He stalked into his office and slammed the door behind him. Then I phoned the printers.
"Lemme talk to Corky," I told the girl who answered.
"Mr. Corkendahl is not here," her Brooklynese voice trilled. "Mr. Corkendahl is home in bed, on account of he spent half the night rechanging some changes for Mr. Starr."
"Was Mr. Starr there last night?"
"Why yes."
"Sure?"
"Mr. Corkendahl informed me he was here until almost two. Mr. Corkendahl is not in the habit of prevaricating, Mr. Field."
I hung up in a daze. If Wallace Starr was definitely not in his loft apartment at twelve-thirty last night, then.... I rang up Alice. No answer. I rang her every fifteen minutes until she did.
"Where were you?" I demanded.