I didn’t even say he did it. All I said is that if Miriam was murdered, a stranger did it. Palmer’s a stranger, and he could have done it.”
“So what are you going to do?” Chip asked, confused by Whalen’s logic, but curious.
“Same thing you’re going to do. Keep my ears open, my mouth shut, and my eye on Glen Palmer.”
“I don’t know,” Chip said, shaking his head doubtfully. “I just don’t think Palmer could have done it. He just doesn’t seem to me like the type who would do a thing like that.”
“But you don’t know,” Whalen replied. “And until we do know I think Palmer’s a damned good suspect.”
Chip wanted to protest that there was no need for any suspect at all, but Whalen was too caught up in his “hunch” to be dissuaded now. So instead of protesting he tried to defend Glen Palmer.
“I think we ought to be a little bit careful of him,” Chip said reluctantly.
“Careful? What do you mean?”
“He’s pretty upset right now. In fact, he almost refused to answer my questions. Claimed I didn’t have any right to ask them.”
Harney Whalen’s face paled and his hands twitched slightly. “Did he now?” he growled. “And what did you have to say to that?”
“I told him I didn’t have any right to question him but that I thought he ought to cooperate with me. With us,” he corrected himself. Then his face twisted into a wry grimace. “That’s when he suggested maybe the town could cooperate with him. His gallery hasn’t been going very well.”
“Nobody ever thought it would. He’s mad because nobody’s buying his junk?”
“No,” Chip said mildly. “He just thinks that everybody in town’s been trying to make it difficult for him. Thinks people are holding up on deliveries and delivering bad goods—that sort of thing.”
“Tough,” Whalen replied. “Everything takes time out here, and everybody gets damaged goods now and then. What makes him think he’s special?”
“He doesn’t think he’s special,” Chip said. He could feel his patience wearing thin and wondered why Harn was so hostile toward Palmer. “Anyway, he’s almost got the place finished. In fact, he’s displaying some of his stuff outside the building this morning. You ought to go take a look. Some of it isn’t half-bad. In fact, there’s a picture of the old Baron place that I bet you’d like.”
But Harney Whalen was no longer listening. He was glaring at Chip. “Did I say something wrong?” Chip asked.
“He’s displaying his merchandise outside?” Whalen said.
“Yeah,” Chip replied, wondering what could be wrong. “He’s got maybe fifteen or twenty canvases lined up against the building so you can see them as you drive by.”
“And you didn’t cite him?” Whalen demanded.
“Cite him?” Chip was totally baffled now. “For what, for Christ’s sake?”
“Peddling,” Whalen snapped. “We have an ordinance here against peddling without a license. If he’s displaying stuff outside he’s peddling.”
“Oh, come on,” Chip said. “That’s ridiculous. Even if there is such an ordinance, when did we ever enforce it?”
“That’s not the point,” Whalen said stubbornly.
“Well, it seems to me that if you’re going to enforce it against Glen Palmer, you’d better be ready to enforce it against anybody in town who violates it, because I’ll bet Palmer will start watching.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet he just would at that,” Whalen agreed. Then a slow smile came over his face. “So I won’t cite him. But I’ll get those pictures off the highway, just the same.”
Chip frowned and stared suspiciously at the chief. “What are you going to do?”
“Come along and find out.”
Something inside Chip told him that whatever Whalen was planning, it wasn’t something he wanted any part of. He shook his head. “No thanks. I’ll hang around here.”
“Suit yourself,” Whalen said. “But if you change your mind, drive on up to the highway in about ten minutes. Just pull off the road and wait.” He put on his hat, glanced at himself in the mirror on the inside of the door, and left. A moment later Chip saw him leave the building and get into the police car.
Chip picked up the file on Whalen’s desk, glanced at it, then closed it and put it in the file cabinet, locking the drawer after he slid it shut. He wandered around the office for several minutes, looking for something to do.
“Ah, shit,” he muttered to himself finally. He put his own hat on, closed the office door behind him, and went to his car. A few seconds later he was on his