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Courtenoy?”
     
    “Never saw
her before in my life. What is this? Am I on trial here? What is this?”
     
    From
inside the house the woman’s voice came again, sharply, “Sidney! Is something
wrong? Are you all right?”
     
    “Nothing’s
wrong. Shut up, will you?”
     
    There
was an aggrieved silence from within the clapboard structure. Courtenoy
muttered something under his breath and then turned to face the detectives
again. “You finished?” he said.
     
    “Not
quite, Mr. Courtenoy. We’d like you to tell us what you saw that day at the
lake.”
     
    “What
the hell for? Go read the minutes of the inquest if you’re so damn interested.
I’ve got to get to work.”
     
    “That
can wait, Mr. Courtenoy.”
     
    “Like
hell it can. This job is away over in . . .”
     
    “Mr.
Courtenoy, we don’t want to have to go all the way downtown and come back with
a warrant for your arrest.”
     
    “My arrest! For what? Listen, what did I…”      
     
    “Sidney?
Sidney, shall I call the police?” the woman shouted from inside the house.
     
    “Oh,
shut the hell up!” Courtenoy answered. “Call the police,” he mumbled. “I’m up
to my ears in cops, and she wants to call the police. What do you want from me?
I’m an honest bricklayer. I saw a girl drown. I told it just the way I saw it.
Is that a crime? Why are you bothering me?”
     
    “Just
tell it again, Mr. Courtenoy. Just the way you saw it.”
     
    “She
was out in the boat,” Courtenoy said, sighing. “I was fishing. Her cousin was
on the shore. She fell over the side.”
     
    “Josie
Thompson.”
     
    “Yes,
Josie Thompson, whatever the hell her name was.”
     
    “She
was alone in the boat?”
     
    “Yes.
She was alone in the boat.”
     
    “Go on.”
     
    “The
other one — Miss Davis — screamed and ran into the water, and began swimming
toward her.” He shook his head. “She didn’t make it in time. That boat was a
long way out. When she got there, the lake was still. She dove under and came
up, and then dove under again, but it was too late, it was just too late.
Then, as she was swimming back, I thought she was going to drown, too.
She faltered and sank below the surface, and I waited and I thought sure she
was gone. Then there was a patch of yellow that broke through the water, and I
saw she was all right.”
     
    “Why
didn’t you jump in to help her, Mr. Courtenoy?”
     
    “I don’t
know how to swim.”
     
    “All
right. What happened next?”
     
    “She
came out of the water — Miss Davis. She was exhausted and hysterical. I tried to calm
her down, but she kept yelling and crying, not making any sense at all. I
dragged her over to the car, and I asked her for the car keys. She didn’t seem
to know what I was talking about at first. ‘The keys!’ I said, and she just
stared at me. ‘Your car keys!’ I yelled. ‘The keys to the car.’ Finally she
reached in her purse and handed me the keys.”
     
    “Go on.”
     
    “I
drove her into town. It was me who told the story to the police. She couldn’t
talk, all she could do was babble and scream and cry. It was a terrible thing
to watch. I’d never before seen a woman so completely off her nut. We couldn’t
get two straight words out of her until the next day. Then she was all right.
Told the police who she was, explained what I’d already told them the day
before, and told them the dead girl was her cousin, Josie Thompson. They
dragged the lake and got her out of the water. A shame. A real shame. Nice
young girl like that.”
     
    “What
was the dead girl wearing?”
     
    “Cotton
dress. Loafers, I think. Or sandals. Little thin sweater over the dress. A
cardigan.”
     
    “Any
jewelry?”
     
    “I don’t
think so. No.”
     
    “Was
she carrying a purse?”
     
    “No.
Her purse was in the car with Miss Davis’.”
     
    “What
was Miss Davis wearing?”
     
    “When?
The day of the drowning? Or when they pulled her cousin out of the