The chair’s upper leg caught him in the wishbone. It’s opposite, where you’d expect. He made a keening sound; half squeal, half screech. The gun went off again as he folded.
For a minute, we had a junior-model pandemonium. One blue busting in from the Grand Jury room. Hacklin and a dozen middle-aged men crowding behind him. Another cop rushing in from the hall with drawn revolver. Schneider trying to roar himself into command of the situation. Yaker having a paroxysm of hiccups. All the females, except Tildy, making their own special sort of noises appropriate to the occasion. I got Walch’s gun and wallet, gave the gun to the Grand Jury room cop.
When the commotion had subsided and the cuffs were on Walch, Schneider returned to hectoring me. “What’s the idea, Smart Stuff? Makin’ like this dummy was the murderer?” He thumbed a thumb at a still hiccuping Yaker.
“Everything I said was on the up and up about Walch. He managed it the way I said. He did have the strongest reasons for wanting Lanerd out of the way. He’d lose his principal piece of talent; Miss Millett wouldn’t have stayed in show biz long. Probably her reason for wanting to be married was so she could have children?” I asked it indirectly.
Nikky answered tartly, “Anything wrong with that?”
“Nothing at all,” I said. “I’m in favor of it. Mentioned it to show why Walch didn’t mind her having an affair, but was willing to murder to keep her from marrying. Even that wasn’t the main motive that powered him into murder.”
Hacklin’s turn. “What was?”
I glanced at Tildy.
“No.” She seized my arm, pleading.
Marge urged me to leave her alone.