"Oh? And just where was Mrs. Dean when Jerome found himself on the short end of a cut rope?"
"Why don't you arrest both of us?" Dean said. "Toss in Fred, too," he said as the old man returned with a bottle and three glasses. "He probably sharpened the knife."
Fred poured a full glass of Tequila for Weller but left the other two glasses empty.
"Look," Weller said as he reached for his glass. "I'm the law and I've got to ask the questions. What do you think some prosecuting attorney would say with this evidence? Or the state boys? They'd have you sitting down under a hot light, spending a few hours while a gang of suits practiced twenty questions on you."
"If I was going to kill the bastard, I'd do it face to face!"
"You didn't make out too well the first time you tried a face to face." Weller said with a smile that said he couldn't resist slipping one in at Dean's expense. Dean just scowled and looked away. Weller continued. "Someone cut the son of a bitch's line and I'm the one who's stuck trying to find out who did it."
"Where was Mrs. Shipton at the time?" Fred asked. "If you want my opinion, I'd have to say, look to the wife. Nine times out of ten, in these here capers, it's the she who's doing the deed. It nearly always comes back to the spouse."
"Edith claims she never got further than the road next to the bridge. Couldn't stand the height. A bunch of people confirm it. That's where she was when they hauled her husband out."
"Where's Edith now?" Dean asked.
"They took her to the Montrose hospital, too. I guess they'll keep her overnight."
"Why? I can't see her as the grieving widow."
Weller just shrugged. "It wasn't my call. I haven't spoken to her. Not that she's made any sense the other times we've had a conversation."
"What about the others? My read is Shipton didn't exactly make friends at Bird Song."
"Yeah" said Fred. "I thought I was gonna need funny hats and party favors for the celebrating going on around here."
Weller put his feet up on the coffee table and took a long swallow. "The way I see it, someone from Bird Song cut his rope. That sort of narrows it down, doesn't it?"
Fred reached for an ever-ready pad and pencil and began making a list. "There's the boy's father, Ryland, Gladys Turnbull, Claire Quincy...."
"Look," Dean said. "I'm exhausted. I didn't sleep worth a damn last night, I got rapped in the head pretty good this morning, and I just drove a couple of hundred miles in a blizzard. I'm worried sick about my wife stranded who knows where. Can't we do this shit tomorrow?"