Della Street was waiting in the car at the curb, with the motor running. She said, “Hello, Paul,” and handed Mason a newspaper. “Here’s the latest afternoon newspaper, Chief, just in from the city. Do you want me to drive?”
“Yes.”
“Where is it, Paul?” she asked.
“Straight down this street for three blocks, then turn to the right for two blocks, and swing to the left. It’s on a side street, halfway in the block. You should be able to find a parking place in front.”
“Okay,” she said, and snapped the car into gear. As she slid the big machine out into traffic, Mason opened the newspaper and said, “There probably won’t be anything much in here.”
“How do they fix the time of death so accurately,” Drake asked, “if they didn’t find the body for so long?”
“It’s quite a story,” Mason told him. “Depends on some deduction by the sheriff. He’s rather a level-headed chap. I’ll tell you about it when we have more time.”
He skimmed through the contents of the paper while Della Street drove with swift competency to the pet store.
Mason and Drake alighted. “Want me to stay here, Chief?” Della asked.
“You’d better,” Drake said. “You’re parked in front of a fireplug. Keep the motor running. We probably won’t be long.”