Conway realized that his preoccupation with other matters was causing him to forget his role of the bereaved, and deceived, husband. “I don’t know,” he said. “After the week I’ve had — first her disappearance, then learning she’d been murdered, I guess nothing can hit you very hard.”
“Yeah,” Bauer said, “you’re sort of paralyzed.”
“How about Taylor’s alibi?” Conway asked. “What do you think of it?”
“Can’t tell yet. We’ll know more by morning.”
“The captain seemed to think he might be able to fake an alibi. Isn’t that pretty hard to do?”
“Practically impossible,” Bauer said. “Unless there are a lot of awful dumb detectives around.”
Conway felt encouraged to go on. “I didn’t understand what you said up in the office about my having an alibi. What did the car being parked at ten-four have to do with it?”
“That was just one thing,” the detective replied. “Like to know why we were sure so quick that you didn’t do it?”
“I’d be very interested,” Conway said, conscious of his understatement.
Bauer assumed his professorial air. “Any time a woman’s murdered,” he said, “naturally the first suspect is her husband. That’s only common sense, because, the way it works out, most married women who get killed, it turns out it’s their husband did it. I don’t know why that is,” he mused. “Funny thing, because most men aren’t killed by their wives.”