“So they tell me,” Simon said. “I’m surprised you don’t lock me up.”
Kearney suddenly grinned.
“We thought of it. But the Commissioner said no. You must have done him a favour some time.”
Which happened to be true. But Simon didn’t answer the implied question. He was staring thoughtfully at Junior’s corpse.
“That house at Wheaton — isn’t anyone living there?”
“Nobody’s shown up there since we got the call.”
“With this housing shortage, too,” Simon drawled. “You’d think they’d have been around it like ants as soon as a dead body was taken out... Well, it seems as if someone’s adopted me for an heir. I’m only sorry I can’t help you. If I do run across anything, I’ll let you know, though. All right?”
Kearney said, “Sure, that’s all right. Of course, if this is a frame, it might mean you’re mixed up in something. It might mean somebody’s gunning for you. You wouldn’t know about that, would you?”
Simon’s attitude changed. He leaned forward confidentially.
“Well,” he said, “if you’ll consider this just between ourselves, and not for publication. I can tell you that I am engaged in a small crusade just at present.”