“What reason?”
“What?”
“What reason? What reason to believe…”
“We told you, Mr. Barlow. The girl’s mother and the girl’s…”
“Sure, the girl, the girl. But if Tommy had been seeing her, wouldn’t he have told me? His own brother?”
“Were you very close, Mr. Barlow?”
“We certainly were.” Barlow paused. “Our parents died when we were both very young. In a car crash. They were coming home from a wedding in Bethtown. That was years ego. Tommy was twelve, and I was ten. We went to live with one of my aunts for a while. Then, when we got old enough, we moved out.”
“To this house?”
“No, we only bought this last year. We both worked, you know, from the minute we could get working papers. We’ve been saving for a long time. We used to live in an apartment about ten blocks from here. But last year, we bought this house. It’s nice, don’t you think?”
“Very nice,” Carella said.
“We still owe a fortune on it. It’s more the bank’s than it is ours. But it’s a nice little house. Just right for the two of us, not too big, not too small.”
“Will you keep the house now that your brother’s dead?” Meyer asked. “I don’t know. I haven’t given it much thought. It’s a little difficult to get used to, you know, the idea that he’s dead. Ever since he died, I’ve been going around the house looking for traces of him. Old letters, snapshots, anything that was Tommy. We’ve been together ever since we were kids, you know. Tommy took care of me as if he was my father, I mean it. I wasn’t a strong kid, you know. I had polio when I was a kid.”
“I see.”
“Yeah, I had polio. It’s funny, isn’t it, how polio’s almost a thing of the past, isn’t it? Kids hardly get polio any more, because of the vaccine. But I had it. I was lucky, I guess. I got off easy. I just limp a little, that’s all. Did you notice that I limp a little?”
“Just a little,” Carella said gently.
“Yeah, it’s not too noticeable,” Barlow said. He shrugged. “It doesn’t stop me from working or anything. I’ve been working since the time I was sixteen. Tommy, too. From the minute he was old enough to get working papers. Tommy cried when I got polio. I had this fever, you know, I was only seven years old, and Tommy came into the bedroom, bawling his eyes out. He was quite a guy, my brother. It’s gonna be funny around here without him”
“Mr. Barlow, are you sure he never mentioned Irene Thayer to you?”
“Yes, I’m certain.”
“Is it possible he was withholding the information from you?”
“Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Barlow. Perhaps he might have thought you wouldn’t approve of his seeing a married woman.”
“He wasn’t seeing her, I’ve already told you that. Besides, since when did Tommy need my approval for anything?” Barlow laughed a short mirthless laugh. “Tommy went his own way, and I went mine. We never even double-dated.”
“Then it’s possible he was seeing this woman, and you just didn’t…”
“No.”
“… realize it. Maybe the opportunity to discuss it never came up.”
“No.”
“Mr. Barlow, we have to believe…”
“I’m telling you they’re lying. They’re trying to cover up for what happened in that room. They’re saying my brother was involved with that girl, but it isn’t the truth. My brother was too smart for something like…” Barlow’s eyes suddenly flashed. “That’s right, that’s another thing! That’s right!”
“What?” Carella asked.
“My brother was no dope, you know. Oh, no. He quit high school to go to work, that’s true, but he went to night school afterwards, and he got his diploma. So he was no dope.”
“What are you driving at, Mr. Barlow?”
“Well, you saw that phony suicide note, didn’t you?”
“We saw it.”
“Did you see how they spelled ‘ourselves’?”
“How did they spell it, Mr. Barlow?”
“O-U-R-S-E-L-F-S.” Barlow shook his head. “Not my brother. My brother knew how to spell.”
“Maybe the girl typed the note,” Meyer suggested.
“My brother wouldn’t have let her type it wrong. Look, my brother wouldn’t have let her type a note at all. My brother just did not commit suicide. That’s that. I wish you’d get that into your heads.”
“Someone killed him, is that what you think?” Carella asked.
“Damn right, that’s what I think!” Barlow paused, and then studied the detectives slyly. “Isn’t that what you think, too?”
“We’re not sure, Mr. Barlow.”
“No? Then why are you here? If you really thought was a suicide, why are you going around asking questions? Why don’t you just file the case away?”
“We told you, Mr. Barlow. We’re not sure yet.”
“So there must be something about it that seems a little funny to you, right? Otherwise, you’d forget the whole thing, right? You must get a lot of suicides.”
“Yes, we do, Mr. Barlow.”
“Sure. But you know as well as I do that this particular suicide isn’t a suicide at all. That’s why you’re still investigating.”
“We investigate all suicides,” Meyer said.
“This is a murder,” Barlow said flatly. “Who are we kidding? This is a murder, plain and simple. Somebody killed my brother, and you know damn well that’s the case.” He had picked up his cane and stabbed it at the air for emphasis, poking a hole into the air each time he said the word “murder” and again when he said the word killed.” He put the cane down now and nodded, and waited for either Carella or Meyer to confirm or deny his accusation. Neither of the men spoke.
“Isn’t it? Isn’t it murder?” Barlow said at last.
“Maybe,” Carella said.
“No maybes about it. You didn’t know my brother. I knew him all my life. There wasn’t a man alive who enjoyed living more than he did. Nobody with that much… that much… spirit, yeah, spirit, is going to kill himself. Uh-uh.” He shook his head.
“Well, murder has to be proved.” Meyer said.
“Then prove it. Find something to prove it.”
“Like what, Mr. Barlow?”
“I don’t know. There must be something in that apartment. There must be a clue there someplace.”
“Well,” Meyer said noncommittally, “we’re working on it.”
“If I can help in any way…”
“We’ll leave a card,” Carella said. “If you happen to think of anything your brother mentioned, anything that might give us a lead, we’d appreciate it.”
“A lead to what?” Barlow said quickly. “You do think it was murder, don’t you?”