A Redhead for Mike Shayne
“I’ll get some ice water.”
He came back with two glasses with ice cubes floating in them, and nodded approvingly at the glasses she had filled to the rim. He said abruptly, “I feel like hell, Molly. Two guys are dead just because I didn’t get to them in time.”
“It wasn’t your fault. You got to both of them just as fast as you could.”
“It’s always my fault,” he muttered angrily. “If I’d done things differently… if I’d been home when Papa Gonzalez called, for instance.” He shrugged and drank deeply of the cognac she had poured. “What I’m trying to say is… it’s my job to be on time. All right. Forget it.” He dropped into a chair and reached into his pocket to bring out the crumpled newspaper clipping he had found in Captain Ruffer’s pocket.
“I don’t know what significance this has… if any. It was neatly folded in the Captain’s breast pocket, and it must have meant something to him.”
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