CHAPTER 13I bought Clarissa an eight o’clock dinner and sent her home in a taxi. She was shivering when we left the restaurant and I asked if she thought she had caught a cold.
“Only in my soul,” she said. “I never played a bathtub scene in a coffin before.”
“I hope never again,” I said.
“Good night,” she said.
I walked to Byron Dillon’s building, went up to his apartment and waited about five minutes for somebody to open the door. Nobody did. By then it was nine-fifteen and I found a taxi and rode back to my office. There was a call from the answering service, from Mulligan, the accountant. I tried to return it, but got no answer. At about twenty minutes to ten a taxi pulled up out front.
I watched through a slit in the window blind as Teresa Russo got out. The taxi pulled away, fast
