Granquist looked at him out of the corners of her eyes, smiled sleepily. She said: “Uh huh.”
“You O’Donnell’s girl?”
“My God, no! I just came along for the ride.” She slid down into the corner of the seat and closed her eyes.
Kells said: “Do you think O’Donnell shot Kastner?”
He looked at her. She nodded with her eyes closed.
He parked the car off Eighth Street and they went into a side entrance of the hotel, up the service stairway to Kells’ room. He said: “I’ll have to go downtown for questioning this afternoon — if they don’t pick me up before. I want to have four or five hot baths and a little shut-eye first.”
He went into the bathroom and turned on the water, took off his clothes and put on a long dark-green robe. When he came out, Granquist had curled up on the divan, was asleep. She had taken off her hat — awry honey-colored hair curved over her face and throat.
The telephone buzzed while Kells was in the tub. It buzzed again after he’d got out. He answered it, stared vacantly out the window and said: “All right — put her on.” Then he said: “Hello, Ruth... Swell... No, I’ve got to go out right away and I won’t be back until tonight. I’ll try to give you a ring then... Sure... Okay, baby — ’bye.”
Granquist stirred in sleep, threw one arm above her head, sighed. Her eyelids fluttered. Kells stood there for a while looking at her.
At one-thirty, Kells got out of a cab and went into the Sixth Street entrance of the Hayward Hotel. In the elevator he said: “Four.” Around two turns, down a short corridor, he knocked at a heavy old-fashioned door.