character could have. Having no money of his own, he probably had an eye on the main chance — ”
“Like you, you mean?” Connie saw that he was annoyed and she shrugged. “Just tell me to shut up, Mitch, and I will. But it seems to me that McCoy and Quinlan are looking for an easy answer and you’re going right along with them. You haven’t even met Shayon and already you’ve got him pigeonholed.”
“All right,” he said edgily. “McCoy and Quinlan have only been doing this sort of work for twenty, thirty years, but that doesn’t mean they know anything about it. I’m a fool for even listening to them instead of you.”
“No, I think you’re just anxious to get rid of the whole thing so you won’t have to disappoint Nancy and me about our vacation.” Connie rose. “I’m the fool for talking about business on our party night. You relax while I see what’s taking Her Highness so long in the bathroom.”
Holt tried but he couldn’t quite relax. The truth of what Connie had said — that he was eager to accept the easy explanation and get on with his personal affairs — stayed with him. He couldn’t agree with his wife regarding the innocence of the young lovers. McCoy and Quinlan knew their business too well for him to shrug off their conclusions simply because of Connie’s intuitions. And yet, wasn’t intuition what was guiding McCoy also? McCoy’s intuitions were based on experience while Connie’s sprang from feminine sensitivity — which should weight the scales in the policeman’s favour. But Holt had most husband’s uneasy respect for the mysterious workings of the wifely mind. And Connie had certainly tagged him on one count : he had already cast Delmont Shayon in the villain’s role without ever seeing more than the young man’s photograph. That didn’t speak well for his legal training, to say the least.
Holt came to a sudden conclusion and sought out the telephone directory. Shayon’s address was located on the other side of town, a twenty-minute drive. He dialled the number. The phone rang for so long that Holt was on the point of hanging up when a man finally answered. “Yes, this is Shayon speaking.” He had a smooth, almost silky voice, like an actor. But he wasn’t an actor. Shayon lost his composure too quickly when Holt identified himself. “What do you want, anyway?”
“Well, I’m representing the district attorney in the Linneker case — ”
“I know,” Shayon interrupted. “I read the papers. What’s your angle calling me?”
“I’d like to talk to you, Mr. Shayon,” said Holt, thinking that Shayon was not straining himself to appear co-operative. “I think it would be to your advantage as well as mine for us to get acquainted.”
“Thanks for the kind thoughts, but maybe I don’t agree. I’ve already told the cops all I have to say. I’ve got nothing to add.”
Holt didn’t let the obvious hostility deter him. “I’m not a cop, Mr. Shayon, and I’m not asking you for another statement. But since I talked with Miss Linneker this afternoon, I thought I should talk to you, too.”
“You talked to Tara already?” asked Shayon and a new note, which might have been apprehension, crept into his voice. “I thought she wasn’t … Did Tara tell you to call me?”
It was an easy opening but Holt didn’t take it. “No, this is my own idea. I’d like to meet you.”
Shayon hesitated. “Okay, why not?” he said finally. “I don’t mind. I’m at the store all day. Drop in any time.”
“I mean tonight. I can drop over there if it’s convenient.”
“What if it isn’t convenient?” Shayon asked. “Maybe I got something better to do.” Holt waited, not replying. “Okay, come on. But not before nine o’clock, huh?”
Holt looked at his watch; it was just eight o’clock. “That’ll be fine.”
“Nine o’clock,” Shayon emphasized and hung up without saying goodbye. Holt hung up too, thoughtfully. He didn’t know quite what
“Like you, you mean?” Connie saw that he was annoyed and she shrugged. “Just tell me to shut up, Mitch, and I will. But it seems to me that McCoy and Quinlan are looking for an easy answer and you’re going right along with them. You haven’t even met Shayon and already you’ve got him pigeonholed.”
“All right,” he said edgily. “McCoy and Quinlan have only been doing this sort of work for twenty, thirty years, but that doesn’t mean they know anything about it. I’m a fool for even listening to them instead of you.”
“No, I think you’re just anxious to get rid of the whole thing so you won’t have to disappoint Nancy and me about our vacation.” Connie rose. “I’m the fool for talking about business on our party night. You relax while I see what’s taking Her Highness so long in the bathroom.”
Holt tried but he couldn’t quite relax. The truth of what Connie had said — that he was eager to accept the easy explanation and get on with his personal affairs — stayed with him. He couldn’t agree with his wife regarding the innocence of the young lovers. McCoy and Quinlan knew their business too well for him to shrug off their conclusions simply because of Connie’s intuitions. And yet, wasn’t intuition what was guiding McCoy also? McCoy’s intuitions were based on experience while Connie’s sprang from feminine sensitivity — which should weight the scales in the policeman’s favour. But Holt had most husband’s uneasy respect for the mysterious workings of the wifely mind. And Connie had certainly tagged him on one count : he had already cast Delmont Shayon in the villain’s role without ever seeing more than the young man’s photograph. That didn’t speak well for his legal training, to say the least.
Holt came to a sudden conclusion and sought out the telephone directory. Shayon’s address was located on the other side of town, a twenty-minute drive. He dialled the number. The phone rang for so long that Holt was on the point of hanging up when a man finally answered. “Yes, this is Shayon speaking.” He had a smooth, almost silky voice, like an actor. But he wasn’t an actor. Shayon lost his composure too quickly when Holt identified himself. “What do you want, anyway?”
“Well, I’m representing the district attorney in the Linneker case — ”
“I know,” Shayon interrupted. “I read the papers. What’s your angle calling me?”
“I’d like to talk to you, Mr. Shayon,” said Holt, thinking that Shayon was not straining himself to appear co-operative. “I think it would be to your advantage as well as mine for us to get acquainted.”
“Thanks for the kind thoughts, but maybe I don’t agree. I’ve already told the cops all I have to say. I’ve got nothing to add.”
Holt didn’t let the obvious hostility deter him. “I’m not a cop, Mr. Shayon, and I’m not asking you for another statement. But since I talked with Miss Linneker this afternoon, I thought I should talk to you, too.”
“You talked to Tara already?” asked Shayon and a new note, which might have been apprehension, crept into his voice. “I thought she wasn’t … Did Tara tell you to call me?”
It was an easy opening but Holt didn’t take it. “No, this is my own idea. I’d like to meet you.”
Shayon hesitated. “Okay, why not?” he said finally. “I don’t mind. I’m at the store all day. Drop in any time.”
“I mean tonight. I can drop over there if it’s convenient.”
“What if it isn’t convenient?” Shayon asked. “Maybe I got something better to do.” Holt waited, not replying. “Okay, come on. But not before nine o’clock, huh?”
Holt looked at his watch; it was just eight o’clock. “That’ll be fine.”
“Nine o’clock,” Shayon emphasized and hung up without saying goodbye. Holt hung up too, thoughtfully. He didn’t know quite what
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