Gleason shifted his eyes. “That doesn’t get you anywhere.”
“You’re wrong. Who killed him? Come on! If you know you’ll let yourself out of this.” Gleason said, “But, I don’t know.”
Duffy raised the Colt. “This is my first killing.” He spoke very harshly. His face had gone oyster colour. Two thin lines ran down the sides of his mouth. “I hope I do it right.”
Gleason’s skin went a little yellow, and he opened his eyes very wide. He said, running all his words together, “It was that damned little judy.”
Duffy pushed his hat to the back of his head. His face glistened in the diffused light. “You damned louse,” he said, “you nearly made me kill you.”
Gleason lay back in the chair. He looked bad.
Duffy said, “What’s this dame to you?”
“She’s my wife.” Gleason put his hands on his coat lapels to stop them from shaking. “I wish to God I’d never seen her.”
“So that’s it, is it? She killed Cattley and Weidmer and Olga?”
Gleason shifted. “Who’s this Olga you keep bringing up?”