“You mean we’re leaving?” Drake asked. Mason nodded.
Chennery stood holding open the door. Wordlessly, Mason and the detective filed past him into the corridor. The door slammed shut behind them. Drake said protestingly, “Hell, Perry, that guy can’t push us around. When it comes to a showdown, we’re closer to solving the murder of Austin Cullens right now than we’ll ever be again...”
Mason linked his arm through the detective’s and pulled him toward the elevator. “You forget, Paul,” he said, “that we don’t want to solve the murder.”
“What the devil do you mean?” Drake asked.
“If we solve the murder,” Mason went on smoothly, “Detective Sergeant Holcomb, of the homicide squad, wouldn’t get the credit of solving the murder. Therefore, Sergeant Holcomb would be inclined to reject our solution as being a frame-up to get Sarah Breel acquitted. If, on the other hand, Sergeant Holcomb should decide that Pete Chennery should be investigated, he’d naturally...”
“My mistake,” Drake interrupted. “I’m sorry, Perry. The punch on my jaw probably kept me from thinking as fast as I otherwise would have.”
“Does it hurt?” Mason asked.
Drake half turned back toward the apartment. Mason could feel the detective’s muscle tense under his suit sleeve. “You’re damned right it hurts,” he growled.
Mason continued to pull him toward the elevator. “You can get an aspirin at the drug store,” he told him. “And here’s something to bear in mind. We’ve let Chennery know he’s being shadowed. He won’t have much difficulty in spotting your detective out in front. His next move will be to take it on the lam and try ditching that detective. We tip that man off so the ditching won’t be too difficult. But, in the meantime, we have three under-cover detectives rushed out to begin where this chap leaves off. Do you get me?”
“I get you,” Drake said. “It’ll be a pleasure to slip one over on that baby.”