Free Wife or Death by Ellery Queen Page A

Crosby curtly told his secretary that he was not to be interrupted and led the way into his sanctum. He sat down at his desk, waving, tense, confident.
    Again the thought nibbled.
    Denton lowered himself into the chair beside the desk. The chief sat down on the bias, so that he could see the faces of both Denton and Crosby.
    â€œJim,” Chief Spile said at once. “Why did you mention an auto accident?”
    Then Denton let it come through—taking a huge bite through the wall he had thrown up. “Naturally I thought … You mean she’s been murdered?”
    â€œIt wasn’t any auto accident.” Augie Spile’s face was as expressionless as the balloon it resembled. “You don’t know how Mrs. Denton died?”
    Denton heard himself saying in a reasonable way, “If I knew, Augie, would I be asking? Will you stop fiddling around, please? I think I’m entitled to know.”
    â€œYou don’t know anything about the circumstances, Jim? Just where she was found, how she got there, anything?”
    â€œI know exactly what I told you. The last time I saw Angel, alive or dead, was when we got home from the Wyatts’ that night. She went into her bedroom and shut the door while I was closing the garage, and that was it.”
    Spile grunted and took out his big handkerchief and began to swab himself again. “Well, some hunters found her under a bush about ten miles south of town. It’s pretty rough mountain country there, as you know. She was a good fifty feet off the road, down a steep embankment. Looked as if she’d been rolled down.”
    Denton swallowed. “No car? No sign of an accident?”
    â€œJim,” the chief said gently. “She stopped a shotgun blast at close range, right smack in the belly. The county pathologist hasn’t had time to do the autopsy—she was found around noon—but a blind man could tell it was a shotgun.”
    What was there to say? Denton kept swallowing.
    District Attorney Ralph Crosby stirred. “You through now, Chief?”
    Augie Spile blinked. “Sure.”
    â€œThen I’ll get down to business.” Crosby turned deliberately. “Denton, do you want to make a statement? If so, I’ll call in my stenographer.”
    â€œStatement?” Jim Denton said. “Statement about what?”
    â€œAbout what has all the earmarks of the premeditated murder of your wife. What do you think I want a statement about? Your editorial opinion on the proposed new sewage plant?”
    The triumphant edge to Crosby’s cold-chisel tone sheared through the punk in Denton’s head. All at once he was sharp all over, ready to cut and countercut in defense—it was ridiculous, it was ridiculous—in defense of his life.
    â€œLet me understand you, Crosby. Are you accusing me of murdering Angel?”
    â€œI’ll put it this way,” the district attorney said, baring his teeth. “We’ve got the makings of a hell of a good case against you.”
    â€œYou’re out of your mind, Crosby.”
    â€œFor instance, you told a lot of people that Angel was off visiting her parents—you even announced it in that rag of yours. You’ve admitted to Chief Spile that that was a lie. If the lie wasn’t to cover up her murder, it certainly helped, didn’t it? Those men out hunting just happened to stumble over her body. If not for that, it might have lain out there for years. It might never have been found! And that’s just for openers, Denton—”
    â€œBefore you go on rhapsodizing, Mr. District Attorney,” said Jim Denton softly, “how do you like this for a case? There isn’t a soul in this town who doesn’t know that you were head over heels in love with my wife, and that until a short while ago she was letting you bang her with a voom every time your little old libido desired. There isn’t a soul in this town, Mr. D.A., who by