Race Morgan walked across the office, dropped into his chair behind the desk. He reached over to the humidor, selected a panatella, ran it under his nose. When Liddell had closed the door behind him, he bit the end off the cigar, stuck it between his teeth. “Okay. You had a fever to see me. What about?”
“Some conversation. A few answers.”
Morgan chewed on the unlit cigar. “Why should I answer any questions for you?”
Liddell shrugged. “Because you’re going to answer the questions, whether it’s for me or for the boys down at Homicide,” he reasoned. “This way you get sort of a dress rehearsal, a chance to try your answers out on me.”
“Why should I have to rehearse anything for the cops? I don’t know anything they’d be interested in.”
“Your hatcheck girl, Debbie Rains, was murdered tonigh
