Chase: Roman

He was six inches taller than the detective and not so grey and ordinary-looking. He wore his blond hair in such a short crew cut that he appeared almost bald from a distance. His eyes were blue and moved from object to object with the swift, penetrating glance of an accountant itemizing an inventory. He carried a large suitcase in his right hand and didn't put it down when he offered Chase his left.
        Mrs Fiedling watched from the living room, where she pretended to be engrossed in a television programme, but she did not come out to see what was going on. Chase got the two of them upstairs before she could learn who they were.
        ‘Cozy little place you have,’ Wallace said.
        ‘It's enough for me,’ Chase said.
        Tuppinger's eyes flicked about, catching the unmade bed, the couple of dirty whisky glasses on the cupboard, the bottle of liquor which was nearly half empty. He did not say anything. He took his suitcase full of tools to the phone, put it down, and began examining the lead-in wires that came through the wall near the base of the single window.
        While Tuppinger worked, Wallace questioned Chase. ‘What did he sound like on the phone?’
        ‘Hard to say.’
        ‘Old? Young?’
        ‘In between.’
        ‘Accent?’
        ‘No.’
        ‘Speech impediment?’
        ‘No,’ Chase said. ‘At first, though, he was hoarse -apparently from the strangling I gave him.’
        Wallace said, ‘Can you remember what he said, each time he called?’
        ‘Approximately.’
        ‘Tell me, then.’ He slumped down in the only easy chair in the room and crossed his legs before him. He looked as if he had fallen asleep, though he was only conserving his energy while he waited.
        Chase told him everything that he could remember about the strange conversations with Judge, then revealed some things he had forgotten as Wallace asked a few more probing questions.
        ‘He sounds like a religious psychotic,’ Wallace said. ‘All this stuff about fornication and sin and passing judgments.’
        ‘Maybe,’ Chase said. ‘But I wouldn't look for him at tent meetings. I think it's more of a moral excuse to kill than a genuine belief.’
        ‘Maybe,’ Wallace said. ‘Then again, we get his sort every once in a while, more regularly than any other brand of madman.’
        Five minutes later, as Wallace and Chase sat in silence, Tuppinger finished his work. He explained his listening and recording equipment to Chase and further explained the tracery network the telephone company had in use to seek Judge when he called.
        ‘Well,’ Wallace said, ‘tonight I intend to go home when I'm supposed to.’ Just the thought of eight hours’ sleep brought his lids down further and increased the red tint in his eyes.
        ‘One thing,’ Chase said.
        ‘What's that?’
        ‘If this leads to something - do you have to tell the press about my part in it?’
        ‘Why?’ Wallace asked.
        ‘It's just that I'm tired of being a celebrity, of having people bother me all hours of the day and night.’
        ‘It has to come out at the trial, if we nab him,’ Wallace said.
        ‘But not before?’
        ‘I guess not.’
        ‘Id appreciate it,’ Chase said. ‘In any case, I'll have to appear at the trial, won't I?’
        ‘Probably.’
        ‘So, if the press didn't have to know until then, it would cut down on the news coverage by half.’
        ‘You're really modest, aren't you?’ Wallace asked. Before Chase could respond to that, the detective smiled, clapped him on the shoulder and left.
        ‘Would you like a drink?’ Chase asked Tuppinger.
        ‘Not on duty.’
        ‘Mind if I-?’
        ‘No. Go ahead.’
        Chase noticed that Tuppinger watched him with interest as he got new ice cubes and poured himself a large dose of whisky. It wasn't as large as usual. He supposed he'd have to restrain his thirst a bit with the policeman around.
        When Chase sat on the bed, Tuppinger said, ‘I read all about your exploits over there.’
        ‘Oh?’
        ‘Really something,’ Tuppinger said.
        ‘Not really.’
        ‘Oh, yes, really,’ Tuppinger insisted. He was sitting in the easy chair, which he had moved close to his equipment. ‘It had to be hard over there, worse than anybody at home could ever know.’
        Chase nodded.
        ‘I'd imagine the medals don't