Sergeant Ryan sat in the chair across the desk from Inspector Herlehy. He watched as the white-haired man glanced through the flimsies in the file on the desk in front of him.
The inspector slapped the file closed, leaned back. He chomped away at the wad of gum, studied the sergeant with displeasure.
“You haven’t brought me anything new. Pete Degna was killed by a truck. The driver admits the accident. And that’s what it was, an accident. You waste my time telling me you have evidence that Liddell is crossing us. What is this, a fixation with you, Ryan?”
Sergeant Ryan shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “He is, Inspector. First, he gets himself mixed up in the killing of the hatcheck girl. He’s on the scene when we arrive—”
“That’s already been explained.”
“Maybe. We have his word for
