“Yes.”
He went over to the shattered Buick, took a flashlight from his pocket and peered into the car. I sat down on a rock, took out a cigarette and lit it. I felt pretty bad. Maybe she had killed Sheppey, but that was over and paid for now.
Hepple came back. He went to his car, took a camera and flashlight from the back seat, returned to the Buick and took a couple of shots of her. Then he came back.
“Come on,” he said. “I’ll drive you back. I guess you’re ready to talk now.”
I looked up the mountain road. The patrol car had turned and was coming down the snakeback road fast. I got into Hepple’s car.
Creedy wasn’t going to escape the publicity he feared, I told myself. The Courier had the gun that had killed Thrisby. The police couldn’t hush that up. Hepple would be able to prove it was Creedy’s money that had financed Cordez and Hahn. When the story of the drug organization came out with Creedy’s name linked to it, it would finish him in St. Raphael City.
I drew down a lungful of smoke and leaned back.
“Yes,” I said. “Now I’m ready to talk.”
1957 - The Guilty Are Afraid Page 23
