Wife or Death by Ellery Queen Page A

But hadn’t Crosby been too drunk that night to have driven a car without being picked up by a state trooper or ditching somewhere, or to have left no clues in murdering and disposing of his victim? Unless it had all been an act … continued today, Denton thought, in that convincing display of grief over Angel and vindictiveness toward me?
    Then there was Arnold Long and his spanking new Avanti. And Matt Fallon …
    Denton grimaced. Nothing but ifs, buts and unlesses. I’d make one hell of a detective, he thought.
    And suddenly he remembered what George Guest had said about seeing Angel on the night of the ball, necking in a car on the country club parking lot. That had to be the man. And old George knew who he was.
    When Denton rolled into Ridgemore he drove directly to the home of Augie Spile. The car clock said the time was 9:02.
    Chief Spile and his wife lived in a small brick house on Oak Street, only a few blocks from the square. Mrs. Spile, as ponderous and slow-moving as her husband, came to the door.
    â€œEvening, Emma,” Denton said. “Augie around?”
    â€œSure, Jim. Come in, come in. I was real sorry to hear about your wife.”
    Denton mumbled something. He followed Emma Spile into the front room and found the chief overflowing an easy chair, watching television, drinking beer from the bottle. Two overweight children, a boy of six and a girl of eight, sat side by side on the sofa, their eyes glued to the screen.
    The chief heaved himself to his feet. “Let’s go in the kitchen, Jim. These hellions’ll yell their heads off if I turn off the set.”
    He carried his bottle with him. He set it down on the kitchen table and said, “Beer? I ain’t got anything stronger.”
    â€œNo, thanks,” Denton said. “Augie—”
    Spile seated himself carefully at the table. “No sense talking on your feet, Jim. Have a chair.”
    Denton sat down. The kitchen smelled of fish; there was a blower going. “I guess I sounded off to our respected D.A. today, didn’t I?”
    The chief chuckled. “You make a different kind of suspect, Jim, I’ll hand you that. Took me fifteen minutes to quiet Crosby down enough to get his voice back and a half hour after that to talk him out of frying you without a trial.”
    â€œAugie,” Denton said. “Crosby’s involved in this case. You know it as well as I do. He has no business acting in his official capacity in the investigation. If I’m a suspect—”
    â€œWell, aren’t you?” the chief asked dryly. “Jim, you’d be an automatic suspect even under other circumstances. The husband always is when the wife is murdered.”
    â€œAnd the wife’s last-known lover?” Denton asked. “Does being D.A. give him automatic immunity?”
    â€œYou know that ain’t so, Jim. I’m not forgetting Crosby for one little minute. But let’s get back to you. And me. We’ve been friends since we were kids. Also, I’m chief law enforcement officer in this town. I’m two people, Jim, and I’ve got to keep ’em separate. Augie Spile says you couldn’t kill anybody. Chief Spile says I got to keep you on my suspect list.”
    It was as near to a personal plea as Denton had ever heard the big man make, and he softened. “Sure, Augie,” he said, and even laughed. “Just don’t lean over too far backwards in your cop personality. But I didn’t stop by to talk about myself. I just remembered two things I think you ought to know.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œFor one thing, the night Angel ran off she must have taken the car out of the garage after we got home, and then brought it back. Or somebody did. It had fifteen more miles on it the next morning than when we got home from the Wyatts’.”
    Spile frowned. “You sure?”
    â€œPositive. I’ve been checking my gas consumption