“Put that back where you found it.” Her voice was hard.
“When I get good an' ready I'll put it back, Lorraine.” He turned the raincoat in his hands; beneath it he could feel other clothing on the hanger. He peeled back the wet rubber and looked down at a black-and-white checked jacket and a pair of gray flannel slacks wet from the knees down. He stared at their wrinkled dampness for a moment before he turned back to the woman. “Let's hear something,” he demanded grimly.
Two bright spots blazed in the pale cheeks; Lorraine Barnes had not lost her poise, but the same could not be said for her temper. She was furious. “I'll let you hear something. You get out of here, this minute, and you stay out. I'll thank you to mind your own business. Now get out!”
He shoved the jacket and slacks at her. “Don't you think you should have burned these after you killed Roberta Perry?”
“Burned-” She looked suddenly uncertain of herself. He could see her almost repeating aloud the description of the clothing seen on the man on Roberta Perry's fire escape. Man? A short, stocky man… or a tall, plump woman? She looked at the jacket and slacks in his hand as though she were seeing them for the first time. “That's not… those aren't- It's simply a… coincidence-” Her voice trailed off; he could see that she was thinking hard, but she recovered quickly. “I'll still thank you-”
She broke off as he dropped the wet garments on the floor and took her by the arms, not gently. “I'm through foolin' around,” he said between his teeth. “Where were you tonight?”
She tried to twist away. “Let go of me!” Her face was scarlet. “Let go!”
He held her effortlessly. “Where were you? I'm sick of this one-way deal. You'll tell me if I have to raise lumps all over you.”
“If you think-you can third degree me… I'll show you — different!” she panted breathlessly, and with a surge of anger he picked her up by the shoulders and in four long strides carried her inside to the sofa, where he dropped her. She bounced high and landed asprawl with head snapped back. The blue-gray eyes stared up at him malevolently as he pulled up a chair in front of her and seated himself, hemming her in. He made his voice deliberate. “Make it easy on yourself, Lorraine. Fast or slow, you're going to talk. I played along with you all I'm goin' to. From right here we do it my way.”
Her lips were drawn back from her teeth; there was no fear in her. “Let me remind you, Johnny-because I have a stake in this myself I refuse to be caught in the down-draft of your emotional involvement. That's final. Now get up out of that chair.”
“You're not talkin' to your husband Vic's friend, Lorraine. You're talkin' to Johnny Killain, who used to be married to Ellen Saxon, an' I want answers. What's the matter? Don't you have an alibi for Russo tonight?”
“Russo? Alibi? What's-” Her teeth gnawed at her lower lip, and she sat up straighter on the sofa. The anger vanished from her face as though with a sponge. “What happened tonight, Johnny? You've got to tell me.”
“Lady, you've got more brass than a foundry. I've got to tell you, have I? Those days are gone. I gave you a chance to join the team an' you turned me down.” His mind veered off on a tangent; he leaned back and considered her carefully. “Did Ed Russo work for Robert Sanders?” he asked her abruptly.
She looked surprised. “I've already told you that it was Mrs. Sanders he worked for over there.”
“But if it was out of the same office-”
She shook her head. “The public relations business doesn't work like that,” she said patiently. “They each had their own clients and their own staff.” She tried to make her voice placating. “What's all this about Russo? What happened tonight, Johnny?”
“We're gettin' off the subject. Where were you tonight? I want to know. Now.”
The red spots were back in her face, but her tone was restrained in her effort to appear casual. “If you think you can find out anything from me I don't want you to know, then you just don't know me very well.”
He leaned toward her. “Where were you tonight, Lorraine?”
Her eyes narrowed. “If you're not on your way out that door in five seconds I'll rip these pajamas and start screaming.”
“Suit yourself. You won't be screamin' when they get here.”
Her short upper lip curled. “You frighten me. Terribly. I'm speechless with fear.” But she made no move toward the pajamas; she spoke again quickly. “Don't let's do this to each other, Johnny. I have the best of reasons for everything I've done. I have to do it my way.”
“Not any more. Cut the stalling. Talk!”
“Find out, then, you fool!” she gritted and, in movement nearly too quick to follow, braced her back against the sofa, drew up her knees tightly to her chest and as part of the same motion straightened them viciously, exploding her slippered heels with projectile force against Johnny's breastbone as he leaned forward in his chair. The impact was tremendous; only his weight prevented the chair from going over backward, and he teetered uncertainly in mid-air for an instant before he could rock himself level again.
She stared up at him unbelievingly as he fought against the knifelike assault on his lungs; when he stumbled erect and kicked the chair behind him fear washed her face a pasty gray. She lurched up and tried to duck past him as he stood bent nearly double, and he half straightened with an effort and slapped her heavily. She gasped and fell back on the sofa, the mark of his hand standing in livid relief on her cheek.
Fear and anger struggled for dominance in her distorted face as she stared up at him, and the livid finger marks turned a dull red. When Johnny could speak at all his voice was a croak. “Not a bad move for a hundred-twenty-five-pound female woman. Too bad you didn't know I was comin'. You coulda had your high heels on, then, an' hung your spikes in me.”
“Don't think I wouldn't!”
“I think you would. How many people you decommissioned with that move? Four inches lower you had a perfect gut shot; six inches higher you break my neck. I could see you were surprised I didn't go over; you got a real bad break, huh? You learn that one in finishin' school?”
“Oh, stop it!” Weariness had replaced the fear, but there was still no color in her face except for the mark of his hand. “I should have known better than to try to knock over a chunk of pig iron like you. You got me mad, that's all. I'm sorry.”
“Skip the sorry. Talk.”
The tip of her tongue circled her lips swiftly; she appeared to be gauging his mood. “I suppose you feel you have all the justification you need now to beat it out of me. That should make you feel good. That should-”
“Will you stop the stalling?” Johnny's voice cut across hers, hard. “Talk!”
And as though the explosive imperative had been a signal the apartment buzzer sounded in the hallway. Lorraine looked surprised but started to rise; he made one halfhearted move to stop her and then shrugged. He knew who it was. It just wasn't his night.
“Who?” Lorraine asked the speaker. “Oh.” She hesitated and half turned to look at Johnny in the doorway. “Well… come on up.” She scooped up her wet raincoat, jacket and slacks from the floor where Johnny had dropped them and threw them into a corner of the hall closet. She stood with her back pressed against the closet door and looked at him speculatively. “It's Cuneo. I'm not fussy about his finding you here this time of night. On the other hand, I'm not fussy about being left alone with you here, either.” She frowned as she moved away from the door. “Why is he here?”
“Whyn't you ask him?”
“But I need to know-” She chewed at her lip in the familiar gesture. “We can still work together, Johnny,” she said persuasively.
“Not a chance. A clean divorce.”
“Just a minute!” she called to the knock at the door. She turned back to Johnny with the first hint of desperation in her tone. “You can't do this to me now! I need to know what happened!”