Captain Motley would be there. He wanted the latest news of the murder before finally deciding what he was to do with Johnny.
He could see the crowd of dancers through the big windows as he drove around the circular drive. The dance would go on until the small hours: there would be a lot of drinking and necking, and probably some horseplay by the young members.
O’Brien wasn’t interested in this kind of shindig, but he usually put in an appearance. All the party members went, and it was an opportunity to have a private word without the press wondering what was being said.
He drove into the parking lot, that was packed solid with cars. He got out and glanced up at the dark, swollen clouds. It would rain before long, he thought, as he made his way along the narrow gangway between the cars.
He became aware of a man and woman ahead of him. The woman held a car door open. He thought he recognized her in the half light, and paused to look more intently.
“If you’re going to behave like a goddamn dummy, I’m going back,” the woman said in a shrill, angry voice. She sounded drunk to O’Brien.
“We’ve got to be sensible, Gloria,” the man said anxiously. “Your husband may be coming out. Can’t we wait until he’s gone?”
“I’m damned if I’m going to wait,” the woman said, and got into the back seat of the car. “Are you coming?”
The man got in beside her and shut the car door. O’Brien saw the woman throw her arms around him and pull him to her, and he made a little grimace. Commissioner Howard’s young wife and some punk, he thought. Well, the old fool shouldn’t have married a girl half his age.
He went on towards the club house.