After a little more than an hour, Captain Ramsden rose from his desk.
“I guess that’s about all we can do here now,” he said. “We’ll want your fingerprints, or course. After you get them, Sergeant, you’d better take Mr. Conway out to the parking lot and go over the ground with him.”
Conway broke in. “Can’t you tell me anything, Captain? Any clues? Any suspects? It won’t bring her back, I know, but I’d hate to see whoever did this get away with it.”
“I can understand how you feel. But it’s too soon yet to have anything much. The car was found over on Fulton Street, about three miles from the theatre. One of our squad cars recognized the license as being on the stolen car list, then they found the body. A girl, a Miss — er—”
“Elsie Daniels,” Bauer prompted.
“Yes — was sitting on the porch Monday evening—”
“With her boy friend, Fred Bissell,” Bauer added.
“Yes — when the car was left there.” Conway surmised that that was the extent of Ramsden’s information, for the captain turned to Bauer. “Have you talked to her yet?”
“Sure,” said Bauer, with the air of a man about to take his rightful place at the center of the stage. “We can nail down the time within a couple minutes.” Conway glowed inwardly: this was more than he had hoped for. “They’d been listening to some music on the radio, and then Senator Taft came on. They took a couple minutes of that, and then she went in and switched over to another station. She came back out on the porch and just barely sat down when they heard this scraping noise, and noticed the car parking. Then he—”
“Wait a minute,” Ramsden interrupted. “Senator Taft was on at ten o’clock Monday night — I listened to him myself.”