It wasn’t all right with Wade; his expression made that plain even in the murky light. But Cybil said, “Of course,” and he offered no objection. So I took the only empty chair, between Bohannon and Cybil, and sat myself down in it. That put me opposite Wade, who glared at me over the rim of his glass.
Nobody had anything to say for a few seconds. Wade kept glaring at me, but I told myself again that I was not going to be provoked and ignored him. Bohannon looked vaguely uncomfortable. Cybil, on the other hand, looked to be in good spirits, as if a burden had been lifted from her and nothing much could bother her as a result. Colodny’s death? It would seem that way, judging from her relief at the news yesterday.
Bohannon cleared his throat. “Have you heard anything more about Dancer?” he asked me. “Has he confessed?”, “No, he hasn’t confessed.”
“I suppose the police have charged him by now.”
“They have, but they could be making a mistake.”
“Mistake?”
“I don’t think he’s guilty,” I said.
That sat them all up on their chairs. Wade said, “What kind of nonsense is that? Of course he’s guilty.”
“Not until it’s proven in court.”
“But you were there just after it happened,” Cybil said. “You found him with the body …”
“I also talked to him then, and again this morning. He says he’s innocent and I’m inclined to believe him.”
“How could he be? All the doors were locked, and Russ and Frank were the only people in the room. How could someone else have done it?”
“I don’t know yet. But I’m going to try to find out.”
“You mean you’re working for Dancer?” Bohannon asked.
“On his behalf, yes.”
Cybil said, “Do you think one of the other Pulpeteers killed Frank?”
“That’s the logical assumption, I’m afraid.”
“It’s also a ridiculous assumption,” Wade said in his supercilious way. “Dancer killed him and that’s that. All your stirring around won’t prove any different.”
Ignore him, I thought. He’s Kerry’s father, remember?
Bohannon had begun to look thoughtful. “I don’t know, Ivan,” he said to Wade. “None of us liked Colodny worth a damn.”
“True enough. But I wouldn’t have killed him. Would you?”
“Only people I’m likely to kill,” Bohannon said, “are rustlers and outlaws. Which Colodny was, come to think of it-but I mean the fictional kind.”
“But Dancer would have,” Wade insisted. “It’s obvious he hated Colodny, and he’s always been prone to violence when he was drinking.”
“Now that’s not true,” Cybil said. “Rowdiness yes, but violence?”
He gave her the same kind of look he’d been giving me. She gave it right back to him. You could tell just from that what kind of marriage they had; neither of them backed down an inch.
I said, just to see what would happen, “I understand you and Mrs. Wade were together at the time of the shooting-is that right?”
Wade put his glare on me again. “What kind of question is that?”
“A reasonable one.”
“I suppose you think we weren’t together.”
“I didn’t say that, Mr. Wade.”
“I suppose you think one of us was off commit ting some sort of locked-room murder right under your nose. Of all the damned-”
“Oh Ivan, for God’s sake be civil. The man has a right to ask simple questions. Particularly so if Russ Dancer is innocent. Do you want to see an innocent man go to prison?”
“For all I care,” Wade said, “Russ Dancer can go to hell.”
Cybil made an exasperated gesture. “Well, I care,” she said. And to me, “We were together, yes, but I left the room a few minutes past twelve. Ivan didn’t want to attend Frank’s panel, and I did.”
“You don’t remember exactly what time you left?”
“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”
“It was twelve-thirty,” Wade said. “The same time Colodny was shot, according to the newspapers.”
“You happened to check the time, did you?”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
Kerry’s father, damn it. “All right,” I said evenly. “Do you mind telling me what you did after your wife left?”
“I do mind but I’ll tell you anyway. Nothing. I was reading a book and I went on reading it.”
Bohannon said, “If you want my whereabouts at twelve-thirty, I was up in the room with my wife. She wasn’t feeling well-still isn’t; arthritis acting up-and I didn’t want to leave her alone.”
I nodded and looked at Cybil again. “Did you see any of the others when you went downstairs? Praxas, Ramsey, Ozzie Meeker?”
“No.”
“Afraid you’re out of luck on those three,” Bohannon said. “As far as talking to them goes, anyhow.”
“How so?”
“They’ve checked out already. Police gave us all permission to leave after they talked to us.”
“I see.”
“Meeker left last night for the Delta. Waldo headed back to L.A. this morning-he’s driving, so he wanted an early start-and Bert’s spending a few days with one of the convention people.”
“Do you know which one?”
“Nope, but Lloyd Underwood could tell you. Some fellow in the Bay Area who runs a small-press publishing house. He’s going to reprint a couple of Bert’s Spectre novels.”
“Did any of them happen to mention what they were doing when Colodny was killed?”
“Well … I think Waldo said he was with Underwood around that time, in the auditorium. Meeker was with Underwood, too, just before that-something about Ozzie’s art display.”
“How about Praxas?”
“I don’t recall. Bert say something to you, Ivan?”
Wade picked up his drink and said flatly, “No.”
“It seems to me,” Cybil said, “that he did say something about being downstairs talking to some fans. But I’m not sure.”
I asked Bohannon, “Are you also planning to leave today?”
“Not much reason to stay now,” he said. “We’re booked on a five-o’clock flight to Denver.”
“What about you, Mrs. Wade?”
“We’re staying on until Tuesday or Wednesday,” she said. “We don’t get a chance to see Kerry that often, you know.”
“Where is Kerry today?”
“Home working on one of her accounts. She’ll be down this evening; we’re having a late dinner.” She smiled at me. “Would you like to join us? We-”
“The hell he’s going to join us,” Wade said in a voice full of fire and ice, and thumped his glass down on the table. “I’ve had enough of his questions, and I’ve had enough of him. I have no intention of taking a meal with him.”
I said, “I’m sorry you feel that way.”
“Well I do, and I don’t like it. I don’t like you, either.”
It’s mutual, brother, I thought.
“Ivan,” Cybil said. Warningly.
But he was not having any of that. His eyes bit into me across the table. “A man your age, a fat, scruffy private detective, sucking around a woman young enough to be your daughter. I won’t have it. You understand me? I won’t have it.”
Fat, scruffy private detective. “That’s her decision, Mr. Wade,” I said thinly. “Not yours.”
“We’ll see about that.”
I still had the lid on my control, but it was rattling like one on a pot of boiling water. Either I got away from him right now or I would start to backtalk him, and that would only make things worse between us. And worse for Kerry, too. If the animosity got strong enough, and push came to shove, how could I expect her to make a choice between her father and me?
I slid back my chair and stood. “I think I’ll be going,” I said. “Thanks for your time. You have a good trip home, Mr. Bohannon.”
He nodded, looking embarrassed. Cybil showed embarrassment too, but it was sharing space with anger; her eyes were like whips against the side of her husband’s face. I put my back to all three of them and made myself walk slowly out of there.
Fat, scruffy private detective.
I went straight to the public telephone booths and shut myself inside of one. It took a minute or so for me to get calmed down; then I found a dime and dropped it into the slot and dialed Kerry’s number. She answered on the fourth ring.