A Killer's Kiss Read Online Free PDF Page B

room.

5
    Hanratty closed the door and leaned on it, barring any attempt to flee. Sims sat down across from me and smiled like a kindly uncle, you know, the kindly uncle who feels your muscles through your sweatshirt to tell you how strong you are and asks you down to the basement to take some pictures.
    “Sorry to keep you waiting, Victor,” said Sims.
    “Oh, I bet you are,” I said, wiping my eyes with the heels of my palms. “Where’s Julia?”
    “She’s being taken care of. She’s with her lawyer right now, as a matter of fact, a nice gentleman named Clarence Swift. He’s been quite helpful, I must say, more helpful than his client. But we’re close to getting this thing wrapped up without her cooperation, except for a few minor details which we hoped you could help us with.”
    “I doubt I could help you with anything.”
    “Don’t be so sure, Victor. We think your help can be enormous.”
    “Like the fat lady at the circus,” said Hanratty.
    “Are we talking about your mother again, Hanratty?” I said.
    “Let’s start with tonight, shall we?” said Sims. “When did you meet up with Mrs. Denniston, and where?”
    I closed my eyes, tried to figure out what I should do, failed, and decided instead to punt. “You haven’t read me my rights.”
    “You’re not a suspect, Victor. We don’t need to read you your rights, which you, anyway, know better than we do. But we would very much appreciate your full assistance.”
    “And I would appreciate a full body massage.”
    “And a happy ending, too, I assume.”
    “Are you volunteering?”
    He shook his head wearily. “You’re not going to help.”
    I glanced at the mirror. “Not tonight I won’t.”
    “Maybe Hanratty here can persuade you,” said Sims. “My wife once asked him over to help rearrange our furniture. He made a mess of it, of course, smashed china, battered walls. Like a bull in the bridal section of Macy’s. I wouldn’t want that to happen to your face, not that it couldn’t use some rearranging.”
    I rubbed my jaw.
    “Make it easy on yourself, Victor.”
    “I don’t think so,” I said. “One of those rights you failed to read to me is the right to remain silent. I don’t exercise much, but I’m exercising that.”
    “We could subpoena you and drop you in front of a grand jury.”
    “And I could plead the Fifth unless you give me immunity.” I turned to the mirror and grinned. “Are you ready to give me immunity, right here and right now?”
    “What did I tell you?” said Hanratty.
    “Victor, Victor, Victor,” said Sims, each recitation of my name accompanied by a shake of the head. “Why are you making this so hard? You’re only going to hurt yourself. There is no use trying to protect her.”
    “I’m not trying to protect anyone,” I said, “but myself.”
    “Siding with her is not the way to do it. This is what we’ve got so far, and you can figure out for yourself what it adds up to. Dr. Denniston was shot once, straight on. There was no apparent forced entry, no apparent robbery, no evidence of a struggle. The live-in housekeeper, a woman named Gwen McGrath—who makes a fabulous pecan pie, or so we’ve been told by Mr. Swift—said there was a loud argument between the Dennistons while she was still at the house. Not, she informed us, an unusual occurrence. In the middle of the argument, Mrs. Denniston told Gwen she could go on out for the evening. Gwen, who has a standing date for Sunday dinner with a man named Norman, locked up behind herself and set the alarm, leaving only the doctor and the wife in the house. When she came back a few hours later, about nine o’clock, she found the alarm activated and the house empty, except for Dr. Denniston dead in the library.”
    “With the candlestick?” I said.
    Sims smiled vaguely at the comment. I tried not to show how shaken I was.
    “A single bullet in the forehead,” said Sims. “No weapon has yet been found, but Mr. Swift kindly informed us