Flynn's In
to the Vehicular Squad?”
    Grover licked his wound a moment. He could not deny Flynn’s cutting remark.
    “Three cars have been recovered. One was recovered atthree a.m. on Lansdowne Street occupied by fourteen year old boys. The operator was charged and released in the custody of his parents.”
    “Truly stolen.”
    “The second was discovered outside a doctor’s house in Brookline.”
    “Gunshot victim, do you suppose?”
    “The doctor says he doesn’t know how the vehicle got there. His wife called Brookline Police at nine o’clock this morning asking the vehicle be taken away.”
    “Why?”
    “It was a hearse, Inspector.”
    “Ah, yes. Doctors’ wives are always sensitive about their husband’s reputations.”
    “The third was found by officers patrolling Elm Street in the South End at noon today. Routine license checking. Returned to owner Willard Matson, 212 Fairview, also South End.”
    “Was Matson’s car found within walking distance of Matson’s house?”
    The gears ground away in Grover’s head. “About a mile, mile and a half away.”
    “That’s the car, Grover. That’s the one we want. I’ll stake your life on it. Was it inspected for bits and pieces of jeweler before it was returned to the owner?”
    Flynn heard a page turn.
    “It doesn’t say.”
    “I want that car inspected tonight,” Flynn said.
    “Tonight!”
    “I want you to inspect that car tonight, Grover. Personally. If there’s anything suspicious about it, I want it impounded, whatever you have to do, to get it inspected properly by forensic tomorrow.”
    “Frank,” Grover sighed. “Why tonight? You know the bowling league meets—”
    “Because it’s Sunday, Grover. Auto repair shops are closed on Sundays. Tomorrow is Monday. Auto repair shops are open on Mondays.”
    Another sigh.
    “Don’t hyperventilate, man. It might put color in your cheeks.”
    “212 Fairview is not on my way home.”
    “Tonight it is. I’ll call you in the morning.”
    Flynn went to the chessboard and moved his Bishop to Queen Three.
    Again the gong sounded, making Flynn wish he’d left his ears at home.
    “That must be for dinner.” Flynn sat down across from Cocky. “No hurry, I’m sure.”
    “Frank?”
    “Been thinking, have you?”
    “Paul Wahler isn’t really one of them, is he? He’s not a member of The Rod and Gun Club.”
    Flynn cast his mind’s eye over the men he had just seen duck into the cold lake. Wahler was not one of them.
    “Paul Wahler,” said Flynn, “is like Timberbreak Lodge. A front. What did the Bellingham belle named Alice say? ‘Basking in reflected glory.’”
    Cocky castled.
    Flynn studied the board. He castled, too.
    “Well,” said Flynn. “A whole new game. Might as well break for dinner. However fresh the raw materials, I’m sure dinner has been cooked to bland school fare. We should have bought biscuits in downtown Bellingham. That’s the trouble with you and me, Cocky. Always thinking of the wrong thing.”

15
     
    C ocky limped downstairs while Flynn returned to his room to answer the phone. It had rung just as he was closing his door.
    “Timberbreak Lodge,” he answered. “Where the elite meet.”
    “Da? The house is in an uproar.”
    Not that there was any question in his mind as to who was speaking, Flynn knew “The house is in an uproar” would be spoken only by his nine year old son, Winny. At least, he was sure Winny was the only nine year old who would say such a thing.
    “What’s wrong, Winny?”
    “Well, you see: Randy and Todd have been feeling that Jenny has been spending too much time in the bathroom.”
    “There are two bathrooms.”
    “They’ve been observing that Jenny might be getting too conceited.”
    “She has every reason to,” said the father of the perfect thirteen-year-old daughter.
    “They suspect her of practicing facial expressions in the bathroom mirror.”
    “But they don’t know, do they?”
    “There’s some evidence. Every time she

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