“Yeah, you might of had,” Bauer said quietly.
Conway glanced quickly at the sergeant, frightened by something in his voice. But he plunged on because, having gone this far, he dared not stop.
“Where does he say he was? Hasn’t he some alibi?”
“Yes,” Ramsden said. “Claims he was in San Bernardino that night — on business. We’re checking it now. Of course, he’s had four days to fake a story — or he may even have planned it in advance.”
“That’s the difference between you and him.” Bauer sat on the edge of the desk and smiled, and Conway’s pulse began to resume its normal beat. “Even if you had the motive, you had an alibi you couldn’t have faked. I know — I checked it. For one thing, the car was parked by the murderer at ten-o-four, and it’s impossible you could of been there at that time. That’s what makes a good detective — being able to tell the real thing from the phoneys. Right, Captain?” Rams-den nodded, a little indulgently, it seemed to Conway. “And I’m never wrong on those things. You positively couldn’t of done it, and nobody in his right mind would try to pin it on you. Him? Well, we’ll see.”
“Now that you’ve told Mr. Conway the secret of your success,” Ramsden said, “I think you might go out to his house and take another look around. See if you can find any letters, or phone numbers — anything at all that hasn’t been covered. If Mr. Conway didn’t know about Taylor, there may be other things that escaped his notice.”
“Okay.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Conway.” Ramsden held out his hand. “Sorry I had to be the one to tell you about this.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Conway said, and followed Bauer through the door.
Larkin was waiting in the outer office. “I’m going over to the garage with Mr. Conway,” Bauer said. “He’s going to get his car back. Meet me there and we’ll go out to his house. Might as well walk over,” he said to Conway. “It’s just around the corner.”