CHAPTER 7Danny gestured toward the bar, waddled around the desk and let himself down on the swivel seat “Help yourself,” he said.
“No thanks.”
I went to the desk, got out the envelope containing the picture, slid it out and laid it down in front of him.
“Your dog boy brought me this,” I said. “Why?”
He looked at it, worked his face into a position to look glum and pursed his fat lips.
“Yes,” he said, “a pity, a shame. Such a lovely woman, a real good, solid woman—”
“Where did you get the picture?” I asked.
He blinked at me.
“The picture,” I said. “How did you get it?”
He spread his puffy hands.
“It came my way,” he said. “Let’s say I have it.”
“You’re sure you didn’t take it?”
The eyes looked at me over their shelves of flesh. “What a suggestion,” he said.
I looked at my watch
