"I'll talk! I'll tell you everything!" The big, unlucky guy was sprawled on the floor, curled up in a miserable ball.
Headlights swept past the window, and Ivy Holden guessed the police had arrived. She waved her hand dismissively. "You don't have to tell me. Save it for the police."
The police were slow to arrive because Bill Holden hadn't called the local precinct. Instead, he'd dialed the cell phone number of a friend Bobby Yates had introduced him to.
This friend, Zeke Churchill, was with the municipal criminal investigation division. After getting the call from Bill Holden, he had to contact the local precinct himself. Going through all those channels naturally added a delay of ten or fifteen minutes.
After the officers got a brief rundown of the situation, Zeke Churchill said to Ivy Holden, "I understand that as a public figure, Miss Holden, certain things can be inconvenient. But for what happened tonight, you'll still need to come in and give a formal statement."
