The D.A. Breaks an Egg

Selby turned to a thoroughly miserable Sylvia Martin. “Here’s a tip, Sylvia. Charter an airplane. Fly up to Santa Barbara and talk with Constance Kerry, and I mean talk with her. If there’s anything fishy about this thing, and I think there is, I want you to find out about it. Telephone just as soon as you get a lead.”

He walked to the door with her.

Suddenly she turned, drew his head over and kissed his cheek.

“Remember, Doug, there are thousands of people in this county who believe in you, who trust you — who love you.”

He patted her shoulder.

“And now,” she said, “wipe the lipstick off your cheek. Let’s have at them.”

“Hip and thigh,” he agreed laughingly. “We’ll smite them... Sylvia...?”

“Yes.”

“You said there were thousands who loved me?”

She nodded.

“That’s more than I need, Sylvia. It’s nine hundred and ninety-nine more than I need.”

“You’ll need every one before you’re through with this case,” she told him, and slipped quietly through the door into the corridor.

21

Selby sat in Rex Brandon’s office. The door was locked. A copy of the evening Blade,

still damp from the press, was spread out on Brandon’s desk.

Brandon said, “That other stuff was vicious, Doug. This attack is really deadly. It’s going to hurt. This is the stuff voters read, believe and fall for.”

Headlines streamed across the front page: SHERIFF AND D.A. FAKE RECOVERY OF JEWELRY TO HIDE INEFFICIENCY.

Brandon skimmed through the news account, turned to the editorial page, said, “Listen to this, Doug. Here’s the way Paden’s fighting now: