20
June 6th, 2.45 p.m.
BENNY MADE up his mind to get drunk. He couldn’t take any more. From the time Jay called the Homicide Bureau he had been pushed around as if he’d been the one who had shot Mendetta.
Cold−eyed cops had come into his apartment and looked him over. They had asked him questions about Sadie. They wanted to know where she was. When he showed them the letter she’d written they didn’t believe a word of it.
Carter, the officer−in−charge, had taken him into a corner. “See here, Perminger, your tale stinks. Why was Mrs. Perminger alone in this apartment all night?”
Benny clutched his head. “I keep tellin’ you,” he groaned, “she an’ I had a tiff. So I walked out on her.”
“What was the quarrel about?”
Benny tried to explain, but Carter sneered at him. “You mean to tell me that you walked out of this joint because your wife objected to you lookin’ at dames? Now, think about it. Isn’t that the lousiest story you’ve ever heard?”
“Well, it wasn’t only that. She an’ I were at the fights, an’ by accident I got my head between some dame’s knees”
Carter’s eyes bulged. “You did what?” he said.