Robert Sinclair - The Eleventh Hour

“How will that look?”

“I’ll stay in the car. I don’t think anyone will notice me.”

When Detective Larkin arrived to pick him up, Conway was waiting on the porch. He was not sure whether Bauer had reported Betty’s arrival, and there seemed no reason for Larkin to learn of it. As he got in the car, he wondered whether the police customarily provided transportation for the bereaved kin of murder victims. He could only conclude that the Department was aware that it was a target for criticism and, by its treatment of him, hoped to forestall at least one detractor. They’re wasting their money, he thought; I’d be the last person in the world to criticize anything about this police department.

He skimmed through the papers as they drove. One carried the story on page three, another on page five, and neither said anything that had not been said in every story since the discovery of the body. Clearly, the newspapers were losing interest in the case, a fact which would very soon permit the police to drop it. As he put the papers on the seat beside him, he reflected that this might be the last time he would be called to Headquarters.

Bauer met him and took him into the large room where the line-up took place. The detective seemed unusually taciturn; he found chairs for them and buried himself in his crossword puzzle. As each new group was paraded onto the brilliantly lighted platform, his head came up only long enough for a fleeting glance at the suspects, and then his attention returned to the puzzle.

Conway, though he had nothing else to occupy his interest, paid little more attention to the proceedings than did the sergeant. The motley groups who were herded on, made to stand for a few moments or several minutes, and then herded off, seemed more miserable, decrepit, and unshaven than on the earlier day. Conway continued to look in the general direction of the stage, as a matter of form, but it could hardly be said that he was concentrating on it.

After a half-hour of this, when Conway was very bored and acutely depressed, an assortment of unfortunates appeared who, as a group, were indistinguishable from any of the others who had preceded them. Bauer gave them his customary quick glance, and then leaned to Conway.

“You been looking ’em all over carefully?”

Conway nodded.

“Haven’t seen anybody looked familiar?”

“Not a soul.”

“Nobody in this bunch?”

Conway knew Bauer well enough to realize that there was someone in this group the detective expected him to identify. He looked searchingly at each individual, but when he had gone from one end of the line to the other, and back again, he was forced to turn to Bauer and shake his head.

“Okay,” the detective said. “Let’s get out of here.” Conway followed him out of the room and into the hall. “We’re going down to Ramsden’s office.”

Conway fell into step with the detective as he tried to fathom the meaning of what was taking place. It seemed probable that they had turned up a suspect. But why should he be expected to recognize him? Surely there was no one in that last unkempt, unshaven lot he had ever seen before. A sudden recollection of Bauer’s previous disappointments almost made him smile; the detective, he feared, was in for another one this morning. Conway hoped he wouldn’t be too stubborn about this new suspect, whoever he was.

Captain Ramsden was evidently expecting them. “Good morning, Mr. Conway,” he said.

“Good morning, Captain. Nice to see you again.”

“Have a chair.” He turned to Bauer. “Well?”

“He claims he didn’t recognize him.”

“Really?” Ramsden looked at Conway. “There’s nothing to be gained by that, you know.”

“All I know is that I haven’t the faintest notion of what you’re talking about,” Conway said. “Would you mind letting me in on it?”

“I can understand your reticence, Mr. Conway,” Ramsden said, “your desire, now that she’s dead, to protect your wife’s reputation as best you can, regardless of your personal feelings in the matter. But I have to remind you that you may be obstructing justice.”

“I guess I’m not very bright,” Conway said, thoroughly puzzled. “Could you tell me in words of one syllable?”

“There’s no point in playing dumb,” Bauer said. “You saw him. We finally picked him up last night. You never saw a scareder guy than Harry Taylor. But we got the whole story.”

“Harry Taylor?”

“In person.”

“Was he in that last line-up?” Conway struggled to recall the individuals in the final group. “He must have been the one next to the end, on the right — the tall one. I swear, though, I didn’t recognize him. I’ve only seen him twice in my life, and — well, all that gang looked like bums.”

“He’s no man of distinction this morning,” Bauer admitted.

“But why are you holding him?”

“You know why we’re holding him,” the detective said.

“I’m not sure that he does, Bauer,” the captain said. “I want the truth, Mr. Conway — we won’t hold it against you that you haven’t told us before — didn’t you know that your wife had been seeing a good deal of Taylor recently?”

“I don’t believe it!” This is another of Bauer’s fantastic theories, Conway thought.

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, but it’s true,” Ramsden said. “Taylor is a salesman for a machine-tool concern. He has quite a large territory to cover in Southern California, and he’s out of town four or five days a week. That’s one reason it’s taken us so long to find him. But on the days — and nights — he was in town, your wife spent a great deal of time with him. They were very good friends, Mr. Conway, if you know what I mean. He’s admitted it.”

Conway felt as if he had been hit in the pit of the stomach. He knew that he must think clearly, logically, that he must determine how this incredible revelation might affect him. But his brain at the moment was beyond discipline; it whirled in a chaos of confusion. How much had Taylor told them? How much did Taylor know? What did Taylor know that he himself did not? One fact emerged clearly: his whole plan had been based on the fact that he and Helen were an island alone in this community; that they had no intimates, no confidantes, who could give the lie to his version of their relationship. Now, suddenly, there had appeared someone who had been much closer to Helen than himself.

The shock of the disclosure was so great that it did not occur to Conway that he should act like a trusting husband who has just learned of his wife’s perfidy. But the emotions his face revealed must have seemed valid enough to the two detectives; they sat in silence as he struggled to assay the full meaning of the horrifying discovery. It was Bauer who finally spoke.

“I guess maybe he really didn’t know,” he said to Ramsden. “I don’t see how a guy could help knowing if a thing like that was going on, but it looks like maybe he didn’t.”

“You didn’t know she was seeing Taylor at all?” Ramsden asked.

“I–I still can’t believe it,” Conway said, and realized that the fear and confusion in his mind gave his voice a genuinely shaken quality. “What did Taylor say?”

“Had you and your wife discussed a divorce?”

Here was the trap, he thought. What had Taylor told them? But it didn’t matter — he had to stick by what he had told Bauer. “No — of course not,” he said.

“Taylor says she was going to divorce you and marry him.”

“What!”

“He says she was going to divorce you as soon as she got a little money — meaning, I suppose, as soon as you got a little money — which she expected to be soon.”