Confidentially Yours Read Free Page A

want to ask me any questions,” I told Scanlon, “you’d better send your boy home, or tell him to keep his remarks to himself. We’re not going to get anywhere this way.”
    “Shut up, both of you!” he snapped. He turned to me. “Now, you say you got out there before daylight. Was there any other car parked at the end of the road besides Roberts’?”
    “There was no car at all when I got there.”
    “I thought you said you saw his car.”
    “When I was leaving,” I explained. “I was already in the blind when the other car got there. I didn’t know whose it was then, of course; I just saw headlights flashing through the trees. When I started home, somewhere around ten o’clock, it was still there, and I saw it was Roberts’ Porsche.”
    “And you never did see any other car?”
    “No.”
    “Could there have been one without your seeing it?”
    “It’s not likely, unless he drove in with his lights off, which would be a little hard to do on a road through heavy timber, or unless he arrived after daylight.”
    “But at the time you heard those two shots from the other blind it was still too dark to drive without lights?”
    “Yes.”
    “That blind you were in is the nearest one to the end of the road. Did Roberts try to come out to it?”
    “No,” I said. “When he saw my car there, he’d have been pretty sure it was occupied. It’s the best location of the four, and always taken on a first-come first-served basis.”
    “Was the gate out there at the highway locked when you went in?”
    “Yes,” I said. “And locked when I came out.”
    He nodded. “Still, Roberts could have forgotten to lock it after him when he came in, and whoever killed him could have followed him almost to the parking area before he left his car. Going out, he wouldn’t need a key to close a padlock. On the other hand, of course, he could have walked in all the way. It’s less than three miles from the highway.”
    “You mean you actually believe somebody went out there deliberately to murder him?”
    Scanlon nodded, his eyes bleak. “What else is there? He went hunting alone. You were the only other person out there. He didn’t shoot himself. So somebody shot him in cold blood. And then tried to set up this phony accident. He might have got away with it, too, if he’d thought to check the size shot Roberts was shooting.”
    “But why?” I asked blankly. “Who’d have any reason to kill him?”
    “If we knew that, he’d be down here now. You can’t think of anybody he’s ever had trouble with?”
    “No,” I said.
    “How did you get along with him?”
    “All right. He was a good tenant, paid his rent on time, no beefs.”
    “You usually use number 4 shot for ducks, don’t you?” Mulholland asked.
    “That’s right,” I said. “I always do. And I was shooting 4’s today. Why?”
    He gave me a cold smile. “I just wanted to be sure.”
    “Good. Then your mind’s at rest. Go put some more hair tonic on it.”
    Scanlon cursed us, and broke it up. We were an intelligent pair, I thought sourly, grown men acting like children. It was a legitimate question, under the circumstances, but I didn’t like the dirty way he put it. He always rubbed me the wrong way.
    “Weren’t there any fingerprints on the gun?” I asked.
    “No,” Scanlon said. “Not even Roberts’.”
    “Somebody wiped ’em off,” Mulholland said. “Clever, huh?”
    I ignored him this time, and spoke to Scanlon. “Is that all?”
    He was staring moodily at the shotgun. “Oh? Yeah, that’s all. Thanks for coming down.”
    I went back to the car. It was too early for dinner and I couldn’t face the thought of a whole evening in that empty house, so I went back to the office and worked on a rough draft of my income tax until after eight before going into Fuller’s. Everybody was talking about Roberts, and I had to repeat what I knew about it a half-dozen times. It was around ten when I drove home. The house is only six blocks