“Why?” Shane shrugged. “She wanted a divorce.”
“How long they been having trouble?”
“Don’t know.”
The tall man stood up, stuck his hands in his pockets and went to the window. He spoke over his shoulder: “Didn’t you and her used to be pretty good friends?”
Shane didn’t answer. His face was entirely expressionless.
The tall man turned and looked at him and then he said: “Well — I guess that’s all.”
They went out together.
In the corridor Shane made a vague motion with his hand, said: “Be seeing you,” went down two flights of stairs and out the door to the street. He stood in the wide arch of the entrance, out of the rain, looked up and down the street for a cab. There was one in front of a drugstore six or seven doors up from the Police Station; he whistled, finally walked swiftly up to it through the blinding rain.
As he got in, the youth in the shiny blue-serge suit came out of the drugstore, scuttled across the sidewalk and climbed in beside him, sat down.
The driver turned around and said: “Where to?”