“What’s up?”
“I dunno. They never tell me anything.”
“I’ll get a coat and turn out some of these lights,” Conway said. He went into the dining room and noticed Larkin move to keep him in view. He stepped out onto the patio and blew out the two candles which were still alight on the table. Betty, on the settee, was out of sight of the detective.
“I have to go to Headquarters,” he whispered. “Wait for me, my darling.” In the darkness, he saw her nod her head. “I won’t be long.” He pretended to lock the door to the patio, picked up a coat, and rejoined the detectives in the hall.
Larkin drove and the other detective sat in back with Conway. Both men were unusually taciturn. Or perhaps, Conway thought, it seems that way because I’m used to Bauer. But try as he might, he was unable to elicit a shred of information from either of them.
The two men accompanied him to Ramsden’s office, and Larkin knocked before opening the door. He went inside for a moment, and then the door opened again, and he motioned for Conway to enter.
Ramsden, seated behind his desk, looked steadily at him as he came in. “Good evening, Captain,” Conway said.
“Hello, Conway.” The “Mister” was conspicuous by its absence, and Conway wondered whether this indicated familiarity or — or what? Bauer was seated at one side of the captain’s desk, and a young man at the other.
Ramsden indicated the young man. “This is Mr. Davis,” he said, and Conway noted that the young man was tall and thin, with a very high forehead and a collar to match. “He’s the assistant district attorney,” Ramsden continued.
“Good evening, Mr. Davis,” Conway said, and felt his throat begin to tighten even as he spoke.