Lieutenant Miller looked down at the corpse. "Someone sure hated him," he said.
The man in the business suit nodded. "They had reason to," he said. He was Jacobson of the F.B.I. "Too bad. I'd rather he were legally punished."
"Me, too."
"What about his wife?"
"She's in the next room. Which reminds me—"
Lieutenant Miller went to the door and looked in quietly. "Look, fellows, just establish her. Don't bother grilling her."
Sergeant Mullaney looked up in surprise. Miller nodded. "This is one case I'm not going to kill myself solving," he said. "I just want to be certain that the murderer of Harry Foster isn't as obvious as a stone pillar on the corner of Hollywood and Vine. Is Mrs. Foster clear?"
Mullaney nodded. "Spending the whole evening with a friend."
"Friend corroborate it?"
Mrs. Foster smiled wanly. "She will if asked," she said.