Lowry got into his car and drove rapidly off. Back in his apartment, he poured himself a good stiff shot of rye and sat down to think over what had just happened and what, if anything, he had learned.

The phone rang. It was Terry.

“What are you doing up so late?” he asked.

“I had to call you,” she said urgently. “Did you learn anything?”

“Nothing definite,” he said. “But I’m sure now that Ramirez identified McKay only because he was just too frightened to do anything else. Brady thrives on bulldozing people. Well, I got in a few licks with Ramirez that will set him thinking. Even if I find nothing else I don’t think the trial will be a pushover. A decent lawyer ought to be able to punch that Filipino’s story full of holes.”

“What do we do next, Ned?”

Lowry paused. “Well, I guess the next thing we have to do is account for the identity of this Buzzy. I’ll look around tomorrow.”

“Let me know if you think I can help.”

“Will do.”

“I haven’t done much good so far, I’m afraid,” Terry said.

“On the contrary,” Lowry assured her. “If that name Buzzy means anything, you’ve done plenty, Terry. Plenty.”

* * *

Lowry was in Reynolds’ office early the following morning. He recounted the events of the night before, the lawyer listening carefully and taking an occasional note on his scratch pad.

When Lowry was through, Reynolds said, “That’s it, huh?”

“That’s it.”

“Well, it’ll be a good idea to break down Ramirez that way,” Reynolds said. “All they have are these two witnesses, Ramirez and Dr. Clayton. McKay’s landlady’s evidence that she saw him leave the house at four in the morning is merely circumstantial.”

“It’s a hell of a way for things to be,” Lowry said sadly. “To pull a fellow in, brand him guilty and then let his friends prove that he isn’t if they can.”

“This isn’t exactly a Utopia we’re living in, if that’s what you mean to say,” Reynolds remarked drily. “You could try Clayton now. Find out how sure he was that it was McKay. Maybe you could plant some seeds of doubt there. If we can shovel dirt on both of the key witnesses, it’ll mean a lot for McKay.”

Lowry nodded. “Right. I’ll head straight out to see Clayton now.”

19

19

In the spruce, well-kept and exclusive Westwood district, Lowry found Clayton’s home. It was a big, comfortable-looking house, sparkling with white freshness and surrounded by giant palms and spacious flower gardens.

Dr. Clayton was still having his morning office hours, a trim nurse with a fixed professional smile informed Lowry.

“Would you care to wait for him?” she asked.

“All right.”

“You’re a new patient, aren’t you?”