Wanted
I went around to the Shannon Hotel, registered my alias, paid my day’s rent, and was taken to room 321.
An hour passed before the phone rang.
Dick Foley said he was coming up to see me.
He arrived within five minutes. His thin worried face was not friendly. Neither was his voice. He said:
“Warrants out for you. Murder. Two counts—Brand and Dawn. I phoned. Mickey said he’d stick. Told me you were here. Police got him. Grilling him now.”
“Yeah, I expected that.”
“So did I,” he said sharply.
I said, making myself drawl the words:
“You think I killed them, don’t you, Dick?”
“If you didn’t, it’s a good time to say so.”
“Going to put the finger on me?” I asked.
He pulled his lips back over his teeth. His face changed from tan to buff.
I said: