The Counterfeit Murder in the Museum of Man_ A Norman De Ratour Mystery - Alfred Alcorn [33]
“I was amazed and scared, of course. ‘Whatever for?’ I asked. ‘What have I ever done to you?’ His face had a wild expression. He cocked the gun and said, ‘You’re out to ruin me. You and all the rest of them.’ I was afraid he really would shoot me. I said to him, ‘Heinie, I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.’ Then he brought up de Buitliér again. ‘Sure you do. You and de Buitliér are in on this together.’ I shook my head. ‘Heinie,’ I said, ‘don’t do anything foolish.’ Or words to that effect. ‘Don’t destroy everything you have.’ ” I paused then in my narrative, trying to recall anything else that happened.
“So he obviously didn’t shoot you,” the sergeant remarked as though it were some kind of quip.
I ignored him and kept my eyes on the lieutenant. “Right then he just laughed. He said, ‘You don’t know, do you?’ And I said, ‘Don’t know what?’ But he just laughed again. I think I know now what he was referring to.”
“What’s that?”
“The fact he had my gun.”
“You didn’t recognize it?”
“No. One revolver of that type looks pretty much like every other.” I paused. “Or, he could have been referring to the coins, the fact that they were forgeries.”
“Yeah,” the sergeant said dismissively. “Then what happened?”
I took a sip of coffee. “He grew even more … deranged. He told me he wanted to murder someone. When I asked him whom he wanted to murder, he interrupted me and said he wanted someone to murder him. He pushed the cocked weapon right into my ribs and, really, I thought that was it. I wouldn’t even hear the shot.”
“But obviously he didn’t?” The sergeant again sounded snide.
I gave him as dismissive a glance as I could muster and said to the lieutenant, “He then turned the gun on himself, first at his heart and then at the side of his head. He said, ‘Please help me do this.’ ”
“But you didn’t?”
My face froze in a frown of confusion. Of course I didn’t. But a venomous vapor of self-doubt clouded my mind. I couldn’t tell them the truth: I had wanted, in my fear and loathing of the man — he had just threatened my life, after all — to hold the revolver to his head and fire it. “I couldn’t have,” I said weakly.
“But you’re not sure?”
“You shot him because he was doing your wife,” the sergeant snarled.
I looked beseechingly at the lieutenant. He shrugged. “What did you do then?”
“I told him to go home and get some help. I pushed open the door and turned my back on him. At least if he shot me then, I thought, he couldn’t make it look like suicide.”
“And that was the last time you saw him alive?”
“Yes.”
“Then you went back to your office?”
“Yes.”
“How long were you there?”
“Perhaps an hour.”
“You know what I think happened?” the sergeant started in, leaning toward me until I could clearly see the pores on his thick nose. “I think you arranged to meet von Grümh in the parking lot. Maybe you only wanted to scare him off because you thought he would start up something again with your wife. Maybe you knew already about the fake coins. Whatever. You took your revolver along. You took it out and pointed it at him. Maybe he laughed at you. Maybe he said, Sure, go ahead, you can make it look like suicide. And you got mad because he was taunting you, making you feel like a wimp. So you put the gun up against his temple and pulled the trigger.”
“No. No! I couldn’t have.”
“But you could have.”
I took a moment. I collected myself. I said, “So why didn’t I try to make it look like suicide?”
“But you couldn’t have.” The sergeant smirked at me. “It’s your gun. You would have to explain how he got it.”
“My wife will testify …”
“That’s not good enough, Norman.” The lieutenant spoke with a heavy sadness in his voice. “We have enough to take this to the DA and talk to him about a plea bargain.”
“Richard, I swear, I didn’t do it. I had no reason … Diantha was finished with him.”
“How do you know?” the sergeant asked.
“I just know, that’s all. I just know.”
“Think it over, Norman.