I looked at him for a moment and then I took the piece of paper.

“Okay, now I’m talking to you, Mr. Fulton.”

“Yes, sir?” He was trying not to shake. He was trying very hard.

“Am I to understand that you found the deceased in that room?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Am I to understand further that you immediately called Mr. McKnight?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And then what did you do after that?”

“I called my lawyer, sir.”

Miraculously on cue, Uttley pulled into the lot in his little red BMW.

Maven closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “And then, Mr. Fulton,” he said. “What did you do next?”

“I waited here, sir. Until Alex arrived.”

“At any point did it occur to you to call nine-one-one?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said. He looked at me for help, but he wasn’t getting any. “I didn’t think that far.”

“I see.”

“Good morning, men!” Lane Uttley appeared among us. Edwin was right, he had his lawyer suit on. It looked like he had showered, shaved, and stopped at his barber’s house to wake him up for a quick trim. “Alex,” he went on, slipping right into his lawyer voice. “Thank God you’re here. Edwin, you look terrible. Chief Maven, Roy, please, tell me what’s happening here.”

Maven looked at the lawyer for a moment. “Wait here,” he said. “All of you.” He went to the room and opened the door. We watched him from behind as he poked his head in. He stood there for a full minute, motionless. Finally, he closed the door and spoke to his officers again. They had woken up the owner of the motel, a bewildered old man who was standing between them wearing boots and a coat over his pajamas.

“How bad does the guy look?” Uttley asked me.

“He was shot in the face and his throat was cut open,” I said. “Aside from that, he looks fine.”

Maven rejoined the party. “Gentlemen,” he said, “it looks like the Soo just lost a bookmaker.”