“What else has been taken from here to the laboratory?”
“Nothing but the scissors and the bottle that was used on Miss Stahl.”
“Then it’s here. All right, Jimmie, finish.”
Jimmie moved to the left of him and carried on.
“It looks to me,” Purley objected in his bass rumble, “like a turkey. Even with your assumptions. Say we find something like what you want, how do we know it’s it? Even if we think it’s it, where does that get us?”
“We’ll see when we find it.” Wolfe was curt. “For one thing, fingerprints.”
“Nuts. If it belongs here of course it will have their prints.”
“Not their prints, Mr. Stebbins. Wallen’s prints. If he picked it up in the car he touched it. If he touched it he left prints. As I understand it, he didn’t go around touching things here. He entered, spoke to Mr. Fickler, was taken to the booth, and never left it alive. If we find anything with his prints on it we’ve got it. Have you equipment here? If not, I advise you to send for it at once, and also for Wallen’s prints from your file. Will you do that?”
Purley grunted. He didn’t move.
“Go ahead,” Cramer told him. “Phone. Give him what he wants. Get it over. Then he’ll give us what we want, what he’s here for, or else.”