Dawson’s eyes lost their deathlike stare. He slumped. Mills supported him almost gently now. Dawson nodded and Mills took his hand away.
Tim spoke softly. “Why did you want to speak to Senn?”
Dawson gave a quick little sigh and stared down at the splintering floor. The room was silent. Tim heard footsteps in the hall downstairs.
Dawson raised his head as if to speak, but Tim signaled for quiet, and Dawson looked down like a feverish child.
Addison’s voice came up the stairs. “What’s all that knocking about up there?”
Red called, “Indian wrestling. Want to come up and try your hand?”
Addison grunted and moved away.
“Well, Dawson,” said Tim.
Dawson’s voice came high and thin. “Mills heard me wrong.”
Mills took a fresh grip on Dawson’s blouse. “I heard you clear,” he said. “You’ll get the knife if you don’t tell us straight what was in your mind.”