The Suspect Read Online Free PDF

waiting, polite and watchful; he was suddenly aware of his own excitement, which was almost predatory. George straightened, tried to smooth his white hair. "Okay. Let's go in."
    "Just a minute," said Alberg. "Was the door open like this when you got here?"
    "No. Closed. I banged on it, no answer, started back up the path. Then I decided I'd better check up on him. He's eighty-five, you know. Was."
    "Was he in ill health?” said Gainer. Alberg's quizzical glance seemed to confuse him.
    George Wilcox stared up at the constable. "Ill health? How the hell should I know? I just told you, the man was eighty-five." He jabbed a finger against Gainer's blue-jacketed chest. "The fact of the matter is, sonny, at eighty-five the whole shitteree is fast wearing out. Any minute, something essential could go on you." Again he tried to tame his hair, but the waves sprang back, undeterred. "How do we go about this, then?"
    "You started back up the path,” said Alberg. "And then you decided you'd better check on him."
    "Yes," said George Wilcox, nodding. "I came back to the door and banged on it harder, and hollered, but nothing happened. So I tried the door, and it opened. He never locked his doors."
    "Okay,” said Alberg. "When you went outside, after you called us, did you close the door behind you?"
    The old man shook his head. "Didn't think about closing it. Must have left it open."
    "Now,” said Alberg. He motioned inside. "Go ahead. Show us."
    George Wilcox stepped across the threshold into the hall.
    "I came in here," he said, and immediately lowered his voice. "I came in here, and I called out to him. No answer. So I walked down the hall." He stopped and said over his shoulder, "I knew he wasn't in the kitchen. I'd looked in the kitchen window, waiting on the step." He began walking again. "So I came down the hall. 'Where are you, Carlyle? I said, or something like that, and I got to the living room." He emerged into the sunshine and stopped. "Had to blink my eyes a few times. The sun made me blurry for a minute. And I looked around, and I saw him lying there."
    He started to point; then his hand began to shake. "His eyes were open," he said in a whisper, "I know they were." He turned to Alberg. "You'd better check," he said urgently. "Maybe he isn't dead after all. His eyes were open, I know they were.”
    "We checked,” said Alberg gently. "He's dead. I closed his eyes.”
    George Wilcox shut his own eyes for a moment. When they fluttered open, Alberg said, "He was a friend of yours, right?”
    "I knew him,” said George.
    "Do you know the house well? Did you come here often?”
    "Sometimes. I used to come here sometimes. Not very often.”
    "Okay. Look around. Take your time. Tell me if you see anything unusual, anything that's out of place, or anything that seems to be missing.”
    "That,” said George, pointing at the body. "That's unusual.”
    "Right,” said Alberg, soberly. "Anything else?”
    With an effort, George Wilcox looked away from the body. For a few seconds he seemed to have difficulty actually seeing anything. His eyes skittered over chesterfield, china cabinet, flowers in the vase, bookshelves, without focusing. Then they concentrated on the rocking chair.
    "That,” he said finally. "It's supposed to be facing the window more. He sat in it, watched the boats go by or some damn thing, I don't know."
    He could have been sitting in the chair when he was struck, thought Alberg; or maybe he fell against it.
    "Anything else?" he said.
    The old man studied the room. He had regained most of his self-control. "Those books on the floor, there. Those are mine. Library books. I dropped them, when I—when I saw him lying there." He shivered. "Bloody cold in here, don't you think?"
    "Just a few more minutes, Mr. Wilcox. Look carefully. Do you see anything else?”
    "It all looks just like it ought to,” said George. "No, wait. He got himself a parrot lately. I don't see the parrot."
    Gainer cleared his throat. "It's in