“What the hell are you doing back here?”
The dick’s mouth opened and shut again. It didn’t want to say what it had to say. On the second try it got it out:
“I lost her.”
Cramer groaned and looked speechless.
“It wasn’t my fault,” the dick said, “I swear it wasn’t, Inspector. That damn subway. A local rolled in and stopped and she hung back like waiting for an express and then the last second she dived through—”
“Can it,” Cramer said. “Choke on it. My God. The wonder to me is that — what does it matter what the wonder to me is? What’s that name and address?”
Murphy flipped back through the pages of his notebook and stopped at one. “Ruby Lawson. One fourteen Sullivan Street.”
The dick got out his memo book and wrote it down. “I don’t think it was deliberate,” he said. “I think she just changed her mind. I think she just—”
“You think? You say you think?”
“Yes, Inspector, I—”