“Never mind what I think, Sheriff! The events I have described ‘did’ take place, and on the night previous to them—the only night Sheriff Lacey spent in Pottsville—he stayed at the river whorehouse, and he there boasted to the inmates of the house that he had fixed Moose and Curly good and that he had taken care of them good, and so on. In other words, there is incontrovertible evidence that approximately one week before Moose and Curly were found dead, on the ‘only’ night Sheriff Lacey spent in Pottsville, he did declare himself to be the murderer of the aforesaid Moose and Curly.”
“Uh-hah,” I said, making myself sound real interested. “Now, this in-con-tro-watchmacallit evidence you speak about. Would that be the unsupported word of these whorehouse gals?”
“It’s not unsupported, dammit! There’s Sheriff Lacey’s bragging the following morning, and—”
“But he was just jokin’, Mr. Barnes. I put him up to it.”
Barnes’ head snapped back, them little old eyes of his glaring at me. Then he darted it forward again, like he was going to hook me with his nose.
“Now, you listen to me, Corey! Listen to me good! I don’t intend to—to—” He broke off suddenly, shook himself like a horse shaking off flies. Then his face twisted, and screwed up and unscrewed, and goddang if he didn’t smile. “Please excuse me, Sheriff Corey; I’ve had a rather trying day. I’m afraid I lost track of the fact, for a moment, that we’re both equally sincere and intent in our desire for justice even though we may not act and think alike.”
I nodded and said that I guessed he was right all right. He beamed and went on.
“Now, you’ve known Sheriff Lacey for years. He’s a good friend of yours. You naturally feel that you have to protect him.”
“Uh-uh,” I said. “He ain’t a friend of mine, and if there was any way I could pin them two murders on him I’d be plain proud to do it.”
“But, Sheriff—”
“He ‘was’ a friend of mine,” I said. “He stopped bein’ one even before that night he came down here an’ rousted me out of bed and got me to point out the way to the whorehouse to him.”
“Then he did go there!” Barnes rubbed his hands together. “You can testify of your own knowledge that he did go to the whorehouse on the night in question?”
“Why, sure I can,” I said. “It’s the plain truth, so why couldn’t I testify to it?”
“But that’s wonderful! Wonderful, Sheriff! And did Lacey tell you why he wanted to go to the—no, wait a minute. Did he say anything that would indicate that he was going to the whorehouse for the purpose of killing Moose and Curly?”
“You mean then, that night?” I shook my head. “No, he didn’t say anything then.”
“But he did at some other time! When?”
“That day,” I said, “when I was over to his county on a visit. He said that pimps was one thing he just didn’t have no use for, and that he believed in killin’ ‘em on general principles.”