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“Your gun?” she said, her actor’s training coming to the fore.

“My revolver. I kept it in the trunk.”

“Norman, I don’t …” But my dear wife did not have the capacity to be blatantly dishonest. She turned to the policemen. “I want to talk to my husband … alone.”

The sergeant looked doubtful. Lieutenant Tracy said, “Of course.”

We took Elsie and went into the sun-struck kitchen, its new fixtures gleaming now with a kind of mockery. Diantha took out a Popsicle to placate Elsie and a cookie for the dog. She looked me in the eye and said, “I loaned your revolver to Heinie.”

“Good Jesus,” I said, and sat down. “When? Why?”

“He was here … back in April.”

“When? What date?”

“Early, mid-April. It was still chilly. He told me he needed a handgun for his boat. He said it had valuables on board and that he was thinking of sailing to the Bahamas.”

“I didn’t realize you were seeing him again.”

“I wasn’t. He came over here. I couldn’t get him to leave …”

“Diantha …”

“Norman, I gave it to him to get rid of him more than anything else. I know I should have told you.”

“No,” I said coldly. “You should have asked me.”

“Why is it so important?”

“The bullet that killed Heinie came from my gun.”

“Oh, Norman, I am so sorry.”

We rejoined the police in the living room. I cleared my throat. “Diantha tells me, and I believe her, that she loaned my revolver to Mr. von Grümh when he was here last.”

“When was that?”

“Sometime in early to mid-April,” I answered for her.

Almost gently, Lieutenant Tracy asked Diantha, “What did Mr. von Grümh tell you he needed the gun for?”

“Heinie said he wanted to keep it on his boat. He said he had valuables on board and that he would be sailing near the Bahamas.”

Lemure made one of those facial gestures. “Sounds to me like something you both just cooked up.”

“Why didn’t he just get one of his own?” the lieutenant pressed.

Diantha said, “He told me he had had a scrape with the law. He had a wild time between his first and second marriages. He got involved with some druggie types. Anyway, he got a police record out of it.”

Elsie dropped her Popsicle and Decker started licking it. She sniffled and tears started down her face.

“Just a minute, honey, I’ll get you another one,” Diantha soothed her. She excused herself to rustle in the grocery bag.

“Did anyone else know you gave the gun to Mr. von Grümh?” the lieutenant asked.

“No.”

“Nothing like a receipt maybe? An acknowledgment? Correspondence?”

Diantha said, “I had e-mails from him. But I erased them. I don’t think there was any mention of the gun in them. But maybe.”

“So nothing?” The sergeant shook his head.

To one side, Elsie slurped on her pop. She held it up for me to see and with her other hand signed “orange.”

The lieutenant gave a most human sigh. “I’m sorry, Norman, we’re going to have to take you in.”

The sergeant read me my rights with an edge of malice. Amazing how accusatory they sound. The right to remain silent.

I listened respectfully and then turned to Diantha. “Would you call Felix for me and tell him what’s happened.”

She nodded numbly and then erupted in tears and put her arms around me. “Oh, Norman. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”

The sergeant took out a pair of handcuffs.

“They won’t be necessary.”

“I know. Just kidding.” He turned to me, “But don’t try anything stupid.”

So I was not handcuffed except perhaps morally as they led me out to their unmarked car and ushered me into the backseat, Sergeant Lemure putting his hand on the top of my head to keep me from bumping it, a gesture I have seen in crime movies when the culprit is taken away.

Even good writers resort to the expression of “going into a daze.” And that’s exactly how it felt. Nothing seemed quite real, as though what was happening was happening to this other person, this other Norman Abbott de Ratour, who was to be charged with murder in the first degree.

The suspect docilely rolled his fingers in ink. He emptied the contents of his pockets — wallet, spare change, pen, small