“Hello, Conway,” Davis said. “I understand you murdered your wife.”
“What!” The word leaped involuntarily from Conway’s lips. He looked at Bauer, whose expression did not change, and then at Ramsden.
The captain nodded. “That’s right, Conway.”
Davis rose from his chair. “Sit down, Conway.” Larkin brought a chair and Conway sank into it. “We’ve got the whole thing taped,” Davis said as he sat on the edge of Ramsden’s desk. “You might as well make a full confession.”
He’s bluffing, Conway thought. They’ve got something, but he’s bluffing. He remembered the other times he had almost panicked because of something Bauer had said or done, and resolved that it would not happen again. “I don’t know how much you know about this case, Mr. Davis,” he was able to say in an almost completely normal voice. “But I didn’t murder my wife, and the captain and the sergeant know that I couldn’t have. They just happened to mention that only this morning.”
“That was this morning,” Ramsden said.
“Yes,” Davis said, “and since this morning, thanks to some excellent detective work by Sergeant Bauer, the picture has changed. What was not possible then has become very possible indeed.”
“I know. The Einstein theory.”
“Look, pal,” Bauer said, “there was a little mistake made — a lucky mistake for you, up to now. You been on borrowed time since the day after the body was discovered. If it hadn’t been that somebody put the right facts together wrong, I’d of had this wrapped up in twenty-four hours.”
“Would someone mind translating this doubletalk?” Conway asked.