Free Dressed to Killed by Milton Ozaki

Terre Haute. Private dick up the line turned it in with a body. Got a hundred for it." Matthews slapped the desk, then settled his pink face into a granite expression. "Look, Forbes, I'd like to give you a break, but people'd think I was nuts. I'd think I was nuts, myself. The best thing, the smart thing, for you to do is confess."
    "I'm clean."
    "Admit that you killed him. After all, the guy was a small-time punk and maybe he needed to be killed. See what I mean? Hell, you'll be sensational. The magazines and papers will pay big dough for the story—maybe the movies will go for it, even—and you can buy yourself a high-powered lawyer. By the time the courts hash it around, public opinion will be cooled off and he'll be able to get you a manslaughter deal. You know the routine. By pleading self-defense, temporary insanity, or something like that, you'll have a fighting chance of not burning—"
    "But I didn't kill him," I interrupted. "Honest to God, captain, I'd never even met the guy!"
    "You didn't have to know him," Trottmann pointed out. "Not when you were messing around with his girl. She admits she was two-timing him."
    "You don't think I'd kill a guy for the sake of a little tart like that!"
    Trottmann moved his shoulders. "It takes all kinds. She wouldn't set things on fire for me, but maybe she did for you."
    "Look, be reasonable," I pleaded. "You're taking her word as though she were Moses with a couple of stone tablets. At least, get Giselle Kent in and get her story. She was there when I found Sands' body. She knows I didn't kill him."
    "We haven't picked her up yet. There's an order out for her."
    "Then at least give me a break until you bring her in and can listen to her end of the deal!"
    "Captain—" Trottmann interposed quietly.
    "Yeah?" Matthews looked at him.
    "I wouldn't like to make a mistake about this," Trottmann said, dealing the words out carefully. "I know you wouldn't, either. Here are a couple of things we ought to check. First, he said his arms and legs were tied with rope. We've got his clothes downstairs. Why not check and see if there are any rope fibers in evidence? If there are none, then we'll know positively that he's lying."
    "Damned good idea, lieutenant." Matthews jerked his head affirmatively. "Take care of it. What else?"
    "Second, one thing seems curious to me: We got the tip through the Journal; in other words, they got it first and passed it along to us. And without waiting for verification from us, they splashed all this stuff about Fia Sprite and Sands across their front page. I'd like to know how come."
    "By God, that's right." Matthews rolled his lower lip. "Sounds like they had a pipeline to the source."
    "Exactly. Third, on the slim possibility that Forbes' story is true and Leo Gold is mixed up in this, then I'd like to worry him a little. He's been in our hair for years, and—"
    "That crummy shyster." Matthews looked as though he'd like to heave. "I'd give a year of my life just to get my hands on him and wrinkle up one of those fancy suits he wears!"
    "Another thing," Trottmann went on, "is the matter of this Kent girl. We ought to have her in hand before we break the whole story."
    "Mmm." The captain's eyebrows flew in V formation.
    "What I'm getting at, of course," Trottmann concluded, "is that while Forbes looks guilty as hell, there are a few peculiar —and as yet unchecked—aspects to the case. It might be a good idea to protect ourselves by keeping him on ice for a few hours while we clean up these angles." He looked at me. "Don't get me wrong, Forbes. I'm not arguing your side. I'm protecting myself and the police department."
    Matthews grunted. "You're right, lieutenant. Either way, an hour or two won't make any difference... and I'd welcome a chance to put the Journal in its place. They've been on my tail ever since I got assigned to this district."
    "Right," Trottmann said, getting up. He gestured to me. "Come on, Forbes. Let's see if there's room in the tank