The inspector took control of the conversation again. “Stovall, tell us the details of your transaction with Davis MacDonald.” This time, he was more forceful and less placating, and I knew we were getting to the meat of the conversation now.
“I’d prefer not to talk about the money if you don’t mind,” Stovall said with a casualness that felt overly confident given that a man had been murdered. Plus, he’d already told us what he paid. It seemed odd to withhold that information from the police.
“I do mind,” the inspector said. “All the details, please.”
For a split second, I saw anger on Stovall’s face, but then he slid his mask of studied casualness back into place. “Very well then. I paid Davis MacDonald 25,000 pounds for the book.”
I sighed. At least he had been truthful, and Beattie
