Francis nodded.
âBetween the occiput and the atlas, or first vertebra,â Francis said. âJust below the foramen magnum, in other words. Very neatly, with a very sharp ice-pickâby a person who knew the place to stab. And then he just twitched a couple of times. And â¦â
But Weigand wasnât looking at him. Weigand was staring down at the body. Clinging to the rough wool of Boltonâs trousers, visible now that the body was straightened and laid flat, was a length of orange silk. It fell away from the body and lay bright against the neutral carpet of the aisle. It wasâ
âLook,â Pam North said, unexpectedly behind the Lieutenant, âitâs a swatch. He was going to match something.â
âA what, Pam?â Weigand asked. Kirk was looking at Mrs. North with some surprise, and Dr. Francis with interest. But Weigand did not seem surprised.
âA sample,â Mrs. North said. âFrom some material forââ she bent, not looking at Bolton more than she had to, and examined the strip of orange silkââfor a dress, I think,â she said. âSomething he was going to match for a woman, probably.â
Weigand knelt beside Boltonâs body and smoothed the silk between his fingers. Then he drew it from the loosened hand and stood up. He held it out to Kirk.
âWas one of the costumes to be made of this material?â he asked. âOne of the dresses for the play, I mean? Youâd know, wouldnât you?â
He waited, then, because Kirk waited to answer. Kirk made a great business of looking at the silk and a great business of thinking about it. At just the moment when thought might reasonably be concluded, he shook his head, slowly.
âNo,â he said. âI wouldnât know, necessarily. Not unless it had been decided upon ⦠this might just have been something Mary was showing one of the girls as a possibility. So I wouldnât â¦â
He trailed off and looked at Weigand. It was an inquiring look, and Weigand recognized it with interest. It was the look of a man who wondered whether he was putting something over. Weigand nodded at him, cheerfully.
âNaturally,â Weigand said. âI see how you might not recognize it.â
Anything, within reason, to satisfy a suspect, Weigand believed, at this stage of the game. But Kirk knew something about the orange silk; knew something he didnât want Weigand to know. Weigand felt like shaking hands with him. Kirk had produced a ripple in waters previously too calm.
âA good detective is always more or less suspicious and very inquisitive.â That was the classic definition from the âRules and Regulations and Manual of Procedure for the Police Department of the City of New York.â Weigand agreed with it entirely. He welcomed, as cases started, small discrepancies which nurtured suspicion and encouraged inquisitiveness; or, more exactly, small things which localized suspicion. Five minutes before, Weigand had been suspicious of fourteenâno, with Jimmy Sand, fifteenâpeople. Now Kirk, who knew something he didnât want to tell, had taken one step forward from the even line of suspects. And every little helped.
Weigand changed the subject. He told Kirk he wanted to try something. Would it be possible to run through the second act again, for his benefit? Run through it, as nearly as possible, precisely as they had run through it earlier.
âBecause,â Weigand said, âI want to get things clear in my mind. Itâs all very confused now, naturallyâwhere people were, and all that; because we can take it, I think, that Bolton was killed during the run-through. Would that be possible, Mr. Kirk?â
Kirk pushed back the hair, waited for it to fall, and said, âSure.â
âAs a matter of fact,â he said, âswell! We kill two birds with one stoneâyou get the picture, we get more rehearsal,
Learning to Kill: Stories