I said, “The chair was warm. The girl was smoking a cigarette. Her cigarette was in the ash tray over by that other chair. She leaves lipstick on the paper. The cigarette, in this ash tray didn’t have any lipstick.”
Pug said, “By God, he is a detective.”
“Do I get what I want about Corla Burke?”
“We haven’t anything, Honest Injun,” the girl said. “You don’t know anything about her?”
“No, honest — except what I read in the newspapers.”
“You read what the newspapers had to say?”
“Yes.”
“Las Vegas newspapers?”
She glanced at Pug, then let her eyes slide away from his.
Pug said to me, “Forget it. You ain’t goin’ to cross-examine her.”