“Let ’em go home,” the thief said.
“You can go home now,” Kleinsmidt told them.
“Well, I should say it was about time! The idea of getting a body up at midnight and keeping her—”
“Get ’em outside,” the chief roared.
Kleinsmidt pushed them through the door and pulled the door shut behind them.
The chief turned to me. “Doesn’t look too good for you, Lam.”
“Apparently, someone was killed. Who was it?”
Lieutenant Kleinsmidt opened the door, entered the room, and pushed the door shut.
Chief Laster stared down at some notes in a leather-backed book which was open on his desk. Then he took a pen from his pocket and scribbled a few more notes.
He looked up, screwed the cap back on the pen, put it in his pocket, and said, “Harry Beegan was shot and killed last night sometime between quarter to nine and nine-twenty-five.”