Read Online Death Likes It Hot by Gore Vidal - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gore Vidal
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given four sleeping pills.”
This time the silence was complete. No one said anything. Mrs. Veering opened her mouth to speak; then shut it again, like a mackerel on dry land.
“With Mrs. Veering’s permission, I’d like to have the house searched for the bottle which contained the pills.”
Our hostess nodded, too dazed for words. Greaves poked his head into the hall and said, “O.K., boys.” The boys started their search of the house.
“Meanwhile,” continued the detective, “I’d appreciate it if everyone remained in this room while I interview you all, individually.” He accepted our silence as agreement. To my surprise, he motioned to me. “You’ll be first, Mr. Sargeant,”he said. I followed him into the alcove. Behind us a sudden buzz of talk, like a hive at swarming time, broke upon the drawing room: indignation, alarm, fear.
He asked me the routine questions and I gave him the routine answers.
Then he got down to the case in hand. At this point, I was still undecided as to what I wanted to do. My mind was working quickly. I’ve done a few pieces for the
N.Y. Globe
since I left them and I knew that I could get a nice sum for any story I might do on the death of Mildred Brexton; at the same time, there was the problem of Mrs. Veering and my business loyalty to her. This was decidedly the kind of publicity which would be bad for her. I was split down the middle trying to figure what angle to work. While answering his questions, I made an important decision: I decided to say nothing of the quarrel I’d overheard between Brexton and Claypoole. This, I decided, would be my ace-in-the-hole if I should decide to get a beat on the other newspaper people. All in all, I made a mistake.
“Now, Mr. Sargeant, you have, I gather, no real connection with any of these people, is that right?”
I nodded. “Never saw any of them until last night.”
“Your impression then should be useful, as an unprejudiced outsider … assuming you’re telling us the truth.” The detective smiled sadly at me.
“I understand all about perjury,” I said stuffily.
“I’m very glad,” said the officer of the law gently. “What, then, was your impression of Mrs. Brexton when you first saw her?”
“A fairly good-looking, disagreeable woman, very edgy.”
“Was anything said about her nervous breakdown?”
I nodded. “
Yes
, it was mentioned, to explain her conduct which was unsocial, to say the least.”
“Who mentioned it to you?” He was no clod; I began to have a certain respect for him. I could follow his thought; it made me think along lines that hadn’t occurred to me before.
“Mrs. Veering, for one, and Miss Claypoole for anotherand, I think, Miss Lung said something about it too.”
“Before or after the … death.”
“Before, I think. I’m not sure. Anyway I did get the impression pretty quick that she was in a bad way mentally and had to be catered to. It all came out in the open the night before she died, when there was some kind of scene between her and her husband.” I told him about the screams, about Mrs. Veering’s coming to us with soothing words. He took all this down without comment. I couldn’t tell whether it was news to him or not. I assumed it was since he hadn’t interviewed any of the others yet. I figured I’d better tell him this since he would hear about it soon enough from them. I was already beginning to think of him as a competitor. In the past I’d managed, largely by accident, to solve a couple of peculiar crimes. This one looked promising; it was certainly bewildering enough.
“No one actually
saw
Mrs. Brexton screaming?”
“We all heard her. I suppose her husband must’ve been with her and I think maybe Mrs. Veering was there too, though I don’t know. She seemed to be coming from their bedroom, from downstairs, when she told us not to worry.”
“I see. Now tell me about this morning.”
I told him exactly what had happened: how Brexton got to
This time the silence was complete. No one said anything. Mrs. Veering opened her mouth to speak; then shut it again, like a mackerel on dry land.
“With Mrs. Veering’s permission, I’d like to have the house searched for the bottle which contained the pills.”
Our hostess nodded, too dazed for words. Greaves poked his head into the hall and said, “O.K., boys.” The boys started their search of the house.
“Meanwhile,” continued the detective, “I’d appreciate it if everyone remained in this room while I interview you all, individually.” He accepted our silence as agreement. To my surprise, he motioned to me. “You’ll be first, Mr. Sargeant,”he said. I followed him into the alcove. Behind us a sudden buzz of talk, like a hive at swarming time, broke upon the drawing room: indignation, alarm, fear.
He asked me the routine questions and I gave him the routine answers.
Then he got down to the case in hand. At this point, I was still undecided as to what I wanted to do. My mind was working quickly. I’ve done a few pieces for the
N.Y. Globe
since I left them and I knew that I could get a nice sum for any story I might do on the death of Mildred Brexton; at the same time, there was the problem of Mrs. Veering and my business loyalty to her. This was decidedly the kind of publicity which would be bad for her. I was split down the middle trying to figure what angle to work. While answering his questions, I made an important decision: I decided to say nothing of the quarrel I’d overheard between Brexton and Claypoole. This, I decided, would be my ace-in-the-hole if I should decide to get a beat on the other newspaper people. All in all, I made a mistake.
“Now, Mr. Sargeant, you have, I gather, no real connection with any of these people, is that right?”
I nodded. “Never saw any of them until last night.”
“Your impression then should be useful, as an unprejudiced outsider … assuming you’re telling us the truth.” The detective smiled sadly at me.
“I understand all about perjury,” I said stuffily.
“I’m very glad,” said the officer of the law gently. “What, then, was your impression of Mrs. Brexton when you first saw her?”
“A fairly good-looking, disagreeable woman, very edgy.”
“Was anything said about her nervous breakdown?”
I nodded. “
Yes
, it was mentioned, to explain her conduct which was unsocial, to say the least.”
“Who mentioned it to you?” He was no clod; I began to have a certain respect for him. I could follow his thought; it made me think along lines that hadn’t occurred to me before.
“Mrs. Veering, for one, and Miss Claypoole for anotherand, I think, Miss Lung said something about it too.”
“Before or after the … death.”
“Before, I think. I’m not sure. Anyway I did get the impression pretty quick that she was in a bad way mentally and had to be catered to. It all came out in the open the night before she died, when there was some kind of scene between her and her husband.” I told him about the screams, about Mrs. Veering’s coming to us with soothing words. He took all this down without comment. I couldn’t tell whether it was news to him or not. I assumed it was since he hadn’t interviewed any of the others yet. I figured I’d better tell him this since he would hear about it soon enough from them. I was already beginning to think of him as a competitor. In the past I’d managed, largely by accident, to solve a couple of peculiar crimes. This one looked promising; it was certainly bewildering enough.
“No one actually
saw
Mrs. Brexton screaming?”
“We all heard her. I suppose her husband must’ve been with her and I think maybe Mrs. Veering was there too, though I don’t know. She seemed to be coming from their bedroom, from downstairs, when she told us not to worry.”
“I see. Now tell me about this morning.”
I told him exactly what had happened: how Brexton got to
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