Sweeting touched the dog’s head gently, but the dog sensed his fear and wasn’t reassured.
Sweeting crossed the room, turned the key, braced himself and opened the door.
He stared up at the big man who towered above him, and it was a relief to see it wasn’t Lieutenant Adams. This man he had never seen before.
“Did you want something?” he asked, trying to smile, but succeeding only in making a fixed grimace.
“I’m a police officer,” Donovan said. He was asking himself where he had seen this fat little man before. His slow-thinking mind groped into the past, but failed to pin-point the irritatingly familiar features. “Who are you?”
“Sweeting is the name.” The little man held the door against him, obstructing Donovan’s view into the room. “Is something wrong?”
“A woman’s been murdered in the apartment above,” Donovan told him. “Did you see anyone going into her apartment last night?”
Sweeting shook his head.
“I’m afraid I didn’t. I went to bed early; besides, I keep to myself. I don’t pay attention to what goes on in this house.”
Donovan had a frustrated feeling that he wasn’t being told the truth.