Tanga came down the narrow road and into his view. O'Mara watched her walking. It seemed to him that she moved with a certain charming detachment; as if she were not particularly interested in the process of walking in this mundane world.
She walked round the Typhoon looking at the tyres. Then she went to the back of the car and removed the key of the boot which was in the lock where O'Mara had left it. Then she got into the car, backed it towards the garage, swung the wheel; drove off towards the main street.
Quayle, thought O'Mara, was a hell of a picker. Always he managed to find the right people for the situation. He wondered just what sort of position this woman occupied in the Quayle scheme of things; just what she had to do with everything; just what she would have to do with him.
