He said, “Yes, I have all that. Thanks very much for your co-operation. If there’s anything further I’ll contact you.” He hung up and shoved the pad toward his secretary. “On the Mitchell case, Lucy. That was a Mr. Levine, general manager of the Argus Trucking Company. His records show that Mitchell did take a truck out without authorization at ten o’clock yesterday morning.” Lucy dutifully took shorthand notes of every word her employer said on the pad beneath his own scribblings, but her expression was one of complete bewilderment. Her back was turned to Gentry, but she looked up to meet the burning curiosity in Timothy Rourke’s eyes. There was a knowing grin on his thin lips.
“That cleans up the Mitchell thing,” Shayne said briskly. “Suppose you let me know as soon as you get more detailed information from Wilmington, Will. I still think Bates should come down here so we can question him about those letters and phone calls he claims to have had from me.”
Gentry’s rumpled lids were half lowered, his eyes inscrutable. He said, “Yeh,” wearily, and stood up. “I’ll send the doc over to look at your head and have my boys check your car. If the external evidence checks with your story we’ll have a little more to go on.”
“Sure. My car is in the parking-lot around the corner. You might try for fingerprints, but I doubt if you’ll find any. After putting me out like a light, he had plenty of time to wipe everything clean.” Shayne pushed his chair back and got up to accompany the chief to the outer office.
Gentry said to Rourke, “Coming along, Tim?”
The reporter shook his head lazily. “I’d like more of a fill-in from Mike. I’ll be around for a statement before we go to press, Chief.”
Gentry moved with his usual solid tread. Shayne strode past him and opened the door to the outer office. As the chief went out, he said, “This is a cockeyed case, Will. I’ll keep in touch with you.”
“Vice versa,” Gentry supplied in a clipped voice. “Don’t worry, I will, until you come clean with me, Mike.” He caught the doorknob and slammed it shut.
Shayne stood for a moment listening to his footsteps going toward the elevator, his thumb and forefinger massaging his left ear lobe. Then he turned and strode back to his office.
Rourke paced the floor, his thin nostrils flaring, and his slaty eyes burning in their deep sockets. He stopped, faced the redhead, and asked, “What is the Mitchell case, Mike?”