“Come with me, Miss Hamilton,” he grated. “The chief wants you.” He took her by the arm and lifted her from the bench. When the reporter started to follow them, he turned and said curtly, “The chief said alone.”
“Hey! What’s the charge?” the fat man called to him, but Hagen did not answer. He led Lucy firmly to a door in the rear and ushered her into Gentry’s office.
The chief was savagely chewing on the cold butt of a black cigar.
“Good morning, Chief.” Lucy’s voice was demure.
“What the hell kind of game are you and Mike playing, Lucy?” he demanded in a thunderous rumble.
She stiffened her shoulders and said, “I want to see a lawyer.”
“You’re going to come clean and tell me what you were doing in Mrs. Carrol’s hotel room. What’s this story about some man jumping you there?”
She said, “I want to see a lawyer.”
Gentry pounded his fist on his desk, took the soggy cigar from his mouth, glared at her, and said slowly, “If you don’t talk, Lucy, lots and fast, I’m going to have you booked as a common hotel thief, on every charge confessed by you to Officer Hagen.”
Lucy clamped her lips and said nothing.