“He dragged what was left of her into the bathroom and poured some iodine on her mouth, an’ put the candlestick that he’d smacked Del with in her hands so it would look like she’d killed Del an’ then committed suicide.”
Nick turned to stare at Shane vacantly.
Shane was puffing out great clouds of blue-gray smoke, seemed to be enjoying himself hugely.
“She wasn’t quite dead, though,” he went on. He glanced at his watch. “The law ought to be over there by now — getting her testimony.”
Pedro said: “Hurry up.”
Shane shrugged. “Nick took the gun that Del got from Jack Kenny, jumped up to Charley’s. He knew he was in a good spot to let Charley have it because Charley and I had that argument tonight — an’ it’d look like me — or he could make it look like me. Charley evidently stopped some place on the way home — Nick got there first and either stuck Charley up in the corridor and took him into the apartment to kill him, or sneaked in — the door was unlocked — and waited in the dark. Then he went out the back way — the way Charley came in — and came back down here.”
Pedro went to the door, turned to Shane, said: “You and the lady go.”
Shane gestured towards the Eastman man. “What about him?”
“We’ll fix him up — give him some money. It is too bad.” Pedro smiled, opened the door.
Shane looked at Nick. Nick’s face was pasty, yellow, still wore the silly, far-away expression.