“You’ll be interested, Miss Dorman,” Adams said before O’Brien could say anything. “Fay Carson was murdered because you married Maurice Yarde. You can’t fail to be interested.”
Gilda stiffened, her mouth tightened into a thin line.
“What did you say?” O’Brien’s face flushed. “Married to Yarde? What the hell do you mean?”
Gilda turned to him.
“He’s lying! Don’t listen to him, Sean. Get them out of here!”
“You can’t deny it, Miss Dorman,” Adams said. He sat down in a chair near Ken. “I had confirmation from Los Angeles not ten minutes ago. You married Maurice Yarde thirteen months ago. You lived with him for four months, then you left him. It’s on record.”
Gilda appeared to make an effort to control herself. She shrugged and turned away.
“All right,” she said, her voice harsh. “So it’s on record. It’s no business of yours.”
“Yes, it is,” Adams said, crossing one leg over the other. “Your marriage supplies the motive for Fay Carson’s murder.”
Gilda looked at O’Brien, who was standing motionless, his eyes glittering.