"Why don't you ask her that? If she wants you to know, she'll
tell you."
"Dammit, I can't! Suppose she's satisfied that it really was an accident;
would I want to start her worrying and imagining things?"
"No, I suppose you wouldn't," Rand conceded. "You're not at all satisfied
on that point yourself, are you?"
"Well, are you?" Dunmore parried.
That sort of fencing could go on indefinitely. Rand determined to stop
it. After all, if Dunmore was the murderer of Lane Fleming, he would
already know how little Rand was deceived by the fake accident; the Leech
& Rigdon had told him that already. If he weren't, telling him would do
no harm at this point, and might even do some good.
"Why, I think Fleming was murdered," Rand told him, as casually as though
he were expressing an opinion on tomorrow's weather. "And I further
believe that whoever killed Fleming also killed Arnold Rivers. That, by
the way, is where I come in. Stephen Gresham has retained me to find the
Rivers murderer; to do that, I must first learn who killed Lane Fleming.
However, I was not retained to investigate the Fleming murder, and as far
as I know from anything she has told me, Gladys Fleming is quite
satisfied that her husband shot himself accidentally.
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