She shifted one of her feet, causing the water to ripple. “This calls for a foam bath, don’t it?” Duffy said. He went over and sat on the bath stool, that was quite close to the bath. From there he could see the small bruise where he had hit her.
“Get out of here,” she whispered.
He said, “We’re going to have a little talk.” He took from his pocket the camera and showed it to her. Then he produced the photo and showed that to her as well. She lay quite still, her eyes black with hate.
“I know who killed Cattley now,” he said. “Whoever had the camera rubbed Cattley, I knew that. I had only to find the camera to burst this open. You played your hand very badly, didn’t you?”
She said, “Get out of here, you sonofabitch.”
Duffy’s mouth set in a hard grin. “When I do,” he said, “the cops are moving in.”
She sat up suddenly in the bath, slopping the water, over the edge with her violence. “You can’t pin this on me,” she said; her breathless voice was shrill. “Find Cattley and see.”
Duffy raised his eyebrows. “So you shifted him, have you?” he said.
He watched her hand moving slowly over to a transparent bottle, standing on a shelf just above her. He saw it contained ammonia. He took the gun from his waist and showed it to her. “I’d like to give you another navel,” he said softly. “Make a move like that and you’ll be able to play the penny whistle on yourself.”
Her hand dropped into the water again. He stood up. “Come out of that,” he said. “There’s lots we got to talk about.”