"He called up one evening and said John Evans—that's a guy I was seeing once in a while then—had given him my name and phone number and suggested he give me a ring sometime. Wanted to know if he could drop up and meet me, and bring some liquor. I wasn't doing anything that evening and he sounded nice over the phone so I said sure."
"Know how to get in touch with this John Evans?"
"No. I don't know what happened but I haven't seen him in over a year."
"And John Evans was probably a phony name too. Damn it, Doll, this is a digression but you ought to know the right names of the men you see. Not for blackmail or anything—I know you don't go in for anything like that—but just for your own protection. Like tonight. You can do it. Sooner or later a guy goes in the can and leaves his pants outside and all you got to do is take a quick gander in his wallet for his right name and address. And from then on you'll know who he really is.
"But okay, let's get back to Ray Fletcher. Do you think he's married?"
"I'm almost sure. He never took me out anywhere, for one thing, just came to the apartment. Single guys—I know a few of them—like to show me around; I'm decorative. And another thing; he never stayed all night, usually left around twelve or one. And other little things—yeah, I'm sure he's married."
"Know what kind of a car he drives?"
She shook her head again. "He must drive one, but he never brought it upstairs with him."
"You sure don't know much about him. All right, physical description. Don't see how that'll help tonight, but we might as well get it over with."
"Well, he's about your build, maybe an inch taller."