Alex apologized to him a second time, although it had crossed her mind that he might be reluctant to divulge information that would tend to incriminate his well-paying clients.
“Did your father talk to you about Celina’s murder?”
“He cried like a baby when he heard that she’d been killed with one of his instruments.”
“Dr. Collins positively identified the murder weapon as his scalpel?”
“There was never any question. Mama had given him that set of sterling-silver instruments for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. They had his initials engraved on the handles. That scalpel was his, all right. What he couldn’t get over is that he’d been careless enough to lose it.”
Alex scooted to the edge of her chair. “It would be unlike him to be careless with that scalpel if it was an engraved gift from his wife, wouldn’t it?”
He scratched his cheek. “Daddy treasured those things—kept them in a velvet-lined box. I never could figure out how that scalpel fell out of his bag, except that the mare had everyone’s attention that day. In all the commotion, I guess it just got jostled out.”
“You were there?”
“I figured you already knew that. I’d gone along to observe and assist if Daddy needed me. ‘Course, Reede was there, too. He had helped in other births.”
“Reede was there?”
“All day.”
“Did your father ever leave him alone with his black bag?”
Ely Collins gnawed the inside of his cheek. She could tell he didn’t want to answer. “Daddy could have and wouldn’t have given it a second thought,” he said finally, “but don’t get the notion I’m accusing Reede.”
“No, of course not. Who else was in the stable that day?”
“Well, now, let’s see.” He tugged on his lower lip while he thought back. “Just about everybody, at one time or another—Angus, Junior, Reede, all the stable hands and gallop boys.”
“Pasty Hickam.”
“Sure. Everybody at the ranch was pulling for that mare. Even Stacey Wallace stopped by. As I recall, she’d just gotten back from a trip to the coast.”
Everything inside Alex went still. She worked hard at keeping her expression impassive. “Did she stay long?”
“Who, Stacey? No. Said she had to go home and unpack.”
“What about Gooney Bud? Was he around?”
“He meandered everywhere. I don’t remember seeing him, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t there.”
“If you didn’t see him, weren’t you surprised when he turned up with the scalpel covered with Celina’s blood?”
“Not really. Daddy hadn’t noticed it was missing until they found it on Gooney Bud. We believed what they said—that it had fallen out of Daddy’s bag, that Gooney Bud had seen it, picked it up, and killed your mother with it.”
“But it’s conceivable that someone, in the midst of all the confusion and concern for the mare and her foal, sneaked it out of your father’s bag.”
“Conceivable, sure.”
He admitted it with reluctance because it implicated the men he worked for. Alex remembered how concerned he’d been the night before, over Reede’s racehorse. Ely Collins was a friend to all three suspects. Alex had forced him to divide his loyalties between his own integrity and the men who made hand-tooled Lucchese boots affordable. The task was unpalatable, but necessary.
She stood up to leave and extended the doctor her hand. He shook it, and she said good-bye. “Oh, one more thing, Dr. Collins. Would you mind if I looked at the scalpel?”
He was taken aback. “I wouldn’t mind at all, if I had it.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”