He stopped reading and folded the paper, took Lucile’s arm and led her toward a taxi. “You go straight to your apartment and stay there,” he ordered gruffly. “Don’t let anyone in and don’t be lured away by any telephone calls. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Chapter thirteen
Inspector Quinlan said, “You look like something no cat would bother to drag in. What have you been doing with yourself?”
Shayne grinned, ran his fingers lightly over his bruised face and stiff stubble of red whiskers. He sat down and said, “I guess I’m getting soft. There was a time when I could take a few beatings and doped drinks in my stride. Your New Orleans gorillas are too much for me.” He spread the morning paper out on the Inspector’s desk. “What do you know about this?”
“Not much more than I read in the paper,” Quinlan admitted. “Have you read the whole story?”
“I glanced through it as I walked here.”
“Denton turned it into some good publicity. What actually happened seems to be that the Jordan girl got scared or remorseful and took poison. A routine call went to Denton’s precinct and he rushed out in time to catch her confession before she died. It was pure chance. But the news story reads as though Denton was relentlessly tracking her down when she took the poison. As though he cracked the case by smart detective work while the rest of us were sitting around twiddling our thumbs. I haven’t been able to locate the Hamilton girl,” Quinlan went on wearily, “to check that part of the Jordan confession dealing with what led up to the murder.”
“Her story checks.”
Quinlan cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at Shayne. “Have you talked with her?”
“Yeh. The Hamilton girl left Jordan and Macon together at ten o’clock. They had quarreled over a man — an old sweetie of Evalyn Jordan’s. He came to the apartment, not knowing Evalyn was there. Lucile left, thinking they were making up the quarrel because Barbara — Margo — was throwing the guy over. That’s why she went away and left them.”