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“How did your brother write you?” he asked. “When you got no address?”
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“Hubble?” I said. “Why did you confess?”
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Finlay sat at the desk. I sat in the same chair I’d used on Friday. Roscoe pulled a chair up and put it next to mine. Finlay rattled open the desk drawer. Took out the tape recorder. Went through his routine of testing the microphone with his fingernail. Then he sat still and looked at me.
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“They’re getting back to me,” he said. “Just hope Teale doesn’t grab the phone before I can.”
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He glanced over. An expression of horror on his face.
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“OK,” he said. “Punch it through here, Baker.”
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