Sellers grinned, and said, “That makes it nice. Stick your wrists out, Donald.”
“Wait a minute, Frank. I want to go over this…”
“Stick your wrists out,” he said, his voice suddenly ringing with brutalized authority.
I knew that tone of voice. T knew the gleam in his eyes. I put my wrists out and Sellers snapped on handcuffs, then he searched me for weapons and said, “All right, now sit down. If you have any talking to do, start talking. You’re under arrest. You’re charged with the murder of Lucille Hollister. Anything you say can be used against you. Now talk your damn head off, if you want to.”
I said, “I didn’t kill her.”
“Yeah, I know. You just came in and found her dead and smeared lipstick all over your mouth and then went into the other kid’s bedroom and waited for her. I’d never have thought it of you, Donald. I always knew you were a queer piece of fish, but I never thought you were like that.”
I said, “Let’s go back to the beginning on this thing, Sellers.”
“Oh, nuts,” Sellers said, and then added hastily, “But go ahead. Keep talking.”
I said, “All you’re listening for is for me to say something that will incriminate me. Now, give a guy a break. Get your mind free and clear of all that prejudice. Forget you’re a cop and let’s see what we can make of this.”
“It’s your party,” Sellers said. “Go ahead and serve the refreshments.”