He Who Hesitates

9

The knock on the door awakened him.

Fook had left at about a quarter to three, taking the remainder of the bourbon with him. Roger had drunk only the two drinks, but he wasn't used to hard whiskey, and he must have begun dozing shortly afterward. He wondered what time it was now. He couldn't have been asleep too long. He sat up in bed and looked around the room, dazed, and then blinked as the knock sounded again.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"Police," the voice answered.

Police, he thought.

"Just a moment," he said.

It was probably about the refrigerator. Fook had said detectives would come around asking about the refrigerator. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and went to the door. It was unlocked. He twisted the knob and opened the door wide.

Two men were standing in the hallway. One was very tall, and the other was short. The tall one had red hair with a jagged white streak across the right temple.

"Mr. Broome?" the short one said.

"Yes?" Roger answered.

"I'm Detective Willis," the short one said. "This is my partner, Detective Horse. We wonder if we could ask you a few questions."

"Sure, come in," Roger said.

He moved back and away from the door. Willis entered the room first and then Horse - had he said Horse? - came in after him and closed the door. Roger sat on the edge of the bed and then indicated the two chairs in the room and said, "Have a seat, won't you?"

Willis sat in the hard-backed chair near the dresser. Horse - his name couldn't be Horse - stood just behind the chair, one hand resting on the dresser. They were both wearing heavy overcoats. Willis kept his buttoned. The other one had opened his; he was wearing a plaid sports jacket. Roger could see a leather gun holster clipped to his waist in the opening of the coat and jacket.

"I'm sorry,'" he said, "what did you say your name was?"

"Me?"

"Yes. Um-huh."

"Hawes."

Roger nodded.

"H-A-W-E-S," the detective said.

"Oh." Roger smiled. "I thought you said Horse."

"No."

"That would be a funny name. Horse, I mean."

"No, it's Hawes."

"Sure," Roger said.

The room went silent.

"Mr. Broome," Willis said, "we got a list of all the tenants from your landlady, Mrs. Dougherty, and we're just making a routine check through the building. I guess you know a refrigerator was stolen from the basement sometime last night."

"Yes," he said.

"How did you hear about it, Mr. Broome?" Hawes asked.

"Fook told me. Fook Shanahan. He has a room down the hall."

"Fook?" Hawes said.

"I think his real name is Frank Hubert Shanahan, or something like that. Fook is a nickname."

"I see," Hawes said. "When did he tell you about it, Mr. Broome?"

"Oh, I don't know. What time is it now?"

Willis looked at his watch. "Three o'clock."

"About a half-hour ago, I guess. Or maybe fifteen minutes, I don't know. He stopped in to tell me about it, and we had a few drinks."

"But you hadn't known about the refrigerator until he told you, is that right?"

"That's right. Well, actually, I knew something was wrong when I got home a little while ago because I saw Mrs. Dougherty downstairs talking to two policemen."

"But you didn't know exactly what was wrong until Mr. Shanahan told you about the refrigerator."

"That's right."

The two detectives looked at him and said nothing. It almost seemed for a moment that they had no further questions. Willis cleared his throat.

"You understand, Mr. Broome," he said, "that this is all routine, and we're in no way implying-"

"Oh, sure," Roger said.

"The logical place to start an investigation, though, is with the tenants of a building, those who would have had access-"

"Oh, sure," Roger said.

"-to the item or items stolen."

"Sure."

The room went silent again.

"Mr. Broome, I wonder if you could tell us where you were last night."

"What time last night?"

"Well, let's start with dinner. Where did you have dinner?"

"Gee, I don't remember," Roger said. "Someplace around here, a little Italian restaurant." He paused. "I'm not too familiar with the city, you see. I don't get in too often. I've only been here a few days this trip."

"Doing what, Mr. Broome?"

"Selling woodenware."

"What's that, Mr. Broome? What kind of woodenware?"

"We've got a little shop up home, we make coffee tables and bowls, spoons, things like that. We sell the stuff to places in the city. That's why I'm here."

"When do you plan to go home?"

"I really should be getting back tonight." Roger shrugged. "I sold all the stuff yesterday. I've really got no reason to hang around."

"Where is that, Mr. Broome? Your home."

"Carey." He paused. "It's near Huddleston," he said automatically.

"Oh, yes," Hawes said.

"You know it?"

"I've skied Mount Torrance," Hawes said.

"You have?"

"Yes. Nice area up there."

"Well, our shop is on 190, just east of Huddleston. The turnoff just before the mountain road."

"Oh, yes," Hawes said.

"How about that?" Roger said, and he smiled. "Small world."

"It sure is," Hawes said, and returned the smile.

"What time would you say you had dinner, Mr. Broome?" Willis asked.

"Must've been about five."

"So early?"

"Well, we eat early back home, I guess I'm used to it." He shrugged.

"What'd you do after dinner?"

"Came back here."

"What time was that?"

"Six-thirty? Around then."

"Did you stay in after that?"

"No."

"Where'd you go?"

"To a bar."

"Where?"

"Right in the neighborhood, oh, no more'n six or seven blocks from here, walking south on Twelfth Street."

"Would you remember the name of the bar?"

"No, I'm sorry. I really went out for a walk. I only stopped in the bar because I was getting kind of chilly. I'm not usually a drinking man."

"But you did have a drink with Mr. Shanahan just a little while ago, didn't you?" Hawes asked.

"Oh, yeah, that," Roger said, and laughed. "We were celebrating."

"Celebrating what?"

"Well, I shouldn't even tell you this, you'll get the wrong idea."

"What's that?" Hawes said, smiling.

"Well, Fook doesn't care too much for Mrs. Dougherty, you know. He was glad somebody stole her old refrigerator." Roger laughed again. "So he wanted to have a few drinks to celebrate."

"You don't think he stole it, do you?" Willis said.

"Who? Fook? No." Roger shook his head. "Oh, no, he wouldn't do anything like that. He was just glad it happened, that's all. No. Listen, I don't mean to get Fook in trouble by what I said. He's a very nice person. He's not a thief, I can tell you that."

"Mm-huh," Willis said. "What time did you leave the bar, Mr. Broome?"

"Midnight? I don't know. About then."

"Do you have a watch?"

"No."

"Then you're not sure it was midnight."

"It must've been around then. I was pretty sleepy. I usually get pretty sleepy around that time."

"Were you alone?" Hawes asked.

"Yes," Roger said, and looked at the detectives squarely and wondered if they could tell he had just lied to them for the first time.

"What'd you do when you left the bar?"

"Came back here," Roger said. That was true, anyway. He had come back to the room.

"And then what?"

"I went to bed." That was true, too.

"Did you go right to sleep?"

"Well, not right off." He was still telling the truth. More or less.

"When did you fall asleep?" Hawes asked.

"Oh, I don't really remember. A half-hour, an hour. It's hard to tell just when you drop off, you know."

"Mmm," Willis said, "it is. Did you hear anything strange while you were in bed trying to fall asleep?"

"What do you mean, strange?"

"Any strange noises."

"Well, what kind of noises?"

"Anything out of the ordinary," Hawes said.

"No, I didn't hear anything."

"Anything wake you during the night?"

"No."

"You didn't hear any noises in the street outside, you know, maybe men's voices, or the sound of someone struggling with a heavy load, anything like that?"

"No, I didn't."

"Or something being dragged or pulled?"

"No. This is the third floor," Roger said. "Be pretty hard to hear anything like that, even if I wasn't asleep." He paused. "I'm a pretty sound sleeper." He paused again. "Excuse me, but would you know what time it is?"

Willis looked at his watch. "Three-ten," he said.

"Thank you."

"Do you have an appointment, Mr. Broome?"

"Yeah, I'm supposed to meet somebody."

"What do you suppose that refrigerator was worth?" Hawes asked suddenly.

"I don't know," Roger said. "I never saw it."

"Have you ever been down in the basement of this building?"

"No," Roger said.

"Mrs. Dougherty says it was worth about fifty dollars," Willis said. "Do you agree with her?"

"I never saw it," Roger said, "so I couldn't say. Fook says it wasn't worth more than a few dollars."

"The only reason we bring up the value," Willis said, "is that it would make a difference in the charge."

"The charge?"

"Yes, the criminal charge. If the value was under twenty-five dollars, it would be petit larceny. That's only a misdemeanor."

"I see," Roger said.

"If the crime's committed at night, and the property is taken from the person of another," Willis went on, "that's automatically grand larceny. But if it was taken from a dwelling place…" Willis paused. "Somebody's house, you know?"

"Yes?"

"Yes, and at night also, then the value has to be more than twenty-five dollars for it to be grand larceny."

"Oh," Roger said.

"Yeah. Grand larceny's a felony, you know. You can get up to ten years on a grand larceny conviction."

"Is that right?" Roger said. "For a measly twenty-five dollars? Boy!" He shook his head.

"Oh, sure," Willis said. He looked at Hawes. "You got any questions, Cotton?"

"Are those the only windows?" Hawes asked.

"Those?" Roger said. "Yes, they're the only ones."

"You don't have any facing on the back yard?"

"No."

"I just can't see anybody hauling that heavy refrigerator all the way out to the front of the building," Hawes said. "A car or a truck must have backed into the alley to the basement door. That's what I think." He shrugged. "Well, Mr. Broome wouldn't have heard it, anyway. His windows face the front."

"That's right," Roger said.

Willis sighed. "You've been very cooperative, Mr. Brome. Thank you very much."

"I hope we haven't kept you from your appointment," Hawes said.

"No, I'm supposed to meet her at three-thirty," Roger said.

"Thanks again," Willis said.

"Glad to help," Roger said. He walked them to the door. "Will you be needing anything else from me?"

"No, I don't think so," Hawes said. He turned to Willis. "Hal?"

"I don't think so, Mr. Broome. I hope you understand we had to make a routine check of all the-"

"Oh, sure," Roger said.

"Chances are this was a neighborhood junkie," Hawes said.

"Or a kid. Sometimes it's kids," Willis said.

"We get a lot of little thefts," Hawes said. "Not much we can do about them unless we're lucky enough to turn up a witness."

"Or sometimes we'll catch some guy, oh, maybe six months from now - on something else, you understand - and he'll tell us all about having swiped a refrigerator from a basement back in February. That's the way it goes." Willis smiled. "We try to keep up with it."

"Well, I wish you luck," Roger said. He opened the door.

"As far as you're concerned though," Hawes said, "you can forget all about it. Go home, stay a few days, entirely up to you. We won't be bothering you any further."

"Well, thank you," Roger said.

"Thank you for your time, sir," Hawes said.

"Thank you," Willis said.

They both went out. Roger closed the door behind them. He waited until he could no longer hear their footsteps, and then he locked the door.

Molly's scarf was in the bottom drawer of his dresser.