He led the way down the passage and through a door into a big, luxuriously furnished room with a desk by the curtained windows.
Claudette, Darcy’s wife, was counting a stack of money on the desk. Her great eyes opened wide when she saw Adams, and she looked anxiously at her husband.
“Run along, honey,” Darcy said. “The Lieutenant and I have got business.”
She gave Adams a scared look, hurriedly pushed the money into a drawer and went out, closing the door behind her.
Adams sat down.
“Drink, Lieutenant?”
“I’m on duty, Sam.”
Darcy made himself a small whisky and soda and sat down behind his desk.
“Anything wrong?”
“Not unless you have a guilty conscience,” Adams said, staring down at his small feet. “It’s about Fay Carson.”