“We know all about you,” he said. “I’m Flaggerty of the Homicide Bureau. You’re in a hell of a jam, Cain.”
I knew I had to talk if it killed me.
“You’re crazy,” I said. “I didn’t do it.”
“When I find a rat with your reputation locked in with a murdered man I don’t have to look all that far to find his killer,” Flaggerty sneered. “You’re under arrest, and you’d better start talking.”
I tried to think, but my mind wasn’t working. I felt like hell, and my head throbbed and pounded.
The reception clerk plucked at Flaggerty’s sleeve and pulled him away. He started whispering. At first Flaggerty wouldn’t listen. Then I caught Killeano’s name, and that seemed to hold Flaggerty. He looked at me doubtfully, then he shrugged.
“All right,” he said to the reception clerk, “but it’s a waste of time.”
The reception clerk left the room. He had to force his way through the crowd outside in the corridor, and three or four of them tried to squeeze into the room. Flaggerty slammed the door in their faces. Then he went over to the window and stared out.
The house dick touched my arm. He offered me a glass of whisky.
I took it and drank it. It was just what I needed.