tried to make Liddell settle for Sergeant Macy, but ended up by letting himself get talked into checking with Devlin himself.
He plugged in the intercom, grunted into it, looked up at Liddell, and scratched at his head.
“He says he’ll see you himself.” The sergeant seemed duly impressed. “Know where his office is?”
Liddell shook his head.
“Second floor front. You can’t miss it. It’s got his name on it.”
“In that case, I’ll probably find it,” Liddell agreed gravely.
Inspector Devlin was sitting in an old swivel chair behind a battered oak desk. He was tall, heavy-set, his sun-leathered face topped by a shock of white hair that showed signs of having been raked recently by his stubby fingers.
“Well, well. If it isn’t Liddell.” He got up from his chair, held out a powerful hand, pulverized Liddell’s with his grip. “Seems that every time you get in town there’s trouble, eh?”
Liddell hastily withdrew his hand, massaging the knuckles. “It doesn’t seem to be ageing you.” He grinned. He looked around the unprepossessing office with its old leather sofa, two straight-backed chairs, a depressing green carpet that showed obvious signs of wear, a water cooler humming to itself in the corner, and some paint-chipped filing-cabinets. “I see they never did get around to redecorating your office.”
Devlin dropped into his swivel chair, looked around, grunted. “Not very observant, I’d say. Hell, that’s a brand-new calendar.”
Liddell grinned and pulled one of the straight-backed chairs close to the desk. “Just the same it’s good to see you, Inspector.”
The white-haired man behind the desk nodded. “You must be psychic, Liddell. As a matter of fact I’ve been wanting to see you. Tried to reach you at that rabbit warren where you’re registered. You don’t seem to be getting much mileage out of that room of yours.”
“I’ve been pretty busy,” Liddell agreed.
“Sightseeing?” The inspector opened his top drawer, selected a fresh piece of gum from a package, and stuck it between his teeth. “After all, there’s nothing more for you to be doing on the Reilly case. Or is there?”
“What’d you want to see me about?” Liddell sidestepped.
“Margy Winslow. I hear you had a little session with her this morning.”
Liddell nodded. “I dropped by for a talk.”
Devlin rolled the paper from the gum into a ball, tossed it at the waste basket. “Suppose you leave the questioning of witnesses in a homicide to us. The citizens of Las Caminas are laboring under the delusion that that’s what we get paid for.”
“I was only trying to help. I spent the rest of the day trying to check what she told me.”
“And what was that?”
Liddell pinched at his nostrils, stared at the inspector.“She told me Richards was stone broke.”
“Do tell?” Devlin leaned back in his chair, pulled out his bottom drawer, and stuck his foot into it. “And what’d you find out?”
“The same thing you probably did. Richards
was
broke.”
“So you think he was tapping the kid’s dough, eh?” Devlin chewed on his gum and nodded. “So did we.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning we’ve been way ahead of you. We got a court order this morning and had a look at Richards’s books. They didn’t tell us a thing.”
“How about his lawyer?”
Devlin shook his head. “Richards handled the kid’s estate by himself. He had sole control. Think the secretary knows more about it than she’s telling?”
“About money? Hell, she can’t even type. You don’t expect she can add, do you?”
Devlin scowled at him but was interrupted by a buzz on the desk phone. He reached over, scooped it from its cradle, and held it to his ear.
Liddell walked over to the water cooler, filled a paper cup, and drank it slowly. When Devlin had dropped the phone back on its hook, Liddell crumpled the cup, tossed it at the waste basket, and returned to the desk.
“Trouble,” Devlin told him. “Just
He plugged in the intercom, grunted into it, looked up at Liddell, and scratched at his head.
“He says he’ll see you himself.” The sergeant seemed duly impressed. “Know where his office is?”
Liddell shook his head.
“Second floor front. You can’t miss it. It’s got his name on it.”
“In that case, I’ll probably find it,” Liddell agreed gravely.
Inspector Devlin was sitting in an old swivel chair behind a battered oak desk. He was tall, heavy-set, his sun-leathered face topped by a shock of white hair that showed signs of having been raked recently by his stubby fingers.
“Well, well. If it isn’t Liddell.” He got up from his chair, held out a powerful hand, pulverized Liddell’s with his grip. “Seems that every time you get in town there’s trouble, eh?”
Liddell hastily withdrew his hand, massaging the knuckles. “It doesn’t seem to be ageing you.” He grinned. He looked around the unprepossessing office with its old leather sofa, two straight-backed chairs, a depressing green carpet that showed obvious signs of wear, a water cooler humming to itself in the corner, and some paint-chipped filing-cabinets. “I see they never did get around to redecorating your office.”
Devlin dropped into his swivel chair, looked around, grunted. “Not very observant, I’d say. Hell, that’s a brand-new calendar.”
Liddell grinned and pulled one of the straight-backed chairs close to the desk. “Just the same it’s good to see you, Inspector.”
The white-haired man behind the desk nodded. “You must be psychic, Liddell. As a matter of fact I’ve been wanting to see you. Tried to reach you at that rabbit warren where you’re registered. You don’t seem to be getting much mileage out of that room of yours.”
“I’ve been pretty busy,” Liddell agreed.
“Sightseeing?” The inspector opened his top drawer, selected a fresh piece of gum from a package, and stuck it between his teeth. “After all, there’s nothing more for you to be doing on the Reilly case. Or is there?”
“What’d you want to see me about?” Liddell sidestepped.
“Margy Winslow. I hear you had a little session with her this morning.”
Liddell nodded. “I dropped by for a talk.”
Devlin rolled the paper from the gum into a ball, tossed it at the waste basket. “Suppose you leave the questioning of witnesses in a homicide to us. The citizens of Las Caminas are laboring under the delusion that that’s what we get paid for.”
“I was only trying to help. I spent the rest of the day trying to check what she told me.”
“And what was that?”
Liddell pinched at his nostrils, stared at the inspector.“She told me Richards was stone broke.”
“Do tell?” Devlin leaned back in his chair, pulled out his bottom drawer, and stuck his foot into it. “And what’d you find out?”
“The same thing you probably did. Richards
was
broke.”
“So you think he was tapping the kid’s dough, eh?” Devlin chewed on his gum and nodded. “So did we.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning we’ve been way ahead of you. We got a court order this morning and had a look at Richards’s books. They didn’t tell us a thing.”
“How about his lawyer?”
Devlin shook his head. “Richards handled the kid’s estate by himself. He had sole control. Think the secretary knows more about it than she’s telling?”
“About money? Hell, she can’t even type. You don’t expect she can add, do you?”
Devlin scowled at him but was interrupted by a buzz on the desk phone. He reached over, scooped it from its cradle, and held it to his ear.
Liddell walked over to the water cooler, filled a paper cup, and drank it slowly. When Devlin had dropped the phone back on its hook, Liddell crumpled the cup, tossed it at the waste basket, and returned to the desk.
“Trouble,” Devlin told him. “Just
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