“No fooling, Gerry, give me a lead.” Beery was intensely serious.
Kells asked: “You or your sheet?”
“That’s up to you.”
Kells trailed a long white finger over his discolored right eye. “If you read your paper a little more carefully,” he said, “you’ll find where an unidentified man was found dead near a wharf at San Pedro.” He put his elbows on the desk, leaned close to Beery. “That’s Nemo Kastner of Kansas City. He shot Doc Haardt on Jack Rose’s order and helped frame it for me. He was shot by O’Donnell, his running mate, when they had an argument over the cut for Haardt’s kill. He set fire to the ship—”
“... And swam four miles with a lungful of lead.” Beery had been thumbing through the papers; pointed to the item.
“Uh huh.”
“Who shot O’Donnell?”
Kells said: “You’re too god-damned curious. Maybe it was Rose. Is he going to live?”
“Sure.”
“That’s swell.” Kells took a deep breath. Now that’s for you,” he said, “Perry’ll have to take the fall for Doc’s murder for the time being; he was in on it plenty, anyway. Kastner’s dead and I couldn’t prove any of it without getting myself jammed up again. If anything happens to me you can use your own judgment, but until something happens that is all under your hat. Right?”