“How do we do that? Darcy said he didn’t know who her friends were. Who else is there to ask?”
“I’m going to try that punk at the bank: the smooth, fat one who gave me that spiel about calling his wife. There was only one call from that pay booth around ten o’clock, and that was to Carson’s apartment. This fat punk said a girl and an elderly man used the pay booth, and that he also used it. Well, he was lying; so we’ll go along and talk to him.”
“The bank’s closed,” Duncan said.
“Maybe the night watchman will know his address,” Donovan said. “Come on; let’s find out.”
But the night watchman didn’t know Parker’s address. He didn’t even know Parker.
“They are all gone by the time I take over,” he explained. “Sorry, sergeant, you’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”
“Give me the manager’s address,” Donovan said shortly. “This is urgent.”
“I haven’t got it,” the night watchman returned. “If I want one of the officials I have to get into touch with Mr. Holland: he’s the head teller.”
“Well, okay,” Donovan said impatiently. “Let’s have his address, and snap it up, will you ? I’m in a hurry.”
The night watchman wrote the address down on a scrap of paper, and the two detectives returned to their car.