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So that’s it. A question they hadn’t asked him before. "Look, Inspector, if there’s something you’re trying to get around to asking, why not get to it and be done with it. What are you driving at?" The plainclothes cop standing a few paces away started moving vaguely in their direction. The inspector motioned him off. This ambiguous little dance-step was not lost on Sweeney. His thoughts were already racing back over the previous hour’s conversation with the inspector and the others. Had he said something totally stupid without knowing it? Or did they think he was trying to be too helpful? "Mr. Sweeney, I am merely trying to determine the facts in the case," the inspector said with a tonelessness which could only have been mastered after many years on the force. "I’m sure this must have been a shock to you. But since you are one of two people who found the body, we are interested in everything you have to say. We are doubly interested in your information since you knew the deceased prior to his death. We have to know everything that led up to the discovery of the body in order to proceed from here. That is our job." "Sure, sure. Just get on with it." Sweeney didn’t believe a word of it. He sat tense and alert. "All right. About the hand print on your car door handle..." Sweeney interrupted, "Okay! One more time with feeling. The handle was already bloody when I touched it. I got the blood on my hand from grabbing the handle. Not the other way round. May I go now? My wife is certainly worried sick." Right. More likely still grading those damn final essays and finishing off the bottle. She’ll look at me all warm and comfy when I come staggering in and say, "Oh? Back so early?" "Just another detail or two. You say you found the deceased at the scene at eleven-thirty-three." "No, I didn’t say that. I didn’t look at my watch." "Oh yes. That was in Mrs. Johnson’s statement." He made a mark in the margin. "I think we’re about through here, Mr. Sweeney," said the inspector. "When you discovered the body... You saw no one else on the street?" "No one else. Except for that lady with the dog coming the other way." The inspector got up laboriously, looking around for the most likely path to the bar through the random disorder of chairs and tables. "That’s all, Mr. Sweeney. Thank you for taking the time to help. We’ll be in touch." About time, thought Sweeney. Be in touch, hell. He sidled past the inspector and put on his jacket. "What about my car?" "We’ll call you when the lab is finished with it. Then you can come pick it up. Would you like an officer to take you home?" Before he could mutter, "No, I’d rather walk," a bell-toned voice behind him said, "Taxi, mister?" Sweeney did a little pirouette and came face to face with Rose. With a smile, Rose plumbed the depths of his eyes wordlessly just long enough to decide he looked all right. Her cheeks were ruddy from the cold night air and her wavy, auburn hair stood out behind her in an unconsciously fashionable confusion. Advancing and taking Sweeney’s arm with an air of unconcerned ease, she distributed friendly little hello-looks among the policemen, who just stood where they were, attempting no pretense of politeness. "Good evening, gentlemen," she said brightly. "I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse us. It’s past Niall’s bedtime." |
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