Baird drank half the whisky, put the glass down and drew in a slow, deep breath. He reached out and helped himself to a cigarette from Rico’s box, lit it and stretched out his long legs.
‘I got myself a cast-iron alibi,’ he said. ‘Olin couldn’t bust it, so I walked out.’
‘You mean they haven’t anything on you?’ Rico asked eagerly.
‘They never had anything on me,’ Baird said, and his hard mouth twisted into a jeering grin. ‘No one ever saw me. They tried to pin the Bruce killing on me, but they hadn’t any proof. As soon as I could get around again I went up to New York and fixed myself an alibi. I’ve got a lot of friends in New York. Six of them swore I was with them the night Jean Bruce was knocked off. I and my lawyer took their statements to Olin. There was nothing he could do about it.’
Rico drew in a deep breath of relief.
‘That’s fine!’ he said, rubbing his hands. ‘That’s terrific! You’re free to operate again?’
‘Sure,’ Baird said indifferently. ‘Did you get rid of that bracelet?’
Rico nodded.
‘I didn’t get much for it, but I was lucky to find a buyer.’
‘Don’t talk crap,’ Baird said roughly. ‘If the stuff’s good there are always buyers.’