True Detective by Max Allan Collins

backed up Lang's story (though he had not been in the room with us). The questions the coroner asked me were limited to the second, fatal shooting, with the foregone conclusion that the truth on the Nitti matter had already been entered into the record.
    The rest of the (you should excuse the expression) gang from the office at the Wacker-Lasalle all testified as well: Palumbo, Campagna, the accountant, the two runners. None of them were asked anything about the Nitti shooting- and, in fairness, none of them had been in the room when it happened, so why should they and all of them confirmed my version of the death of one Frank Hurt (which sounded like something Nitti might've muttered deliriously on his way to the hospital). Hurt panicked, Palumbo said; the kid had commented on having an out-of-state warrant against him and not wanting to go in for a showup, and Campagna had suggested he take the ledge over to the fire escape while he had the chance. And I'd come in and somebody had thrown him a gun and I'd shot him. Everybody told it the same; nobody (including me) seemed to know where the gun had come from.
    I think Nitti had put the fix in, too; I was starting to be glad he and I'd had that little talk. Both he and
    Cermak had made the inquest easy for me.
    So it was cut-and-dried. But it didn't start till ten-thirty, and with all those witnesses, it dragged on. and I missed a lunch date with Janey. I caught her in the office at the county treasurer's at City Hall by phone, about two. and apologized for standing her up.
    "Did it come out okay?" she said. There was just the slightest edge of irritation in her voice. "The inquest?"
    "Yeah. I came out smelling like a rose. So why do I feel like I need a shower?"
    "There's a shower at my place." she said, sounding friendlier.
    "Yeah. I remember."
    Janey, incidentally, was a lovely girl of twenty-five years and 125 well-placed pounds; with darkish blond hair worn short and wavy, and dark brown eyes highlighted by lona. standing-at-attention lashes. She was smart as she was beautiful, and she let me sleep with her once a week or so, as soon as I started talking marriage. We'd been talking marriage for almost three years now. and I'd given her a little diamond last year. I only had one problem with Janey: I wasn't sure if what I felt for her was love, exactly. I also wasn't sure if it mattered.
    "I'll make lunch up to you," I said.
    "I know you will." she said, like a threat.
    "How about tonight? I'll take you someplace expensive."
    "I'm working late tonight. You can come out to my place if you want. About nine-thirty. I'll fix sandwiches."
    "Okay. And tomorrow night, we'll take in the Bismarck dining room."
    "I'd settle for the Berghoff- that's expensive enough."
    "We'll do the Bismarck. It's a special night. I have something special to tell you."
    Real special: I hadn't broken it to her yet that I'd quit the department.
    "I already know, Nate." she said.
    "What?"
    "It was in the papers today. Just a little footnote to one of the follow-up articles on the shooting. That officer Nathan Heller had resigned to pursue a career in private business."
    "I, uh- I wanted to tell you about it myself."
    "You can, tonight. I'm not crazy about you quitting the department, but if your uncle Louis has offered you a position, I think that's fine."
    Janey was like that: jumping to conclusions based upon her own desires.
    "Yeah, well, let's talk about it tonight," I said.
    "Good. I love you, Nate."
    She didn't whisper it, which meant she was in the office alone.
    "Love you, Janey."
    That afternoon I moved out of the Adams and into the office in Barney's building. Barney had moved fast: a big brown box was against the right wall as you came in, next to the closet door. The box was a Murphy bed; he'd even got sheets and blankets for me, which were in a drawer at the bottom of the box, under where the bed fell down out of it when you pulled the latch, which I did. It was a double bed, no less; Barney