Jim Marsh opened the door. He appeared surprised and not too pleased to see Shayne. The mayoralty candidate was a slender, wiry man with a hawklike face and uneasy eyes.
He said, “Oh, hello, Mike. I had an idea you were halfway to New York by now. Decided to stay over, eh? That’s fine. Did you talk to that girl?”
Shayne said, “Briefly.” He glanced inside the room, drew back when he saw there was a visitor. He stepped backward and jerked his head at Marsh. The candidate hesitated, then moved out, closing the visitor from sight.
“Do you know who the girl was?” Shayne demanded.
“No. She wouldn’t tell me her name over the phone. She sounded drunk.”
“She phoned you?”
“That’s right. She insisted that she could help us win. I thought you’d know better how to handle her.” Jim Marsh spread out his small hands expressively.
“But you knew I was leaving town.”
“You’re still here. How about it? Did she have something important?”
“I don’t know. She’s dead.”