G Is for Gumshoe

belted below his waist. He was wheezing from exertion, sweat beading his face. His gaze was fixed on the length of vinyl wallpaper that now lay on the floor, folded over on itself. His gaze traveled up the wall and then jerked across to mine. "What'd you do that for?"
    "Time to take care of old business, my friend."
    He crossed to the kitchen table and set the grocery bag down. He removed some items-toilet paper, a dozen eggs, a pound of butter, a loaf of bread-and set them on the table. I could see him try to settle on an attitude, the proper tone. He'd been rehearsing this in his mind for years, probably confident the conversation was one he could handle with a perfect air of innocence. The problem was, he'd forgotten what innocence felt like or how it was supposed to look. "What old business?"
    "All the blood on the wall for one."
    The pause was of the wrong length. "What blood? That's a redwood stain. I refinished a piece of porch furniture and knocked the can off on the floor. Stuff sprayed all over, went everyplace. You never saw such a mess."
    "Arterial blood will do that. You get a pumping effect." I tromped over the crumpled strip of paper, with a scrabbling sound, and washed my hands at the kitchen sink.
    He put a half gallon of ice cream in the freezer, taking a moment to rearrange boxes of frozen vegetables. His rhythm was off. An accomplished liar knows how important the timing is in conveying nonchalance.
    I dried my hands on a kitchen towel of doubtful origin. It might have been a part of a pillow case, a paint rag, or a diaper. "I drove over to Mt. Calvary and looked for Anne's grave."
    "Make your point. I got work to do. She's buried with the family on the side of the hill."
    "Not quite," I said. I leaned against the counter, watching him unload canned goods. "I went into the office and asked to see the interment card. You bought her a stone, but there's no body in the grave. Anne left town with Irene in January nineteen forty."
    He tried to get huffy, but he couldn't muster any heat. "I paid to bring her all the way from Tucson, Arizona. If she wasn't in the coffin, don't tell me about it. Ask the fellow on the other end who said he put her there."
    "Oh, come on," I said. "Let's cut to the chase. There wasn't any husband in Arizona and there weren't any little kids. You made that stuff up. You killed Charlotte and Emily. You killed Sheila, too. Anne was alive until late last night and she told me most of it. She said Emily wanted to sell the house and you refused. She must have pressed the point and you were forced to eliminate her just to end the argument. Once you got Emily out of the way, there was only Anne to worry about. Have her declared dead and you collect the whole estate…"
    He began to shake his head. "You're a crazy woman. I got nothing to say to you."
    I crossed to the wall-mounted telephone near the hall door. "Fine with me. I don't care. You can talk to Lieutenant Dolan as soon as he gets here."
    Now he was willing to argue the point, any means to delay. "I wouldn't kill anyone. Why would I do that?"
    "Who knows what your motivation was? Money is my guess. I don't know why you did it. I just know you did."
    "I did not!"
    "Sure you did. Who are you trying to kid?"
    "You don't have a shred of proof. You can't prove anything."
    "I can't, but somebody can. The cops are really smart, Patrick, and persistent? My God. You have no idea how persistent they are where murder's concerned. The whole of modern technology will be brought to bear. Lab techs, machinery, sophisticated tests. They've got experts out the wazoo and what do you have? Nothing. A lot of hot air. You don't stand a chance. Fifty years ago you might have fooled 'em, but not these days. You're up shit creek, pal. You are totally screwed…"
    "Now see here. You wait a minute, young lady. I won't have that kind of talk used in my house," he said.
    "Oh, sorry. I forgot. You've got standards. You're not going to tolerate a lot of smutty talk from me, right?" I turned back to the telephone. I had picked up the receiver when the window shattered in the back. The two acts came so close together, it looked like cause and effect. I pick up the phone, the window breaks out. Startled, I jumped a foot and dropped the phone in the process, jumping again as the handset thumped against the wall. I saw a hand come through the shattered window and reach around to unlock the door. One savage kick and the door swung back abruptly and banged