“Patricia,” Carella said, “I’ve just finished reading Muriel’s diary, and I’d like to ask you a few questions about it.”
“Sure,” Patricia said, and nodded.
“To begin with, have you read that diary?”
“No,” Patricia said.
“You’re sure about that?”
“How could I have read it? She kept it locked.”
“Well, you could have cut the strap, for example,” Carella said.
“Why would I do that?”
“You might have done that if you were curious about what was in the diary.”
“I didn’t care about what was in the diary,” Patricia said.
“But you once asked Muriel what she found to write about, didn’t you?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Yes, that was on... let me see,” Carella said, and consulted his notes, and said, “That was on Wednesday, August twenty-seventh. You asked Muriel what she could possibly find to write about each night. Do you remember that?”
“I really don’t. But if that’s what Muriel wrote in her diary—”
“Yes, that’s what she wrote.”
“Then I suppose it’s true.”
“Well, I think we’ve got to assume that everything in the diary is true, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I never knew Muriel to lie about anything.”
“And she certainly wouldn’t have lied to the diary, because there’d have been no reason for it. So we’ve got to assume, for example, that when she says her boss’s name is Jack Armstrong, why that’s her boss’s name. Am I right?”
“Yes,” Patricia said, and nodded.
“You’ve never met him, though.”
“No, never.”
“And when she says in the diary that Jack Armstrong has brown hair and blue eyes, why, then we’ve got to believe it.”
“Yes.”
“You wouldn’t know whether that’s true or not, Patricia, because you’ve never met the man. But if Muriel said it was so, why, then I guess we have to believe it. Anyway, I have met the man, and he does have brown hair and blue eyes, so we know she was telling the truth at least in that instance.”
“Mm-huh,” Patricia said.
“And I guess we’ve got to assume she was telling the truth about everything else as well,” Carella said.
This time Patricia only nodded. She was watching Carella intently, not seeming to understand what he was getting at, studying his face for clues. Kling looked a little baffled, too.
“Patricia, when I spoke to you yesterday,” Carella said, “you told me that the last time you saw Muriel’s diary was on September fifth, the night before she was murdered.”
“That’s right,” Patricia said.
“You said you saw her writing in it.”
“Yes. She was sitting at the desk writing in it.”
“And where were you?”
“In bed.”
“And when she finished writing in it, what did she do?”
“She locked it and put it back in her drawer.”
“She carried the key on a chain around her neck, isn’t that what you told me?”
“Yes.”
“Could you see her clearly when she was locking the diary? I mean, was there plenty of light in the room, and was she standing close enough for you to see what she was doing?”
“She was sitting, actually. At the desk.”
“But you could see her clearly.”
“Yes.”
“Patricia, I’m going to tell you about some things that are bothering me,” Carella said. “I’m going to be completely honest with you, and I hope you’ll be completely honest in return. Okay?”
“I’ve been honest with you all along,” Patricia said.
“Well, that’s not quite true, is it? You lied to us that first time we talked to you, didn’t you? You said the murderer was a man with dark hair and blue eyes—”
“Well, yes, but I told you the truth later.”
“In fact, that’s one of the things that’s bothering me, Patricia. That business about describing the murderer the way you first did. Because, you see, in Muriel’s diary, it’s pretty plain to see that Jack Armstrong is interested in her, and here’s someone forcing Muriel to commit a sex act, and you describe—”
“He did force her to do it.”
“Yes. And he looked like Jack Armstrong, according to your first description. Except that you’d never met Jack Armstrong, of course, and you couldn’t have known what he looked like. Unless you’d read Muriel’s diary.”
“No, I didn’t read Muriel’s diary.”
“I know. You just told me that a few minutes ago, and you also said you’d be honest with me. But I think we’ve agreed that Muriel told the truth in her diary, am I right?”
“Yes.”
“Then I must tell you that on September fourth, Muriel wrote about someone asking her to take off her dress and forcing her to commit a sex act against her will. She wrote that on September fourth. It was everything you described as having taken place on September sixth — two days later. Except the murder, of course. But everything else was there in the diary, just as you later described it. Now how do you account for that, Patricia?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Patricia said.
“Patricia, you did read Muriel’s diary, didn’t you?”
“No.”
“Patricia, the strap on the diary was cut, someone read that diary.”
“Then it was Andy. If anyone read it, it had to be Andy.”
“Patricia, it was you.”
“I’m telling you I did not—”
“Because the September fifth entry started with the words ‘Someone has read this diary. The strap was cut when I took it out of the drawer tonight.’ This is in my notes, Patricia, it’s a direct quote from your cousin’s diary.”
“So what? I still don’t understand—”
“Not five minutes ago you told me you saw your cousin lock the diary after she finished writing in it that night, the night of September fifth, the night before she was killed. Now, Patricia, if the strap had already been cut, why on earth would your cousin have locked—?”
The scream came unexpectedly.
She did not rise from the chair. She simply threw back her head, and the scream erupted from her mouth, and her eyes above the scream were wide with horror. The scream seemed eternal. It chilled both detectives to the marrow.
When it ended, they put handcuffs on her wrists.
She was only fifteen years old, and so they questioned her in the office of Peter Hudd, the lawyer appointed to defend her, rather than in the police station. Fifteen-year-olds weren’t supposed to be interrogated in police stations. Most police officers interrogated them there anyway — usually in the locker room or the swing room or someplace that didn’t seem like part of a police station, though actually it was. The upper age limit for a juvenile offender in this state was sixteen years old, and the code stated that a delinquent was a child who violated any law or any municipal ordinance or who committed any act that, if committed by an adult, would be a serious crime, except (and this was where Patricia Lowery’s luck ran out) any child fifteen years of age who committed any act that, if committed by an adult, would be a crime punishable by death or life imprisonment. Patricia Lowery had allegedly committed a crime punishable by life imprisonment.