gideon had seen a man do that. In his other hand he had a large manila envelope. This he handed to Gideon.

'I've brought you your photographs. Twenty-four in all; the undeveloped film in Randy Alexander's camera. Much good may they do you.'

'Inspector,” Julie said, “there's something we need to tell you.” She glanced nervously at Gideon, who didn't object; of course she was right.

'It's Leon, Inspector,” Gideon said.