Killing the Goose Read Free

they laughed a little, contemptuously. Weigand said that he had sat in on it for a while and decided the boy was going to hold out for a long time yet and left it to Mullins. When the boy broke and told it, Mullins would call him.
    â€œIt’s horrible,” Pam said. “If he didn’t do it—it’s horrible. Because if he didn’t do it, it was bad enough without that.”
    â€œRight,” Weigand said. “If he didn’t do it. Only it’s a hundred to one he did do it—two hundred to one. And it was horrible about the girl. She was—well, she was sort of a pretty girl. And very young, Pam.”
    He looked at her and then he looked at Dorian.
    â€œRight,” he said. “It’s tough—it’s too damned bad. And do you want us to let him get away with it? Is it all right he stuck a knife in the kid’s throat?”
    He spoke rather harshly, for him; and rather defensively. Dorian smiled, not happily.
    â€œIt’s just the poor kids, Bill,” she said. “The poor young kids. We know you can’t do anything else.”
    Bill Weigand, who had been leaning forward, looked into her face and into Pam’s, and then he sat back and for a moment said nothing. When he spoke, it was in his normal tone.
    â€œSo,” he said. “There you have it. From the police point of view—routine. A poor fool kid kills a girl he’s in love with because he gets mad at her. And we—”
    He did not finish, because the telephone bell rang. Jerry crossed the room and dug under a table where the telephone lived. It seemed to be caught on something, and he jerked. There was an indignant yow and Toughy came out, his tail enlarged. He stopped, looked at Jerry reproachfully, scram bled suddenly on the carpet, ran headlong across the room, leaped to the windowsill, crashed into the venetian blinds, bounced, landed half way across the room, leaped convulsively into the air, dashed furiously at the sofa, climbed the back of the sofa and suddenly sat down. He began to wash his back. Toughy had awakened.
    â€œMy,” Pam said. “His tail must have been caught in the telephone wire, or something. Isn’t he strange?”
    Ruffy came into the living room at a dead run, evidently adandoning the bathtub in which, for days, she had decided to live. She leaped over the radio, put both forelegs around Toughy’s neck in an embrace and rolled with him to the floor. Toughy landed underneath, flat on his back with a plunk. He lay there and began to eat one of Ruffy’s ears. She hissed at him.
    â€œChildren,” Pamela North said. “Be good cats.” She explained to Dorian. “They’re showing off, now,” she said.
    â€œPlease,” Jerry said from the telephone. “I can’t—Oh, Weigand. Yes, he’s here.”
    He beckoned with the telephone and Bill took it. He said, “yes” and “yes.”
    â€œAll right,” he said, “we’ll just have to keep after him. I’ll be along after awhile. Anything else?”
    He listened.
    â€œWhat difference it can possibly make,” he said. “However—”
    He listened again.
    â€œWe knew that,” he said. He listened further.
    â€œAnd that,” he said. “But thank the good doctor. Tell him he’s very thorough.” He started to cradle the telephone. He thought better of it.
    â€œMullins!” he said. “Hold it. Don’t tell him that last.” He waited. “Right,” he said. “In a couple of hours. I’ll be here, meanwhile.”
    He cradled the telephone this time and crossed back to his seat on the sofa. They looked at him, enquiringly.
    â€œMullins,” he said. “The boy’s still holding out. The M. E. says she died about an hour before his man saw her, which would make it about a quarter of one. He knew what she had to eat. But so did we. Bacon and tomato sandwich, coffee,