McGinnis was defiant. He wondered what Thurman’s game might be, and he was stalling for time.
“Remember one you killed outside of police headquarters? A New Yorker? Do you remember his name?”
McGinnis smiled sourly at Thurman’s question.
“Sure I remember his name’” he said. “I read the papers. His name was Claude Fellows — “
Monk Thurman smiled reassuringly.
“You killed Claude Fellows?”
“Sure, I killed Claude Fellows.”
“Who was with you?”
“Brodie, here.”
“You remember it?” Monk asked the chauffeur.