"Oh, yeah," said Harry, "you're the one who kept patting your skull.
Couldn't you find one that fit you?"
Nobody was amused. Boles and Chase took positions on either side of
Thompson. Their faces were drawn and sober. They resembled two bankrupt
morticians.
"Where is the body beautiful?" Harry asked. "Or is she no longer the
body beautiful?"
"Take a look for yourself." It was Paula's voice. The familiar
sultriness was missing.
Harry swung around to see her emerge from the bedroom. "Well, well,
well! If it isn't Miss Lonelyhearts. Mind if I ask why I'm here? I mean
the gun and all?"
He had to be flippant. It was the only way he knew to conceal the terror
he felt in their presence.
She sat beside him on the sofa. "Harry, you've disappointed me. You
haven't been playing the game fair and square."
"If you're referring to the private eye I put on you ..."
"I'm _not_, Harry. You put him on, we took him off. Those things even
themselves out."