“Later,” Holcomb said, “not sooner. The man who killed him was sparring for time.”
He stood staring moodily down at the body for several seconds, and then said musingly, “At that, it’s a hell of a place to leave a body.”
“Are you,” Mason asked, “telling me?”
There was silence for several seconds, a silence which was broken only by the sobbing of Virginia Trent. Then Mason said, “Take a look under his shirt, Sergeant. See if there’s a chamois-skin belt with some stones in it.”
Sergeant Holcomb said acidly, “I’ll make my investigation after the coroner arrives. If you want any further information, Mason, you can get it by reading the newspapers.”
“You mean you don’t want me to stick around?” Mason asked.
Holcomb considered for a moment, then said, “No. The janitor tells me you went in just a minute before I did. I heard the packing cases upset as I got out of the elevator, then heard the girl start to scream. I guess this is once I can give you a clean bill of health, and something seems to tell me I can get a lot more information out of this young woman if you’re not hanging around giving her advice.”
“She’s hysterical,” Mason said.
“She’ll get over it.”
“It’d be a shame to question her now. You’ll make a nervous wreck of her.”