Chapter 3

SEVIDGE's SOFT VOICE was NO LONGER apologetic.

"Maybe you left the gun in another room?"

"I kept it here," Alan said. "I never touched it."

"Maybe somebody stole it," Renner said, close at Alan's side. Sarcasm had the hacking edge of a dull ax.

Alan turned. "They must have." Renner laughed up at him. "Sure. Don't they always?"

"It's not here!" Alan's voice lashed at him.

"Sure it's not," Renner taunted. "Did you think it would be?"

Alan forced himself to relax. Get mad. This was just what they wanted him to do. He searched through the drawer again, thrusting papers aside. But he was nervous now, knowing he wasn't going to find it.

"Too bad," Sevidge said. "So much could have been cleared up if we could have run a check on your gun."

"Sure," Renner said in mock solicitude.

"It's got to be here somewhere." Alan jerked open other drawers. Everything was in place, shirts, handkerchiefs-only the gun was missing.

He straightened, taut "It's not here," he said again.

"Maybe it isn't this serious, Mr. Taylor," Sevidge said. "No sense getting excited."

Alan nodded. The gun had to be here.

Sevidge spoke loudly. "Mrs. Miner, would you come in here, please?"

Alan sighed. Why hadn't he thought of that? Women could straighten a room and you never found anything. Mrs. Miner was a tidy woman, always rearranging the furniture.

She came to the bedroom door, her face pale. She dabbed at her nose with her handkerchief.

Alan said, "Mrs. Miner, did you move my gun?"

"Your what?"

"Mrs. Miner, I had a gun, in this top drawer. You couldn't have put things away without seeing it."

Her voice was injured. "I never saw a gun, Mr. Taylor. If I had I couldn't have worked here ... I don't like guns, Mr. Taylor. I don't like being around them."

"Mrs. Miner, please. Try to remember. I kept it wrapped in an oil rag. Somebody took it. Somebody moved it"

"Are you saying I moved it?"

"Mrs. Miner, I'm only saying surely you must have seen it."

She shook her head. "I may have seen an oily cloth. Seems I did. I had no idea you kept a gun."

Sevidge said, "When was the last time you saw the oily cloth in this drawer, Mrs. Miner?"

She shook her head again. "It must have been weeks ago."

"But you didn't see it here today?"

She hesitated a long time. "No, sir. I didn't."

"Did you open this top drawer today?"

Her hesitation was even longer. Finally she nodded.

"But you didn't see the gun," Sevidge persisted.

"I didn't know he had a gun there."

"Did you see the cloth?"

"No. I can't remember seeing it."

"Thank you, Mrs. Miner." Sevidge let his gaze strike against Alan's. "You can see, can't you, Mr. Taylor, how this makes the whole thing a little different?"

Alan looked at the three detectives, frustrated. "But the gun was there. She must have moved it. She must have forgotten."

"I never forgot." Rose's voice flared. "I never touched it. I never knew a gun was there ... I'm late now, Mr. Taylor. My man don't like me coming home late. I must talk to you a moment. It's very important."

Sevidge said, "This is something you can't say in front of us, Mrs. Miner?"

Rose looked at the detectives, then at Alan. She tilted her chin. "It's nothing I can't say right out. It's just that I'm giving you notice, Mr. Taylor."

"Why?"

She glanced meaningly at the police again. "I'm sorry. I'm a respectable woman. I got to earn my living among respectable people. It won't help me none to have it known I worked in a house like this."

"Rose! What's wrong with this house? What's been wrong since you came to work here?"

She shook her head, miserable. "Nothing, Mr. Taylor. You've been a quiet man, and no trouble. I never suspected the least thing wrong. But now police cars parked out front all afternoon police ringing the doorbell, asking questions. You owning a gun. My man won't like any of this, Mr. Taylor. I dislike saying it, but respectable people can only get theirselves sullied by becoming involved with bad trouble."

Alan drew his hand across his mouth. "Mrs. Miner, it's all a mistake. The detectives are sure to find it was a robbery, something like that. It'll be straightened out as soon as we've had a chance to talk, as soon as I find my gun."

"I hope so," Rose said. "I hope everything turns out fine for you, Mr. Taylor. I'm sure when it's all settled, you'll have no trouble finding a woman to replace me."

She turned and walked out.

'You say you haven't touched your gun in weeks," Sevidge said. "Mind saying why you touched it when you did?"

"I was writing a TV script. Wanted to know what a gun weighed, how it felt in your hand. Weight was important to the script." Alan got the empty feeling they'd stopped listening. They stood blankly, waiting for him to talk himself out. He gestured. "I put it back in this drawer. I remember that."

"I'm sure the gun will turn up," Sevidge said.

The third detective said, "Mr. Taylor, you mind putting your foot in this cast?"

Alan's face flushed. He glanced at Sevidge. Sevidge elaborately ignored them.

The detective knelt, placed the quick-set mold on the floor. "Just place your foot in with no pressure."

Renner hunkered down beside the detective, but Sevidge gazed through the window as though he had no interest in the matter.

Alan placed his foot in the shoe imprint. His shoe fit almost exactly.

Renner said exultantly, "A real fit."

Alan jerked his leg away involuntarily.

Sevidge peered at the cast. "What about it, Grissom?"

Alan said, "I wear a size eight. Must be several million other men who wear a size eight shoe."

"Must be," Sevidge agreed. "Gives us quite a job, eh?" He turned to Grissom, hunkered over the mold. "How about other characteristics?"

The plainclothesman shook his head. "The shoe in the cast was run over on the inside. Mind lifting your foot another moment, Mr. Taylor?"

Alan lifted his shoe and Grissom inspected it closely.

"No," Grissom said. "These aren't the same. At least if Mr. Taylor made this print, he wasn't wearing these shoes."

Alan pulled his foot away. "I wasn't over there. I never shot anybody. I'm sure I'll find my gun."

Sevidge nodded. "Sure you will, Mr. Taylor. Meantime, come down to the station with us."

Alan met his gaze. "Are you arresting me?"

"No."

"We could, brother," Renner said. "Just some questions. We'd like you to make a statement."

"I've got a lot of work to do," Alan protested. "How long do you think I'll be there?"

"That's up to you," Sevidge said. "It would have been much easier if you'd found your gun. Too bad about that. But maybe you'll remember where you put it."

"Why drag me into this trouble?" Alan said.

"You're in no trouble yet, Mr. Taylor. We just want a statement from you. If we get any new leads, naturally we'll run them down. But at the moment, there are things with you that, well, they just don't add up."

"He could have been robbed," Alan insisted. "That happens. Somebody surprises a robber and gets killed."

Sevidge nodded. "Sure, it happens. We thought of that. Checked it out. Won't hold up. Sheram was comparatively a wealthy man. Kept cash and valuable negotiable bonds in his house, as well as his late wife's jewelry. So far as we can find, nothing is missing. Sheram's wallet was still in his pocket. And he wasn't going toward anyone when he was shot, Mr. Taylor. He was going away from them."

"He was running away," Renner said. "Sheram was scared, Taylor. He died scared."

Alan walked into the sheriff's branch office between Sevidge and Renner. Renner kept hacking at him, voice rasping and sarcastic.

They led him to the desk sergeant. Alan stood between them, sick with his feeling of helplessness. He looked around, finding in the drabness of this building his own sense of despair.

"You booking him, Lieutenant?" the desk sergeant asked.

Alan waited, tension mounting.

Sevidge shook his head. "Want to talk to him first."

"How long must I stay here?" Alan said.

"Well tell you," Renner said.

Sevidge led them along a corridor. The walls pressed in upon Alan. He felt a wild urge to turn and fight his way out of there. Every nerve in him screamed at him to run. You haven't a chance if you stay here. You're guilty, as far as they're concerned. Somehow, they'll prove you're guilty.

But if he ran, what was that? A fool's play. Admission of guilt. They'd see it as that, because how could you explain sudden terror in a narrow corridor where the walls closed in on you as you walked?

Sevidge opened an office door and snapped on a light.

He flopped behind his desk into a swivel chair and motioned Alan to sit down across from him. Renner sat in a chair against the wall.

"Why are you doing this?" Alan stared at Sevidge. "You have no proof at all that I killed that old man."

Renner's voice sawed at Alan's taut nerves. "Why don't you give us proof you didn't? Show us your gun."

Alan stared at Renner. "I can't find my gun here."

"So don't worry about it." Renner laughed. "Some of our boys will find it."

Alan started up from his chair, but stopped. "Are they going through my house?"

Sevidge leaned forward. "Why complain if you got nothing to hide? They might help you. If they find your gun and run a check, that would help you, wouldn't it?"

"How long are you going to keep me here?"

Sevidge shrugged. "That depends."

"If you're accusing me of murdering Sheram, do it. Then I can get a lawyer. There must be something I can do to prove I didn't kill him. I can't help myself sitting in this jail."

Sevidge moved some papers on his desk. "Relax, Mr. Taylor. You're here for questioning. That's all. If I book you at all I'll do that when I'm ready."

"Sure," Renner agreed. "Questioning. You ain't charged with nothing, nobody can holler about you being here. We know what we're doing, Taylor." He dry-washed his stubby hands. "This way, we can keep you a lot longer."

"You mean you can keep me without allowing me to talk to anybody?"

Sevidge gave him a gray smile. "Something like that."

The police technician carefully peeled the paraffin from Alan's hands. Alan sat on a high stool while Grissom tested the paraffin for signs of silver nitrate.

Sevidge said, voice low, "Don't worry, Mr. Taylor. Many offices have stopped using this test. They're calling it unreliable. You might have picked up the nitrate from some other source, or it may have remained in your pores several days."

Grissom looked up from his microscope. He shook his head. "Negative, boss. There's no sign of any silver nitrate in this paraffin."

For the first time since six o'clock that night, Alan felt a small surge of hope. If these men wouldn't believe him, maybe their own tests would exonerate him.

Sevidge's gray face tautened. A small muscle twitched in his squared jaw. Renner winced almost as though Grissom had struck him. Be careful, Grissom, Alan thought bitterly, you keep reporting the truth, even scientific truths, they'll have you back pounding a beat.

Alan said, "Looks like it won't be easy, after all. You're going to have to work to find Sherarn's killer."

Something glittered in Sevidge's pale eyes. Hackles rose across the nape of Alan's neck. This man would make a hellish enemy.

Sevidge's low voice was caustic. "This test doesn't prove you didn't fire that gun. It just proves you were maybe smarter than we figured." He straightened. "If you were smart enough to wear gloves, you better have been smart enough to destroy them, because I got the word for you. Silver nitrate will show in gloves just as it does in the pores of the skin."

Alan sat in the chair in the center of Sevidge's office. Sevidge hadn't spoken to him since they'd returned from the lab. There was no further show of calmness or concern. It was as if it were a personal affront that there had been no silver nitrate in the paraffin test.

On the way to the lab, Sevidge had been almost exuberant. Now he sat at his desk writing savagely, filling out his report on the murder of Justin Sheram.

Renner leaned against the wall, staring at Alan, and then at his black-nailed fingers, as though he'd never seen them before.

It was almost midnight. Six hours. Alan had had no supper. He thought about the rewrite he had to do. No sense worrying about that. When Duke & Thomson saw the morning papers, Alan Taylor would once more be among the unemployed.

A sudden knock at the door, and Alan trembled. Six hours, and his nerves were like bow strings.

Grissom entered the office, carrying the mold he'd cast in Sheram's back yard 'and a pair of canvas oxfords with thick composition soles.

Alan recognized the shoes. He also recognized the look of triumph on Grissom's face.

"What is it, Grissom?" Sevidge still hadn't forgiven the technician for his failure to find non-existent silver nitrate in that paraffin test.

"The boys found these shoes, Lieutenant, in Taylor's garage."

Tensions relaxed in Sevidge's face.

Grissom said, "We tested them in this mold. They fit exactly. What looked like a run-over heel was this thick sole that cat deeper in that loosened dirt."

"Is that the shoe?"

Grissom nodded. "This is the shoe, all right. It fits the mold, and all the characteristics match, even to the cut in the heel here."

Sevidge stood up and took the shoe. Alan stared at it, the grass stains, the dirt smears.

Sevidge nodded in satisfaction. "That's better."

"There's one more thing," Grissom said.

Sevidge's face showed something that resembled pleasure. "Yes?"

"The dirt on the shoes. It matches the sample taken from Sherarn's yard."

Sevidge held out the canvas shoes toward Alan. "These your shoes, Taylor?"

Alan nodded.

Grissom said, "We found them in his garage."

"They're shoes I wear working in the yard," Alan said. He had that helpless feeling that he was talking to himself. "I never wore them anywhere near Sherarn's."

Sevidge turned the shoe over. "How do you explain this dirt on them?"

"A frame-up?" Alan demanded. It was nothing he'd intended saying.

"Frame?" The words were whispered, as if ripped from Sevidge's insides. "You saying we framed this, Taylor?"

"I never wore those shoes near Sherarn's. I never went over there. Those are my shoes. But I wore them to work in my yard, that's all."

Sevidge smiled coldly. "Or did you wear them because the soles are composition, thick, quiet, the kind a man would wear when he steals into another man's house at four o'clock in the morning?"