Gleason looked at her, puzzled, then walked over to the radio, that was a little to the right and behind Duffy. When Gleason turned his back, Duffy saw Annabel stiffen. Her eyes seemed to film over, and her lips came off her teeth. Not understanding, he stared at her, then he suddenly guessed and gave a shout. Annabel shot at Gleason twice. The gun barked, then barked again. Gleason swung round, his face twisted, his eyes startled, unbelieving, frightened, then he crashed over, taking the radio with him.
“Don’t move,” Annabel said to Duffy, swinging the gun round to him.
Duffy sat very still, looking at Gleason. Then he said through stiff lips, “You poor devil.”
Annabel said, “I’ve been waiting a chance to get rid of that punk for some time.” She spat each word at him.
“They’ll burn you for this,” Duffy said coldly.
“Think so?” she laughed. “Can’t you see? Watch me pin it on you.”
She went over to Gleason’s gun, lying on the floor, and picked it up, Then she backed away from Duffy. “I’d like a chance of shooting you,” she said. “So start something if you’re tired of life.”
She wiped the .38 carefully on her skirt, then she tossed the gun beside Gleason. “That’s your gun,” she said, covering him with Gleason’s automatic.
Duffy grinned. “So what?”
She said, “Don’t you get it? I’m going to shoot you now. The police will find you. I shot you in self-defense after you killed Gleason. Don’t you think I’m cute?”