Shayne sat quietly brooding for a while, then said, “Fifty thousand dollars makes a hell of a good motive. I’d like to know who gets it.”
Quinlan frowned.
“Aren’t you satisfied with the Jordan girl’s confession?”
“Are you?”
Quinlan shrugged his thin shoulders. “It’ll save the state the cost of a trial.”
Shayne said, “I’ll give you a ring around noon to find out whether Little is here,” and went out.
Chapter fourteen
Shayne found a barbershop with two idle barbers staring disconsolately through plate-glass windows on either side of the door. He went in and slumped into the nearest chair. When one of them hurried to him with a patronizing smile, he said, “I want everything you’ve got except conversation.”
“Shave and haircut? Shampoo?” the man asked.
Shayne moved his head affirmatively. “And hot and cold packs behind my right ear.”