Sadie When She Died [antikvár]

Detective Steve Carella wasn't sure he had heard the man correctly. This was not what a bereaved husband was supposed to say when his wife lay disemboweled on the bedroom floor in a pool of her own blood. The man was still wearing overcoat and homburg, muflSer and gloves. He stood near the telephone on the night table, a tall man with a narrow face, the vertical plane of which was dramatically broken by a well-groomed gray mustache that matched the graying hair at his temples. His eyes were clear and blue and distinctly free^ot pain or grief. As if to make certain Carella had understood him, he repeated a fra^ent of his earlier statement, giving it even more emphasis this time aroimd."Very ^ad she's dead," he said."Sir," Carella said, "I'm sure I don't have to telh youn"That's right," the man said, "you don't have to tell me. It happens I'm a criminal lawyer. I am well aware of my ' rights, and fully cognizant of the fact that anything I tell you of my own free will may later be used against me. I repeat that my wife was a no-good bitch, and I'm delighted someone killed her."Carella nodded, opened his pad, glanced at it, and said, "Are you the man who notified the police?""I am.""Then your name is Gerald Fletcher.""That's correct.""Your wife's name, Mr. Fletcher?""Sarah. Sarah Fletcher.""Want to tell me what happened?""I got home about fifteen minutes ago. I called to my wife from the front door, and got no answer. I came here into the bedroom and found her dead on the floor. I immediately called the police."