Mason slipped his arm around Della Street’s waist as they walked down the driveway toward the main highway, where the headlights of automobiles streamed past. Just beyond the highway a bright red electric sign bore the legend, “HOT DOGS.”
“Have a hard day?” Mason asked.
“Pretty much. She went all to pieces when she broke.”
“I was afraid she was going to.”
“Did you know you were going to get Sarah Breel acquitted?”
“I felt pretty certain of it. I knew it was a cinch unless Sergeant Holcomb broke down and told the truth on cross-examination.”
“And you didn’t think he’d do that?”
“No. When you come right down to it, you can’t blame him. Almost anyone would have done the same thing under similar circumstances. Particularly, anyone who regarded attorneys for the defense as natural enemies.”
“Will they try to arrest Virginia Trent now, Chief?”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “I injected Pete Chennery into the case so that the police will grab him as an alibi. They’ll claim Chennery was the one who did the shooting, that he must have deliberately entered George Trent’s office, secured possession of the gun, killed Cullens, stolen a bunch of gems, returned the gun, and skipped out.”