O’Brien stared at him. He felt himself change colour, and his great hands closed into fists.
“How’s your little boy, sergeant?” Ferrari went on. “I saw him this morning. A fine boy.”
O’Brien didn’t say anything. He had a sick feeling of being trapped. He could see what was coming.
“Shall we talk about Weiner?” Ferrari asked, after a long pause. “You don’t want me to draw you a map, do you, sergeant?”
“You won’t get away with it this time,” O’Brien said hoarsely. “And you’ll be crazy to try.”
Ferrari lifted his emaciated shoulders.
“Let’s skip talking crap,” he said curtly. “What time does Weiner take a tub at night?
“Ten o’clock,” O’Brien said. “How the hell do you know he takes a tub at night?”
“I always study the background of my clients. It’s little things like a bath-anight habit that makes my work easy. Is he alone when he takes the tub or does a guard stay with him?”
O’Brien hesitated, but not for long. He was being threatened with something much worse than his own death.