“I bet that guy had his pockets full of the white stuff,” he said.
“The police found enough incriminating evidence to justify an arrest,” English said smoothly.
“I bet they did,” Duffy said. “And Annabel?”
There was a pause, then English said in a faintly hostile voice, “You know about that. My unfortunate daughter was killed by a hit-and-run motorist.”
“That’s too bad,” Duffy said. “I’ll be having some more work for you in a little while.” He hung up. “That bird’s cagey,” he said to Gilroy. “They framed Wessen, smothered Annabel’s murder. It’s a hit-and-run case.”
Gilroy shook his bullet head. “You gotta watch him.”
Duffy shrugged. “We’re playing on his side.” He went over and helped himself to a drink. “It’s nice to have a guy like that behind you.”
Gilroy nodded and left him. When he had gone, Duffy sat down and did some thinking. Then he got up and went over to the small bureau, unlocked the top drawer, took out the bundle of money he had left there, and looked at it. Then he went to the door and turned the key. He sat down at the table and counted the money carefully. He’d got thirty-four grand and some small notes. He counted on the table three piles of five thousand dollars. That left him nineteen thousand dollars. He split the nineteen grand into four parts. One went into his hip pocket, another in his side pocket, and the third in his trouser pocket. The fourth, three thousand dollars, he folded carefully and put in his shoe. He had to take his shoe off and put it on twice before it was comfortable.
He went over and unlocked the door, picked up the money on the table, and wandered into the bar.
Gilroy was talking to Schultz and Shep. They were drinking beer. They all looked up, a faintly expectant expression on their faces.