“They’re sitting pretty,” I said, “so long as they can pin it on me; and that’s what they’ll do.”
“Then what the hell am I doing trailing around with you?” Davis demanded. “If you’re the killer, what am I?”
“Ask the judge… he’ll tell you.”
I touched the front door; it swung open.
“Looks bad,” I said.
“I’m not coming in,” Davis said, backing away. “I’m scared, Cain. This is getting too deep for me.”
“Take it easy,” I said. “Stick around. Don’t run out on me now.”
“I’ll stick, but I ain’t coming in.”
“What’s the matter with you? This may turn out to be front page news.”
“I’d sooner find it without you being around,” Davis said, shaking his head. “If they’re going to pin it on you, they’ll book me as a material witness or something.”