Larry looked at the phone screen for a moment. “Did that phony expect me to call him sir,” he muttered.
* * * *
The next two days dissolved into routine.
Frustrated, Larry Woolford spent most of his time in his office digesting developments, trying to find a new line of attack.
For want of something else, he put his new secretary, a brightly efficient girl, as style and status conscious as LaVerne Polk wasn’t, to work typing up the tapes he’d had cut on Susan Self and the various phone calls he’d had with Hans Distelmayer and Sam Sokolski. From memory, he dictated to her his conversation with Professor Peter Voss.
He carefully read the typed sheets over and over again. He continually had the feeling in this case that there were loose ends dangling around. Several important points he s
