“I went out there that night. That was Monday night. It was a terrible night for me. It was the worst thing I ever had to do in my life. I cut her up in the bathtub, her arms and legs, and I took them down in a bushel basket I lined with newspapers and burned them in the furnace and then I just couldn’t go on. I left her in the bathtub and locked up the house and went home. The nightmares I had!”
He rubbed his agonized face briefly. The men around him stared stonily. “Then I went out again Tuesday night and the house was cold. I was so upset the night before I forgot to bank the furnace and the fire was out. I didn’t want to waste time trying to start it again. I’m not good at coal furnaces. It took me all afternoon to get it going the day before Joan moved in and I didn’t want to try it again. So I built a big fire in the fireplace and that’s where I burned her head and that’s all I did that night because it smelled so terribly. I came home again and I decided the next night I’d start the furnace again only that was the day that man Bunnell wanted to look at the house.
“I’d left it locked and we couldn’t get in, but I was desperately afraid Mr. Restlin would take him back there with a key. Fortunately we talked about it on the way back to the office and I influenced him and he decided he’d wait till the next day and bring his wife.
“I couldn’t wait any longer and I knew I wouldn’t have time to get rid of the whole body in one night, having to build a fire in the furnace and all. It’d take so long my wife would want to know what was the matter. I was supposed to be out selling and I couldn’t come home late without her asking questions. So I put the body in the trunk in the cellar and packed all her things, only I didn’t know what to do with her suitcases. I didn’t want to take them with me, so I left them. I thought maybe I’d be able to come back after Bunnell saw the house, but when I got there, the smell was still around and I was sure the whole thing would be found out and the first thing the police would do would be to check the lease and it was signed in my handwriting. So I went down to the office without turning on the lights and took all the leases and then punched a hole in the glass in the door and left.” He looked up. “I wasn't trying to be a burglar. I guess I did the wrong things all around, but you’ve got to understand how frightened I was. I wasn’t able to think straight. All I wanted to do was get rid of the body and pretend I didn’t know anything about it. And when I did all that and burned the leases in the fireplace when I got home, I was sure I’d get caught. You kept coming around to see me and get me in on things and I was afraid I was going to give myself away every time I opened my mouth.” Watly paused, staring fearfully at the chief. Fellows shook his head. “You didn’t have to worry about that, Mr. Watly. You were very convincing.”
“I was desperate, Mr. Fellows. I knew it’d be all up with me if you caught me. I knew it would look bad. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to convince you I was innocent.”
CHAPTER XXIX
Friday, 10:00 AM.-4:15 P.M.
When Watly was through with his story, silence reigned for a moment. Fellows was playing with his key chain, matching keys together, separating them and evening them up again. At length he said without looking up, “Most of what you told us, I guess, is true, Mr. Watly. But that part about her coming at you with a knife—that part, I think, is a lie.”
Watly, white-faced, said, “Every word is true. I told it exactly as it happened.”
“Mr. Watly, I think you killed her. You killed her because she told you she was going to have a baby. You didn’t burn just her head and limbs, you also destroyed some of her internal organs.”
“She didn’t tell me that, I swear it. She wasn’t going to have a baby. It was in the papers, so you know that’s true. She never said it.”
“You still destroyed those organs.”
“I wasn’t trying to hide anything. I had finished with the other parts and I was starting in on the body. I just happened to start there.”
The chief raised his eyes. “You say you didn’t kill her, but you bought a knife and a hacksaw. You purchased them at Cutler’s Hardware store. We traced them there ”
“I know that. I admit that, but I didn’t buy them before she died, I bought them afterwards.”
“When?”
“I bought them—let’s see—Monday.” He reaffirmed it. “I put Jean Sherman on the train and then I bought the saw and knife. That hardware store is near the station. That’s why I bought them there.”
Fellows shook his head. “I don’t believe you, Mr. Watly. I think you bought them there before Monday.”
“I wasn’t near the station before Monday. I wouldn’t have bought them near the station if I hadn’t been taking Jean to the train.”
“You’d buy them there because it’s out of the way. You work in this town. You wouldn’t shop where you might be known.”
“I swear it. She fell and hit her head. I bought them Monday.” Fellows exhaled. “All right, Mr. Watly. Now we’ll go over your story again. You tell us the whole thing all over again, just what you did and what she did. And you might start with that lease you signed. Where’d you get the name Campbell and the Gary Hardware Company?”
“I made up the name Campbell and I remembered the Gary Hardware Company from ads I’d seen. I told Joan, so if anybody asked she’d say I worked in hardware.”
“That’s a lot of scheming to hide a love affair, Watly. It makes better sense if you admit you planned to kill her right along.”
“I didn’t,” he pleaded. “I bought the saw and knife after she died. I only bought them when I decided to destroy her body.”
“What did you do with her belongings, the things that might identify her for us?”
“I burned them. I burned everything I could.”
“You didn’t bum the house down. Why didn’t you do that?” Watly was a real estate man. He looked at the chief in real surprise. “Bum down a house?” He shook his head. “I never even thought of such a thing.”
“And you told your wife you were going away for the weekend, but you didn’t actually get home until Monday night.”
“I called her from New York after Jean said she’d meet me. I said I’d be held up an extra day.”
“And she didn’t question it?”
“No. Why should she? I’m an honest man.” He leaned forward. “You’re holding it against me because I made some mistakes in my youth. You’re holding it against me because I play around. You’re holding it against me because I had a woman back to the house. I admit that looks bad, but that doesn’t make me a murderer.” He raised his voice. “I didn’t kill her!”
“All right. Let’s have the whole thing all over again.”
“Why? I told it to you once.”
“Tell it to us again.”
Watly did. He related the whole story, only this time he was interrupted with question after question by Fellows. Despite the jarring effect of the chief, he made no changes, he didn’t trip himself. She had rushed at him with a knife, tripped, and struck her head.
“There was no mark on the fireplace where you say she hit it.”
“Then she didn't leave any mark, but that’s what she did.”
“What kind of a knife was she waving at you?”
“A long kitchen knife, like a carving knife. I don’t remember it exactly.”
“You put it back. You ought to remember it. What’s the knife look like?”
“A wood-handled knife. That’s all I remember.”
“It was the knife you bought at Cutler’s, wasn’t it?”
“No! I didn’t buy that knife until Monday.”
“Go on.”
When he had told it a second time, he was made to tell it again and this time Wilks as well as Fellows kept interrupting, kept quizzing him on major points and minor details. It came out the same way.
At noon they took a break for lunch, having it served in the office, and then they went at it again and still again, always with the same result. He wouldn’t be shaken on his claim that she
had rushed at him in a rage, fallen headlong against the brick fireplace, and dropped dead.
By four o’clock Watly was hoarse. They were all hoarse. They paused and Watly was nearly in tears and nervous prostration, but he clung to his story with an earnestness that was pathetic and, because it was pathetic, it was convincing. But Fellows and Wilks wouldn’t be convinced.
They gave up finally and had him put in a cell. Sergeant Gorman and one of the patrolmen locked him in and Ed Lewis departed to type up the statement for the real estate agent’s signature. Fellows and Wilks stayed behind in the office and their frustration was evident.
“The trouble is,” Wilks complained bitterly, “we can’t prove otherwise.”
“I don’t care how often he denies it, he killed her. I’d bet my life on it.”
“What good does the betting do? We’re over a barrel. He doesn’t have to prove he didn’t murder her, we have to prove he did. We don’t have a chance.”
Fellows said irritably, “Don’t be silly, Sid. Of course we have a chance.”
“Show me where. How did she die? Nobody knows. It could have been an accident like he says. As for the knife and saw, Cutler’s has no record. How’re we going to prove he bought them Friday, or before that even? It could have been Monday like he says. We have our version of what happened and he has his. The only trouble is, we have to prove ours.”
Fellows’s voice was snappish. “All right, Sid. You don’t have to tell me all that. I’m not stupid.”
“A brilliant job of catching the guy and then we can’t touch him—all because a lousy hardware store doesn’t keep records.”
“All right, Sid. Cut it out.” Fellows got to his feet and threw open the door, stalking into the main room. Gorman, at the desk, said, “I just got a call from a reporter on Watly. I confirmed it.”
“The hell with the reporters.”
“They’re going to be coming here.”
Fellows ignored him and stood with his hands on his hips, glowering at the steel door to the cell block. Wilks walked slowly out of the office and leaned against the door frame, watching the chief. Fellows growled in unaccustomed anger. “This damned place looks like a pigsty. Look at the dust in the corners. Sweep this place up, Gorman.”
The tone of Fellows’s voice was so foreign to his nature that Gorman said quickly, “Yes, sir,” and jumped to obey. The chief said, “And empty those ash trays. Clean up this place. Goddamn it, what are we running here?” He jammed his hands in his pockets and his eyes searched out the room for more omissions. His voice came up sharply again, but this time there was a different note in it. “And who’s the sloppy guy in charge of this office? It’s March. It’s the thirteenth day of March. What’s February still doing on the calendar?” He stalked to the bulletin board and tore off the offending sheet, but the vengeance of his action wasn’t quite like the anger he’d shown before. He came back, folding the sheet into uneven quarters and thrust it at Gorman. “Here,” he snapped. “Never mind the broom. Take this in to Watly. Tell him it’s a present from me.”
Gorman said another quick, “Yes, sir,” and hastened to obey. He hurried for the keys, hastened to unlock the door, and went quickly down the concrete corridor. Sidney Wilks, watching the performance, moved up beside the chief and looked sideways at the glint in Fellows’s eyes. He jerked his head after the retreating sergeant and said, “What’s all that big act for?”
Fellows’s face broke into a sly grin. “You know something, Sid? I’m a lousy detective. I don’t know when I’d’ve caught on if I hadn’t looked at that calendar. Monday, the twenty-third of February, the day Watly claims he bought the knife? That’s in red numbers. It’s a legal holiday. The stores were closed.”
From the cell at the end of the hall there came the sudden sound of sobbing.
Sleep Long, My Love Page 19