“You’re sure, sir?”
Dr. Worth grew icily formal. “Quite,” he said. He was also getting good and mad. This was the sort of thing, he told himself angrily, that taxpayers shelled out their money for. Protection! It was enough to make anybody laugh. A lot of protection the police force of New York City had been for Endicott. They’d shot him—that’s what.
“But I don’t see how—”
“Officer, there is no mistaking the difference between a bullet wound and one made by a knife. In this case especially it is perfectly obvious. I dare say the charge against you two men will be just technical—accidental homicide in line of duty!”
Dr. Worth did permit himself one short laugh.
“I guess so, Doctor,” Cassidy said.
“And is there anything that has to be done, Officer?”
“In what way, sir?”
“Why, a report made to the medical examiner?” Dr. Worth became almost airy in his mounting anger. “This sort of starts the whole thing over again, doesn’t it? I mean, won’t the medical examiner have to come back up and investigate before we can move the body and—oh, well, you know the line.”
“Maybe so, sir.” Cassidy’s face was the colour of a red tile brick. “Cripes, but I wish the lieutenant was here.”
“I understand that he will be here any minute.”
“You’ve heard from him, sir?”