Part 38 (1/2)
”Yes,” Terence said quietly.
”Did you run up there?”
”I was close to sixty years old then, sir, and a little woozy from sleep, and frightened, as I've admitted. No, I did not run.”
”Did you walk rapidly?”
”It would be fair to say no, I did not. Not really.”
”You strolled?”
”No, sir. I walked at a normal and cautious pace through the darkness, with my flashlight.”
”How long did it take for you to get to the house?”
”Maybe three minutes.”
”And did you go in?”
”First I shone the beam of my flashlight around, to see if any prowlers were about, and Mr. Zide must have seen it, for he came out to meet me on the gravel.”
”Mr. Zide?”
”Young Mr. Zide. Mr. Neil, him as what's here in the courtroom with his mother. Not Mr. Solomon. He had pa.s.sed on.” Terence crossed himself.
”Did you know Mr. Solomon was dead-had pa.s.sed on-when you got to the house?”
”The terrace faced the beach. I came up the driveway to the front door. What I'm saying is, no, I didn't know Mr. Solomon was dead, and no one told me he was dead until a great deal later that night. What happened is, when I reached the house Mr. Neil came out and said to me, 'Terence, a terrible thing has happened. We've sent for the police. Go back to the gate and wait for them.' ”
”And did you do that?”
”First I asked him if he was all right, and if there wasn't anything I could do. He looked pale and he was shaking. He said, 'No, go back to the gate, man. Do as I say.' And I did that.”
”And did the police come, as Neil Zide had said they would?”
”Yes, indeed they came.”
”How much later?”
”Thirty-five minutes later.”
”Thirty-five? Not ten, or twenty, or forty?”
”No, sir, it took them thirty-five minutes to arrive.”
I pretended to be puzzled, and to think about what he'd said. ”Mr. O'Rourke, how can you be sure of the time interval?”
”We kept an in-out list, a log. I wrote down the times.”
”I see. And did anyone else come before the police got there?”
”One person. Mr. Neil called down to the gate a few minutes after I got back there. He said a man would be arriving shortly and I should let him in and not talk to him.”
”Do you remember the name of that man?”
”I do now, sir.”
”Explain to the court what you mean by that.”
”I didn't remember it when you asked me last week, but then you offered a few names to me, and one of them seemed right, and I remembered it.”
”The name of that man?”
”Gambrel, it was.”
”And the man named Gambrel arrived approximately when?” ”About fifteen minutes after I got back to the gate.”
”Twenty minutes before the police?”
Terence mulled that over and then said, ”That would be correct.”
”You're sure of these time intervals?”
”Yes, I am sure.”
”Because you wrote all this down on what you call your in-out list? Your log?”
”I did indeed.”
”What happened to that log?”
He sighed. ”I gave it to the detective who talked to me.”
”That would be Sergeant Floyd Nickerson?”
”Yes.”
”Did Sergeant Nickerson ever give the log back to you?”
”He did not.”
”Was anyone else present when you talked to Sergeant Nickerson, or when you gave him your log?”
”We were alone. First at the house that night, after the ambulance came flying up, and then later down at the sheriff's office downtown.”
”Did you ever tell Sergeant Nickerson that you'd heard a single shot, and then three evenly s.p.a.ced shots a minute or two later?”