He moved forward riding her back into the sitting-room.
'You can't come in here,' she protested. 'What will people think?'
'Shut up and sit down!' Donovan snarled.
Because she was itching with curiosity to know why the police had come to the house, and not because she was intimidated by Donovan, she obeyed him, reaching for a cigarette and lifting her plucked eyebrows at him.
'What's biting you?' she demanded.
'You know Fay Carson?'
May's face brightened.
'Is she in trouble ?' she asked hopefully.
'She's been murdered.'
He watched the quick change of expression and noted with satisfaction the fear that jumped into her eyes.
'Murdered? Who did it?'
'She was struck with an ice-pick. We don't know who did it yet. Was she working last night?'
'I wouldn't know. I was out.'
Donovan drew in a slow exasperated breath.
'So you didn't hear or see anything, like the rest of them?'
'I can't help it, can I?' May said. 'Murdered! Gee! I never liked her, but I wouldn't wish that on anyone.' She got up and crossed the room to where the gin bottle stood on the window seat. 'Excuse me, but my nerves are shot this morning.' She poured a big drink. 'Want one?'
'No. So you didn't see her last night ?'
May shook her head, gulped down the gin, thumped herself on her chest and coughed.
'That's better. No, I didn't see her.' Donovan lit a cigarette.
'This killer may come back,' he said, leaning forward to stare at May. 'He may visit you. If you know anything, you'd better spill it.'
'But I don't know anything.'
'Didn't you see anyone? This would be between one and two o'clock.'
May stared up at the ceiling. The fumes of the gin made her feel dizzy.
'I got back around two,' she said. 'I did meet a guy in the hall, but he could have come from any of the apartments.'
Donovan edged forward in his chair.
'Never mind where he came from. What was he like?'
'He seemed in a hurry. He nearly knocked me over. He was tall, dark and good-looking. I thought he might like to have a drink.' She gave Donovan a little leer. 'You know how it is ...'
'Never mind that,' Donovan said curtly. 'How was he dressed?'
'He had on a light-grey suit and a grey hat.'
'Would you know him again?'
'I think so, but he didn't look like a killer.'
'They never do. How old would he be ?'
'About thirty.'
Donovan grimaced. He remembered the cleaner woman had told him Fay specialized in old guys.
'Can't you tell me anything else about him ?'
'Well, I asked him to have a drink, and he said he was in a hurry. He pushed me aside and ran into the street.'
'Did he look upset?'
'I didn't notice. He just seemed to be in a hell of a hurry.'
'Did he have a car outside?'
May shook her head.
'No one ever parks outside. If they have a car they leave it at the parking lot down the street.'
Donovan got to his feet.
'Okay. Keep your eyes open, and if you see this guy again, call headquarters. Understand?'
It was just after ten o'clock when Donovan walked into Fay's sittingroom again.
Doc Summerfield had gone. Adams sat in an armchair, a cigarette between his thin lips, his eyes closed.
Fletcher and Holtby were working in the bedroom.
