Westlake, Donald E - Novel 41 Read Online Free PDF Page A

and Levine
trying to figure out what was wrong.
                   At the station, after booking, they brought
him to a small office, one of the interrogation rooms. There was a bare and
battered desk, plus four chairs. Crawley sat
behind the desk, Perkins sat across the desk and facing him, Levine took the
chair in a corner behind and to the left of Perkins, and a male stenographer,
notebook in hand, filled the fourth chair, behind Crawley .
                   Crawley 's
first questions covered the same ground already covered at ember's apartment,
this time for the record. "Okay," said Crawley , when he'd brought them up to date.
"You and Gruber were both doing the same kind of thing, living the same
kind of life. You were both unpublished writers, both taking night courses at Columbia , both living on very litde money."
                   "That's right," said Perkins.
                   "How long you known each other?"
                   "About six months. We met at Columbia , and we took the same subway home after
class. We got to talking, found out we were both dreaming the same kind of
dream, and became friends. You know. Misery loves company."
                   "Take the same classes at Columbia ?"
                   "Only one. Creative Writing, from Professor Stonegell."
                   "Where'd you buy the poison?"
                   "I didn't. Al did. He bought it a while
back and just kept it around. He kept saying if he didn't make a good sale soon
he'd kill himself. But he didn't mean it. It was just a kind of gag."
                  Crawley pulled at his right earlobe. Levine knew, from his long experience with his
partner, that that gesture meant that Crawley was
confused. "You went there today to kill him?"
                   "That's right."
                   Levine shook his head. That wasn't right.
Softly, he said, "Why did you bring the library books along?"
                   "I was on my way up to the library,"
said Perkins, twisting around in his seat to look at Levine.
                   "Look this way," snapped Crawley .
                   Perkins looked around at Crawley again, but not before Levine had seen that
same burning deep in Perkins' eyes. Stronger, this time, and more like
pleading. Pleading? What was Perkins pleading for?
                   "I was on my way to the library,"
Perkins said again. "A1 had a couple of records out on my card, so I went
over to get them. On the way, I decided to kill him."
                   ''Why?" asked Crawley .
                   "Because he was a pompous ass," said
Perkins, the same answer he'd given before.
                   "Because he got a story accepted by one
of the literary magazines and you didn't?" suggested Crawley .
                   "Maybe. Partially. His whole attitude. He
was smug. He knew more than anybody else in the world."
                   "Why did you kill him today? Why not last
week or next week?"
                   "I felt like it today."
                   "Why did you give yourself up?"
                   "You would have gotten me anyway."
                   Levine asked, "Did you know that before
you killed him?"
                   "I don't know," said Perkins,
without looking around at Levine. "I didn't think about it till afterward.
Then I knew the police would get me anyway — they'd talk to Professor Stonegell
and the other people who knew us both and I didn't want to have to wait it out.
So I went and confessed."
                   "You told the policeman," said
Levine, "that you'd killed your best friend."
                  "That's right."
                   "Why did you use that phrase, best
friend, if you hated him so much you wanted to kill him?"