“But Mr. Goodwin! I want—”
I was gone. Three steps got me out of the booth, and I strode down the aisle and around the end of the partition. There I halted, and it wasn’t long before I was joined by Cramer and Purley. Their faces were expressive. I didn’t have to ask if they had got it all.
“If you shoot her,” I suggested, “send her brain to Johns Hopkins, if you can find it.”
“Jesus,” Purley said. That was all he said.
Cramer grunted. “Did she do it herself?”
“I doubt it. It was a pretty solid blow to raise that lump, and you didn’t find her prints on the bottle. Bothering about prints is beneath her. I had to come up for air, but I left you an in. Better pick a strong character to play the role of reporter from the Gazette. ”
“Send for Biatti,” Cramer snapped at Purley.
“Yeah,” I agreed, “he can take it. Now I go home?”
“No. She might insist on seeing her manager again.”
“I wouldn’t pass that around,” I warned them. “How would you like a broadcast of her line on Sergeant Stebbins? I’d like to be home for dinner. We’re having fresh pork tenderloin.”