“What’d you hit, a milk truck?” Rourke asked. “Sounded like two milk trucks.”
“It was a black sedan and it wasn’t an accident. They had something they wanted to unload on me, and it wasn’t milk.”
Rourke’s lean body twitched with apprehension. The grin faded from his face. “You don’t mean—”
“Yep.” Shayne forestalled further revelations in the presence of Cassidy. “I managed to ditch it for the time being,” he added cryptically. “We’ll have to attend to it later. How about Marlow? Did you locate him here?”
Rourke nodded. He looked wholly unhappy but he didn’t pursue the subject. “Whit Marlow,” he amplified. “Checked in from New York shortly after noon.”
“What have you got on Marlow?” Cassidy interposed. “Anything I ought to know, Mike?”
“I don’t know yet. Is he in his room?” Shayne looked at his watch. How long would it take the police to finish a report on the wreck and leave the scene?
Cassidy said, “Marlow went out right after he checked in and hasn’t showed again.”
“How about checking his room?”
“All right, if you say so. I’ll tell the clerk so he can ring us if Marlow pops up while we’re working.” Cassidy got up and lumbered to the desk.