Shane sat down again on the edge of the desk. He looked from the youth to the tall man, asked: “What does McLean say?”
“She’s got a whole raft of stories.”
The tall man spat carefully into a big brass cuspidor beside the desk. “The best one is that she was asleep and didn’t wake up till she heard the shots — and then she turned on the lights an’ there he was, on the floor in the doorway. The outer door to the apartment was unlocked-had been unlocked all evening. She says she always left it that way when he was out because he was always losing his key, an’ then he could come in without waking her up.”
Shane said: “What was she doing in bed at eight-thirty?”
“Bad headache.”
Sergeant Gill took a .38 automatic from the drawer of a steel cabinet, handed it to Shane. “No fingerprints,” he said — “dean as a whistle.”
Shane looked at the gun, put it down on the desk.
The tall man looked at the youth and at Gill, then bobbed his head meaningly towards the door. They both went out. The youth said: “So long, Cap — so long, Mister Shane.” Gill closed the door behind him.
Shane was smiling.
The tall man said: “Rigas’ wife had these Eastman dicks on his tail — she got anything to do with this?”