“When we do catch up with her she’ll be in a cell. If you want her to do something, being in a cell might cramp her style.”
He regarded me steadily for several seconds, his eyes batting every few seconds.
Abruptly he pushed the gun toward me. “All right, Lam, you take it.”
“Not me. I’m simply a detective employed to find Roberta Fenn for a client whose identity I don’t know. You’re the big shot who’s determining policies.”
“Then,” he said, “as an attorney in good standing, I would have no choice but to go to the police.”
I got up from the floor and brushed my trousers. “Okay,” I said, “I just wanted you to understand the situation.”
I was halfway to the door before he called me back.
“Perhaps I should give the matter a little further consideration. Lam.”
I didn’t say anything.
He went on: “You know it’s rather a serious matter to accuse a person of crime. I — er — I’ll think it over.”