because she kept their financial records for the accountant.
She said, “All the paperwork from the gun shop would be stapled together
and filed with all of our canceled checks for that year.”
“We bought it maybe three years ago,” Marty said.
“That stuff’s packed away in the garage attic,” Paige added.
“But you can get it for me?” Lowbock asked.
“Well . . . yes, with a little digging around,” Paige said, and she
started to get up from her chair.
“Oh, don’t trouble yourself right this minute,” Lowbock said.
“It’s not that urgent.” He turned to Marty again, “What about the Korth
thirty-eight in the glovebox of your Taurus? Did you buy that at the
same gun shop?”
Surprised, Marty said, “What were you doing in the Taurus?”
Lowbock feigned surprise at Marty’s surprise, but it seemed calculated
to look false, to needle Marty by mimicking him. “In the Taurus?
Investigating the case. That is what we’ve been asked to do?
I mean, there aren’t any places, any subjects, you’d rather we didn’t
look into? Because, of course, we’d respect your wishes in that
regard.”
The detective was so subtle in his mockery and so vague in his
insinuations that any strong response on Marty’s part would appear to be
the reaction of a man with something to hide. Clearly, Lowbock thought
he did have something to hide and was toying with him, trying to rattle
him into an inadvertent admission.
Marty almost wished he did have an admission to make. As they were
currently playing this game, it was enormously frustrating.
“Did you buy the thirty-eight at the same gun shop where you purchased
the Smith and Wesson?” Lowbock persisted.
“Yes.” Marty sipped his Pepsi.
“Do you have the paperwork on that?”
“Yes, I’m sure we do.”
“Do you always carry that gun in your car?”
“It was in your car today.”
Marty was aware that Paige was looking at him with some degree of
surprise. He couldn’t explain about his panic attack now or tell her
about the strange awareness of an onrushing Juggernaut which had
preceded it, and which had driven him to take extraordinary precautions.
Considering the unexpected and less-than-benign turn the questioning had
taken, this was not information he wanted to share with the detective,
for fear he’d sound unbalanced and would find himself involuntarily
committed for psychiatric evaluation.
Marty sipped some Pepsi, not to soothe his throat but to gain a little
time to think before responding to Lowbock. “I didn’t know it was
there,” he said at last.
Lowbock said, “You didn’t know the gun was in your glovebox?”
“No.”
“Are you aware that it’s illegal to carry a loaded weapon in your car?”
And just what the hell were you people doing, poking around in my car?
“Like I said, I didn’t know it was there, so of course I didn’t know it
was loaded, either.”
‘ “You didn’t load it yourself?”
“Well, I probably did.”
“You mean, you don’t remember if you loaded it or how it got in the
Taurus?”
“What probably happened . . . the last time I went to the shooting
range, maybe I loaded it for one more round of target practice and then
forgot.”
“And brought it home from the shooting range in your glovebox?”
“That’s right.”
“When was the last time you were at the shooting range?”
“I don’t know . . . three, four weeks ago.”
“Then you’ve been carrying a loaded gun around in your car for a month?”
“But I’d forgotten it was in there.”
One lie, told to avoid a misdemeanor gun-possession charge, had led to a
string of lies. All were minor falsehoods, but Marty had enough
grudging respect for Cyrus Lowbock’s abilities to know that he perceived
them as untruthful. Because the detective already seemed unreasonably
convinced that the apparent victim should be regarded instead as a
suspect, he would assume that each mendacity was further proof that dark
secrets were being concealed from him.
Tilting his head back slightly, staring cooly yet accusingly at Marty,
using his patrician looks to intimidate but keeping his voice soft and
without inflection, Lowbock said, “Mr. Stillwater, are you always so