“Show you how he did it,” Albindi finished. “You’re starting to sound like a stuck needle. It’s probably too late, but I’m going to get a search warrant and have a look for that rifle.”
Right away, Albindi ran into a stone wall. Captain Fulner was sympathetic but said, “Unless you give me at least a theory as to how he could have done it, a search warrant’s out, Al. People are touchy about their rights these days and I’m not going to have this department open to charges of high-handedness without good cause.
“I’m glad spring decided to hold off a while longer,” he said, softening his denial. “Crazy weather, but at least no one marches on city hall in the sleet yet.”
Albindi glanced at the window where freezing rain had begun to coat the panes with a thin film of ice. “Well, we knew it was just a matter of time. Everyone’s been saying this was the year our city would feel the effect of protest movements.” A germ of an idea wiggled in his brain. “That’s it!” he said and hurried out.
“Don’t you see?” Albindi asked, back in his office with Whittaker. “Everyone expected riots here this year. Remember that old riddle, where do you hide a tree? In a forest, of course. And where do you hide a private murder? In a night of impending public violence!
“Except for that standing bridge game at her sister’s, the Watsons had quit going out together, right? So why did he make that exception if it weren’t to have an excuse to drive through an area everyone knew was ripe for an explosion?”
“Why?” he repeated an hour later, facing Watson in his own livingroom. Albindi had driven through icy streets to watch Watson’s reaction to that question. “Neighborhood gossip had you two in a divorce court. You say you hate bridge and can’t stand your in-laws. So why, Mr. Watson?”
More than ever, Albindi was aware of the man’s rigid control as Watson eyed him steadily. “I could tell you we kept up appearances for my daughter’s sake, but you probably wouldn’t believe me.” He shrugged.
“We have a witness who saw you in that tenement last Sunday figuring out the angle of fire.”
“A reliable witness?” Watson asked coolly. “I thought that place was a flophouse for drunks and hopheads.”
“But you did hate her, didn’t you?” Albindi needled. “She knocked you out of a promotion and she was taking your daughter away from you. Well, wasn’t she?”
Watson ignored the bait. “Isn’t this where you’re supposed to inform me of my rights, Lieutenant? Or do you reserve your kid-glove treatment for the kind of scum who killed my wife?”
His voice became icy as his anger deepened. “Listen, cop, and listen carefully: arrest me or get out! We may have been planning a divorce, but Mildred was still my wife when she died. I want her body released for a decent burial and I want my car, and if I don’t get them you’re going to see what kind of a stink law-abiding citizens can raise. We’re still a majority in this city!”
Stymied, Albindi retreated to headquarters where he spent the rest of the afternoon filling out reports.
Whittaker had gone to recheck the three witnesses and returned just before five, gloomily predicting that he’d probably caught pneumonia in the process. “And unless everyone’s lying his head off, there’s no collusion. None of those three ever met Watson before. He was definitely in the car when Sperry rammed into him and the Grayleys were right by his side till we came, so he couldn’t have disposed of any trick weapon.”
To make matters worse, Captain Fulner was less than pleased when Albindi and Whittaker gave their progress report Tuesday morning. He began with a brief physics lecture (“Nobody may occupy two separate places at the same time, dammit!”), elaborated the more basic points of crime detection, reviewed proper procedures for questioning decent citizens and concluded by phoning Watson to announce the release of Mrs. Watson’s body. “And your car will be returned this afternoon,” he promised.
“It is in good enough condition for you to drive it over, isn’t it, Lieutenant?” Fulner asked pointedly.
“He’ll cool off,” Whittaker consoled as they took the elevator down to the garage in the basement.
“I guess,” Albindi agreed glumly, “but why does Watson feel so right to me? I’ve been less certain on far more evidence than this before. And now I’ve got to take his car back and all but apologize for suspecting him.”
They picked up the keys to Watson’s car, signed the necessary forms and Albindi slid behind the wheel. Whittaker was to follow in a squad car. Except for a small stain on the upholstery, the spider-webbed window and a crumpled rear bumper, there was nothing to show that a woman had died in this car four days ago. The Chevy cranked easily and cornered smoothly as Albindi drove it through the city streets. It was a comfortable car, one of the higher-priced models, and he could almost sympathize with Watson’s desire to get it back.
The April rain had finally stopped and the sun was out, but the mercury remained low. The heater felt good as it warmed the chilly interior, and Albindi could feel it draining away some of his tension. He had just taken one hand off the steering wheel to loosen the buttons of his topcoat when it hit him.
Abruptly, he pulled the Chevy into a bus stop beside a telephone booth, waved a dime at Whittaker, who’d eased in behind him, and called Jarrell at the lab. He asked one question, received a negative reply and shouted to Whittaker, “Back to headquarters. Jarrell just told me how Watson could be in two places at one time!”
In their office, while Whittaker began laying out all the pictures the photographers had taken the night of the murder, Albindi tracked down Dr. Caird, chief medical examiner, by phone. There was a lengthy silence on the other end of the line when Albindi had outlined his theory, then Dr. Caird said cautiously, “I’ll have to recheck all my figures, but technically, there’s no reason to disagree. Damn it! I must be getting old not to have noticed it myself.”
As Albindi hung up, Whittaker laid a photograph in front of him and tapped the significant feature with his finger. “There it is!” Together, they tackled Captain Fulner, and this time there was no hesitation in the issuance of a search warrant.
If Watson were surprised to see them when they arrived with a search party, he was too disciplined to let them see it. He accepted the warrant and opened the door for them as coolly as if it were a social occasion. “May I ask what you expect to find?”
“The warrant states what we’re looking for, Mr. Watson.”
He read the paper he held. “An M-1 rifle? So you’ve decided I was in the building shooting my wife at the same time I was driving with her in the car?”
“Not at the same time and not from that building,” Albindi said. “I rather think it was a half hour earlier and out in your back yard. What reason did you give her for keeping her waiting in the car while you climbed one of those big maples on your extension ladder? Did you tell her you’d left your pruning shears up there and it looked like rain?”
“Am I under arrest?” Watson asked, turning the warrant in his hand.
“Not yet,” Whittaker answered as they listened to the sounds of the searchers moving through the house.
“We know you were in that tenement last Sunday studying the angles so you could duplicate them here,” Albindi said. “We have a witness.”
“A decrepit old drunk! Three people saw me in the car when Mildred was killed.”
“A clever bit of misdirection, but no one heard a shot.”
“The fire engines—” Watson began, but Albindi interrupted.
“Not good enough. We could buy it except for one small point: it was a warm evening. Your shirt was still wet with sweat when I first saw you, but it didn’t register because mine was damp, too. On the other hand, I wasn’t riding around that night with both windows closed and a heater going full blast. You were, Watson. You thought of everything — even to closing the car door when Sperry rammed you and you jumped out to begin your act — but you forgot to turn off the heater. By the time you remembered, it was too late. You couldn’t open the door and turn it off with Sperry and the Grayleys there. I noticed how powerful it was when I started to return your car today. The only thing is, I hadn’t turned it on.”