Beery nodded in a faraway way, dialed a number. He asked for a Mister Crane; when Crane had answered, said: “This is Beery. Bellmann has been shot by a jane, in her apartment, in Hollywood... Uh huh — very dead.”
He grinned up at Kells, listened to an evident explosion at the other end of the line. “We’ll have to give it everything, Mister Crane,” he went on. “It’s open and shut — there isn’t any out... OK Switch me to Thompson — I’ll give it to him.”
Granquist got up and went unsteadily to the door. She put her hand on the knob and then seemed to remember that the door was locked. She looked at the key but didn’t touch it. She turned and went into the dinette, took a nearly empty bottle out of the cupboard and came back and sat down.
Beery asked: “What’s your name, sister?”
Granquist was trying to get the cork out of the bottle. She didn’t say anything or look up.
Kells said: “Granquist.” He looked at her for a moment, then went over to the window, turned his head, slightly toward Beery: “Miss Granquist.”
Beery said, “Hello, Tom,” spoke into the telephone in a low even monotone.
Kells turned from the window, crossed slowly to Granquist. He sat down on the arm of her chair and took the bottle out of her hand and took out the cork. He got up and went into the dinette, poured the whiskey into a glass and brought it back to her, sat down again on the arm of the chair. “Don’t take it so big, baby,” he said very softly and quietly. “You’ve got a perfect case. The jury’ll give you roses and a vote of thanks on the ‘for honor’ angle — and it’s the swellest thing that could happen for Fenner’s machine — it’s the difference between Bellmann’s administration and a brand-new one...”
“I didn’t do it, Gerry.” She looked up at him and her eyes were dull, hurt. “I didn’t do it! I left the snaps and stuff in the office downstairs when I went out — the bag was a gag—”
Kells said: “I knew they weren’t in the bag — you left it in the chair when you went into the bathroom.”