Chapter 9

           AftertwoyearsIremembertherestofthatday,andthatnightandthenextday,onlyasanendlessdrillofpoliceandphotographersandnewspapermeninandoutofGatsby’sfrontdoor.Aropestretchedacrossthemaingateandapolicemanbyitkeptoutthecurious,butlittleboyssoondiscoveredthattheycouldenterthroughmyyard,andtherewerealwaysafewofthemclusteredopen-mouthedaboutthepool.Someonewithapositivemanner,perhapsadetective,usedtheexpression"madman"ashebentoverWilson’sbodythatafternoon,andtheadventitiousauthorityofhisvoicesetthekeyforthenewspaperreportsnextmorning.

           Mostofthosereportswereanightmare—grotesque,circumstantial,eager,anduntrue.WhenMichaelis’stestimonyattheinquestbroughttolightWilson’ssuspicionsofhiswifeIthoughtthewholetalewouldshortlybeservedupinracypasquinade—butCatherine,whomighthavesaidanything,didn’tsayaword.Sheshowedasurprisingamountofcharacteraboutittoo—lookedatthecoronerwithdeterminedeyesunderthatcorrectedbrowofhers,andsworethathersisterhadneverseenGatsby,thathersisterwascompletelyhappywithherhusband,thathersisterhadbeenintonomischiefwhatever.Sheconvincedherselfofit,andcriedintoherhandkerchief,asiftheverysuggestionwasmorethanshecouldendure.S.Wilsonwasreducedtoaman"derangedbygrief"inorderthatthecasemightremaininitssimplistform.Anditrestedthere.

           Butallthispartofitseemedremoteandunessential.IfoundmyselfonGatsby’sside,andalone.FromthemomentItelephonednewsofthecatastrophetoWestEggvillage,everysurmiseabouthim,andeverypracticalquestion,wasreferredtome.