Hacklin shouted, “Hey, you!” and had to apologize to the phone again. “Not talking to you, Mister Lanerd!.. Your secretary... well, okay... Call back soon’s you find out.”
He hung up, glowering. “What you think you’re doin’, countermanding my orders?”
Schneider squatted in front of the dead man, swearing in a steady monotone.
I put on my Sunday look of innocent astonishment. “You’re trying to keep this Johnny-the-Grocer business sub rosa. How you going to do that if you start badgering Lanerd’s secretary?”
Schneider gave me the slow up and down. “Whatsit, Byrd?”
“House officer,” Hacklin snarled. “Name of Vine.”
“A wise-o?” Schneider pursed his lips.
“Just a guy who knows his job,” I said. “Now, if you were to ask me politely, instead of bellowing like boars in a bog, I might offer assistance with a few things you’ll need help on. Checking our floor patrol to see if he noticed any loiterer in the corridor. Elevator operators to find out if they brought this Gowriss up here.”
Hacklin was caught between an urge to jump me through the hoops and a realization that he hadn’t much dope to pass on to the D.A., except what I’d given or could give him. “Okay, Vine. We’ll get back to the Moore girl later. To you, too.” He stared at me with the surgical inspection Sandor gives unknown applicants at the velvet rope down in the Calypso Room. “Herd that waiter up here, pronto. And round up all your employees who’ve been in this suite last couple days.”
I shook my head decisively. “No.”