““Probably still clowning around down at the Berkely,” he said under his breath, and before he could continue with the subject the telephone rang. It was Blaine. He said, “I want to see you,” and hung up. Casey went upstairs and crossed to the city desk. Blaine gave him a quick gray stare and went back to editing a piece of copy. “Where’ve you been?” “Down to Endicott’s.” “What about pictures?” “I got one of him—dead.” Blaine looked up, interested now but nothing showing in his voice. “Just one?...” Casey thought about the plate case. To hell with it. Alibis were no good. How he got pictures was Casey’s affair and if he ran into grief that was his tough luck. “Yeah,” he said. “Just one.” “Where is it?” “Austin’s got it.” “Why?” Casey told him, deliberately, flatly. “You walked in right after he’d been shot?” Blaine said. “You and Austin. Why didn’t you call in?” “The place was crawling with reporters by the time Logan got there,”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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