"It wouldn't have been your fault," said Clayton. "Forget it."
Kintyre looked down at a shuddering back. "It seems to be my turn now, Owens," he said. "No hard feelings. Va' tu con Dio."
"No," said Clayton. "I'm afraid not."
Kintyre stared up again, into the narrow face and the deeply ridged eyes. "I thought," he said, "I thought you wouldn't—"
"Prefer charges? Not about a lousy manuscript. My time's worth too much. But Bruce Lombardi was murdered, remember?"
Owens lifted a seared countenance and gasped: "No, you can spare me that much, can't you?"
"I hope so," said Clayton impersonally. "But the fact remains, Bruce was a threat to a fat piece of Hollywood cash."
"He was going to expose the Borgia fraud publicly, as well as in specialized journals," said Kintyre, not wanting to.
"That made it even more urgent," said Clayton. "If Bruce should die and the book disappear, I don't know who'd stand to benefit more than you."
Owens emitted a little moaning noise and shriveled back into the mask of his hands. "You see?" said Clayton.