Ken followed him to the street where Adams’ car was parked.
“Get in,” Adams said.
“But I don’t understand,” Ken said blankly.
“Why should you? Get in!”
Ken got into the car and Adams drove off, heading for his own apartment. He didn’t say anything until he pulled up outside a house in Cranbourne Avenue.
“I live here,” he said as he got out of the car. “You can talk your head off in my apartment without interruption.”
Ken followed him into a ground-floor, comfortably furnished sittingroom.
“Make yourself at home,” Adams said, tossing his hat on to a chair. “Have a drink?”
“I don’t understand what all this is about,” Ken said, facing him. “Why have you brought me here? I want to make a statement to the officer in charge of the murder. Who are you?”
Adams smiled as he fixed two highballs.