“Close up under the ceiling, heating-pipes like sections of iron viscera hung from metal supports. A single small window, high in the wall, flyspecked a square of sky. Dr. Benning was sitting uncomfortably with his hat on his knees, in a straight chair against the wall. Brake, with his usual air of alert stolidity, was talking into the telephone on his desk: “I’m busy or haven’t you heard. Let the HP handle it. I haven’t been a traffic cop for twenty years.” He hung up, and ran a hand like a har...row through his dust-colored hair. Then he pretended to be noticing my presence in the doorway for the first time: “Oh. It’s you. You decided to favor us with a visit. Come in and sit down. The doc here tells me you’re taking a pretty active interest in this case.” I sat beside Benning, who smiled deprecatingly and opened his mouth to speak. Before he had a chance to, Brake went on: “Since that’s the situation, let’s get a couple of things straight. I’m no one-man team. I like help, from private cops or citizens or anybody.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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