Shayne said, “From the description given by the dentist and his wife it sounded like local talent. Another old miner. Do you know anyone who had a grudge against him?”
The sheriff considered for a moment, his face troubled. Then he shook his head. “Not right off,” he said lamely. “No one that would of done a thing like this. Of course, these old-timers have their squabbles.”
“When you’re investigating murder,” Shayne warned him, “you can’t let personalities interfere.” He dropped to his knees beside the dead man and turned the sheepskin collar down. He muttered, “Looks like a single crushing blow did the job. A brick or a large flat rock.”
Sheriff Fleming squatted beside him. “I heard what the young lady said to you, Mr. Shayne. I’d be mighty glad to have your help finding the killer.”
“I don’t mean to horn in, but I’ll do what I can,” Shayne promised. “Get the routine over with, and start checking the alibis of Pete’s cronies, particularly any who have quarreled with him. You’ll be doing innocent men a favor by checking their alibis and removing them from suspicion promptly.”
“That’s a fact.” Sheriff Fleming was relieved. “I’ll start right in.”
Shayne stood up. “I can’t do much until after the play. My wife is waiting for me.” He looked at his watch as he started down the steep slope. It was 8:22.
Chapter four
KNOWING PATRICK CASEY OF OLD, Shayne looked for him and Phyllis in the barroom. It was less crowded now, some of the crowd having drifted to other places of amusement. He found them at a small table in the rear.
“Well, if it isn’t that man again,” Phyllis murmured as he pulled up a chair and signaled for a drink. “Of course, we did have a date to see a play. Have you forgot that, along with the fact that you have a wife?” She wrinkled her nose at him.