Borg reached for the phone, dialed a number.
Granquist brought breakfast in on a big tray. There was orange juice and an omelette and toast and coffee.
Borg finally got Faber and talked to him a little while, and then he looked up Woodward’s number in the Dell Building, downtown, dialed it, took the phone to Kells.
Kells said, “Hello,” asked for Woodward, and then he said: “This is Kells. If you come out to the Miramar Apartments on Franklin and Cherokee, in Hollywood, I think we might do a little business.” He hung up, smiled at Granquist.
“You’ll have to duck while he’s here, baby,” he said. “He’s the undercover legal representative for the Bellmann administration and you’re still number one suspect for Bellmann’s shooting — you’ll have to lay low till we hang it on Fenner and make it stick.”
She nodded.
After a little while someone knocked at the door; Borg got up and let Beery in. Beery threw his hat on a chair, stared with bright, surprised eyes at Granquist, said: “Well — it’s a small world.”
She smiled. “Coffee?”
Beery nodded and Granquist went out into the kitchen.
Kells said: “Fenner went out to see Crotti yesterday.”