Captain Amos Wade was a lean, almost cadaverous cop assigned to Bunco, but also the Department’s anti-subversive expert and liaison between City Hall and the F.B.I. He leaned back in his chair and said, “Drink your java, Shell. It won’t kill you.”
“Not this time, maybe.” I was waiting until the chemist at Scientific Investigations reported on what was in that first cup of coffee, which I’d brought in. I’d told my story to the police, and looked at mugshots in the “I” Room without seeing pictures of Donna or Mr. Gordon. I was here to kill time, but also because I enjoyed talking to Amos, whom I’d been talking to quite a bit lately. One of my closest friends, an ex-newspaperman and writer named Jim Brandon, was writing a book for which he’d got some factual material from Amos, and the three
