“The big clock on the wall over Macy’s desk said ten. He lit his fifth cigarette in an hour, glared at the broad shoulders of the Homicide sergeant who gave no notice that he was aware of the private detective’s presence. Finally, Liddell got up from the bench, walked over to the railing-enclosed space, tapped the Homicide man on the shoulder. “How much longer do I have to sit around this rattrap?” Macy squirmed around on his chair, looked up at Liddell as though he’d never seen him before. “We’...ll tell you when we want you.” He swung around, picked up some papers on his desk. “That damn chair’s getting hard,” Liddell growled. “Make the most of it, shamus,” Macy told him over his shoulder. “That’s our de luxe model. They’re not that comfortable in the cell block.” Liddell expressed some highly controversial opinions in a low tone, got no rise out of the man at the desk, then walked back to the bench and sat down. At ten-thirty, the phone on Macy’s desk buzzed, he grunted into it, nodded, got up, and took his coat from the back of his chair.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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