I kept looking at her, and she kept avoiding my eyes. I waited for her to talk, and she didn’t feel like talking. After a while she looked up at me and said, “Donald, do you know that man who was coming from Evaline Harris’s apartment?”
Her eyes held mine then, steady and searching.
I said, “That’s what comes of being coached by the police.”
“What do you mean?”
“When you told me about it the first time, you didn’t say that he was coming from that apartment. You said he was coming down the corridor.”
“Well, he came out of an apartment.”
“But you didn’t know that it was Evaline Harris’s apartment.”
“It must have been.”
“Do you think so?”
“Yes.”