‘He wore a white linen suit,’ Myra said. ‘A navy blue shirt and a white, hand-painted tie.’
Lola gaped.
‘Was that the guy? Why, sure I know him. He told me his name was—’ She broke off suddenly and, probably for the first time in twenty years, she blushed.
There was a heavy, electric silence.
Myra said, ‘Go ahead: don’t mind me. Was he with you ON that night?’
Lola jumped to her feet; her face still red, but her eyes angry and hard.
‘Get out, you two! I’m talking too much. Go on, beat it. I’ve said all I’m going to say.’
‘Don’t get excited,’ I said soothingly. ‘This is important Lola. Perelli’s in a jam. If you can help him, you’ve got to do it. If you know he left here at ten-thirty, you can save his life. Was he with you on that night?’
Lola gave Myra a quick, calculating look.
‘I’m not talking,’ she said curtly. ‘Get out; both of you!’