it.'
'Ah, thank you, that won't be necessary.' Regan smiled briefly and politely at the wallet, and said to Younger, 'I'm having one of my stenographers in, so you won't have to call yours. I'll send you a copy, of course.'
Parker looked at Younger, and saw that Younger hadn't thought about a stenographer at all, that Regan had just gone out of his way to insult Younger, and that Younger had caught the insult in the mid-section. But Younger didn't say anything, not a word.
Regan turned to Parker and said, 'As I understand it, you and Mr. Tiftus were in business together.'
Parker shook his head. 'Not me. You've got that wrong.'
'I do?' Regan reached out and patted Parker's wallet, offhandedly, the way another man might doodle. 'That was my understanding,' he said. 'You knew Mr. Tiftus in some other way, then?'
'I'd met him before.'
'Yes, of course.'
'In Miami, at the dog track. He owned a few dogs.'
'Ah, he was in racing. And are you in racing, Mr. Willis?'
'No, I'm in business.'
'Business? May I ask what business?'
'Various businesses. Real estate, parking lots, laundromats, here and there across the country.' Parker pointed at the wallet. 'There's papers on some of it in there.'
But Regan wouldn't give any attention to the wallet. He said, 'Then you and Mr Tiftus didn't come here together.'
'No.'
'It was just coincidence you happened to meet here again.'
Parker shook his head. 'No, it wasn't.'
Regan seemed surprised. 'It wasn't coincidence? You mean you'd planned to meet here?'
'No. I didn't know I'd see him here at all. But I came here for Joe Shardin's funeral, and I guess Tiftus did, too. You meet somebody at the funeral of a guy you both knew, that isn't coincidence.'
Regan turned his head and looked at Younger. 'Shardin?'
'Retired man,' Younger told him. 'Just died a few days ago, buried this morning.'
'Native?'
'Lived here about five years.'
Regan gave his attention back to Parker. 'So you both came here for this man Shardin's funeral.'
'I couldn't say. I know I did, and I figure he did, but I don't know about him for sure.'
'And about his slaying? Do you have any ideas about that?'
Parker shook his head.
Regan nodded, smiled, and said, 'Well, we won't take much longer. I appreciate your co-operation, Mr. Willis.' He nodded some more, and said, 'I'm puzzled. He was killed in your room. Did you give him permission to be in your room?'
'No.'
'Well, do you have any idea what he might have been doing there?'
'He might have been looking for something to steal.'
This time Regan was surprised; he wasn't faking the look he gave Parker. He said, 'Steal? You mean Mr. Tiftus was a thief?'
'I wouldn't say that for sure. I heard rumours, around Miami.'
'I see. Then would you say…'
The door opened, and two cops came in, and between them Tiftus' woman, Rhonda. Regan looked up, irritated, and one of the cops started to say something, and Rhonda took one look at Parker and screamed, 'That's him! That's the bastard killed my husband! That's the one right there!'
Parker looked at her, and now he knew what Regan had gone away for: to set this up. He looked at Regan to see how it was supposed to play from here.
Regan was playing it to the hilt. He got to his feet and gave the cops stern looks and said, 'Don't you know better than to barge in like that? I told you men to wait outside.'
The woman kept hollering: 'That's him! That's him!'
Regan said, 'Get her out of here. What's the matter with you two?'
The cops didn't play their parts as well. They should have acted sheepish, or tried to apologize. Instead, they just turned the woman around and marched her back out again. She kept hollering till the door was shut.
