We went back to City Hall. It took fifteen minutes for Amos to find what he wanted, then he grinned at me. “Five-nine, bad acne scars…” he went on giving me the description of the man I’d shot. He phoned the “I” room and Homicide. Soon a man came in with a glossy photo. Amos glanced at it, handed it to me. “Otto Rheims,” he said.
“That’s the guy. Another one?” He nodded. “His description rang a bell, but it wasn’t until…Jim that it hit me. Otto was in here once on a bunco rap and I checked his record. Twenty-four front organizations, May Day Parade, CP nominating petitions.” He grinned wryly.
“Yeah,” I said. “Amos, I didn’t see Jim’s manuscript in the house. He told me the only other people who’d seen it were you and Gale. Remember anything in it that looked important enough to cause thi
