“Do you happen to know the only witness he had to clinch the case fell out of a window last night?” the Pacific Herald reporter asked. “You’ve got to hand it to that oily snake. He’s never let anyone give evidence against him, and he never will.”
“That was an accident,” the other reporter said hotly. “I’ve talked to Conrad. That guy knows what he’s talking about. She fell out of the window accidentally.”
“Like Weiner got drowned in his bath accidentally? Yeah? If you believe that crap, you’re the only one besides Conrad who does.”
They were still arguing ten minutes later when there was a sudden hush from the crowd, and looking up, they saw the four hard-faced men coming through the doors with Maurer in the middle of them.
Maurer was beaming. He paused at the top of the steps and looked down at the battery of cameras and the hostile faces of the reporters.
Abe Gollowitz, a little pale and very tired-looking, stood to his right. His fat face was expressionless, but his eyes were the eyes of a man without hope or without a future.
“Well, boys,” Maurer said breathlessly, “seems it was all a mistake.”
“Hey, wait a minute, Mr. Maurer,” the television interviewer shouted excitedly. “Will you step down here and speak into the mike? Will you give us a statement?”
“Sure,” Maurer said. “I promised you a statement and I never go back on my promises.”
He walked down to the battery of microphones.