Beery said: “You can’t get away with a—”
“No?” Kells paused, glanced over his shoulder at Beery. “I’ll get away with it big, young fella. And stop worrying about your job — you’ve got a swell job with me. How would you like to be chief of police?”
He went on writing, then stopped suddenly, turned to Fenner. “I’ve got a better idea,” he said. “You’ll stay here where I can hold a book on you. You stay here and in your same spot — only you can’t go to the toilet without my okay,” He got up and stood in the center of the room and jerked his head toward the desk. “There it is. Get down on it — quick.”
Fenner said, “Certainly not,” thickly.
Kells looked at the floor, said: “Call Hayes, Shep.”
Beery reached for the telephone.
Fenner didn’t look at him. He held his hands tightly over his face for a moment, mumbled, “My God!” — then he got up and went unsteadily to the desk, sat down. He stooped over the piece of paper, read it carefully.
Kells said: “If Granquist beats the case — and she will — and you don’t talk out of turn, I’ll tear it up in a month or so.”
Fenner picked up the pen, shakily signed.
Kells looked at Beery, and Beery got up and went over and read the paper. He said: “This is a confession. Does it make me an accessory?”