‘Hello,’ I said, staring at her. ‘Sure it’s me you want?’
‘If your name’s Malloy, I’m sure,’ she said, and moved past me to the fireplace. She faced me, her hands thrust deep into her trouser pockets, her eyes searching my face. ‘Nick Perelli told me to come to you.’
"Why, sure,’ I said, and looked sharply at her, wondering who she was. ‘Has he been sandbagging anyone recently?’
‘No, but he’s in trouble,’ the girl said. She took out a crumpled package of Lucky Strike, flicked one into her mouth, scratched a match alight with her thumbnail and set fire to the cigarette. ‘He’s been pinched for the Dedrick snatch.’
In the pause that followed, the clock on the mantelpiece ticked busily and the refrigerator in the kitchen gave an irritable grunt.
The girl continued to watch me, not moving, her head tilted a little on one side so the smoke of her cigarette wouldn’t get into her eyes.
‘Perelli?’ I said, as blank as I sounded.
She nodded.
‘He said you were a bright boy. Well, go ahead and be bright. Someone’s got to be if he’s going to beat this rap.’
‘When did they take him?’