“Did you get to ’em, Larkin?”
“Yeah. They said they’d be there.”
“They’ll be waiting for us at your house,” the sergeant informed Conway.
“What!”
Bauer’s tone was conciliatory. “Like you just said, you got to see them sooner or later. Well, better now than having ’em wake you up all hours of the night. This way you see ’em all together, they get the pictures, and it’s over with.”
“Yes, but not now — after Captain Ramsden went to the trouble of keeping them away from me—”
“Oh, you thought he did that to make it easy on you?” Bauer’s surprise was that of an adult who finds that a child is not quite so bright as he had been led to believe, but there was still no resentment in his voice as he went on. “Oh, no — he got us out of the way so’s he could see ’em alone, and the evening papers won’t have anything but ‘Captain Ramsden said—’ and ‘According to Captain Ramsden—’ and all like that. They won’t have any pictures, so they might even have to use his. Then in a week, when we’ve hauled in a couple dozen suspects and turned ’em all loose, and the papers are yelling ‘Why ain’t something being done?’ he can say ‘See Sergeant Bauer — he’s in charge of the case.’ Oh, well, the man’s gotta protect his job.”
“I must say you take a philosophical view of the matter.”
“He’ll only make the late editions of the evening papers. We’ll get the mornings — they’re better anyway.” Conway could think of no suitable comment. A moment later Bauer saw the theatre marquee ahead.
“Tell Larkin where you left your car,” he said. “The exact place — just the way you were parked.”