Butcher saw Slim move closer to the door, his right hand quickly reaching for the left lapel of his coat, but the rod attached to his wrist got in the way. With a “bang,” the door was kicked open and slammed against the wall. Detective Fred Nelson, holding a .38 caliber gun, assessed the situation. “Alright, you bunch of thugs,” he said, “you’re done.” He looked at Peggy sitting there with duct tape over her mouth. “I guess you were right this time,” he said. “You got mad and wouldn’t tell me where Bill Everett lived, but it just so happens someone did a routine check on him because of his record. “Line up against the wall, hands up. Whether you spend the night in a cell or on a marble slab doesn’t matter to me.”
Peggy sat in Detective Fred Nelson’s office. Sheriff Favell sat at one end of the large table, his eyes openly showing admiration for Peggy. Don Kimberly sat at the other end, and Nelson began his questioning. Peggy felt like a tightrope walker, carefully guiding them to conclusions to exonerate Kimberly from the murder charge, while having to conceal some clues she and Kimberly had hidden, and mentioning less of those Nelson had overlooked, as there was no need to embarrass Nelson in front of his superiors.
“Women,” Peggy explained, “often see things men don’t.” “In what aspects?” Nelson asked. “Well, like housekeeping, for example.” “Go on,” the sheriff urged. “This,” Peggy continued cautiously, “to understand how the murder happened, you have to put yourself in the killer’s shoes.” Sheriff Favell glanced at Detective Nelson: “Listen up, this won’t hurt you.” he said.
