English shrugged. “You have a strange way of expressing yourself,” he said. “But have it your own way. I’ll ring you.”
Duffy looked at the clock on the desk. It was just after eleven o’clock. “I’ll do the ringing. I’ll come through after one o’clock, I’ll expect to get moving right away by then.”
English nodded, then, as if a thought had struck him, he said, “Where’s Annabel now?”
Duffy shrugged. “The last time I saw her, she was telling a little nance to shoot me in the guts. You’ve got a grand daughter, ain’t you?”
Leaving English, Duffy picked up the Buick and drove slowly back to the Bronx. He left the car at the garage and then went to his room.
He sent the thin man out to get the newspapers. While he was waiting for them he mixed himself a strong Scotch and lit a cigarette. He let his mind wander as he sat there, but he kept coming back to Olga. He could see her lying naked with the dagger in her breast. He tried to think of other things, but his mind kept switching back to that picture.
He was glad when the thin man came in and dumped several tabloids on the table. Duffy gave him some small change. Then he went through the papers carefully. When he had finished them, he sat back and lit another cigarette. There was nothing in any of the papers about Gleason’s murder.
He got up, went to the telephone and dialled Annabel’s number. He sat for a minute or so listening to the buzz, and then hung up. Well, anyway, she had skipped all right.
Then he wandered about the room, thinking. He wondered if Morgan’s gang had wiped her out and got rid of both bodies. He thought that was an idea, but he couldn’t do anything about that for the moment.
Just before one o’clock, Gilroy came in with two other men. Gilroy said, “This is Shep,” to Duffy. Duffy looked at Shep and nodded. He thought Shep was an extraordinary-looking man. He had a very small head perched on a long neck, and the rest of his body was grossly fat. His head just didn’t fit his body. Duffy thought it looked like the maker of Shep had run out of the right size, and had just slapped on the first head that came to hand. Schultz was a tall, wiry bird, with a thick mop of black hair, that stood up like a wire brush.