Woman on The Run Page #2

Well, what does he care

what he looks like?

Nobody pays any attention to him

anyway. Not even his wife.

You're really wasting your time.

There must be at least

20,000 men in San Francisco

who answer that description.

How are you going to find him?

There'd have to be something

different about him.

Different, anyway, from other people.

There is something different about him.

There's something different

about everybody,

and we're gonna dig

until we find out what it is.

Now you see our problem, Mrs.

Johnson. Why won't you help us?

I'm helping. What do you want me to do?

- I want you to answer a few questions.

- Go ahead, ask.

Where does he generally go

when he's not at home?

I haven't the faintest idea.

- Has he any relatives in this area?

- No.

- Who are his friends?

- I don't know his friends.

The dog is our only mutual friend.

You always go to sleep

when he walks the dog?

No, sometimes he goes to sleep

and I walk the dog.

Say, Inspector. Here are a couple of more.

I'm terribly sorry.

There's been a mistake.

Release these men at once.

- Keep digging.

- OK.

Every man between the ages of 35

and 40 who was out tonight

is wearing a trench coat

and a snap-brim felt,

all of them five foot 11, weighing 170,

and all of them scared

to answer questions.

The domestic situation in this town

must be terrible.

Yeah. Kitchen?

Well, it's got a stove in it.

Hey.

Don't you eat anything but dog food?

He's not particular and I'm lazy

so we eat out.

Where?

Well, let's see:
the corner drugstore,

the lobster grill at the wharf

when we're in that neighborhood,

and when we get real fancy,

Man Loh's Oriental Roof Garden.

Those usually.

We're creatures of habit, I'm afraid.

Check the Oriental Roof Garden.

- They'll still be open.

- Yes, sir.

It's two o'clock in the morning.

How am I gonna explain this at home?

- What's going on here?

- I'm sorry. There's been a mistake.

He's sorry? What am I gonna tell my wife?

Come on.

What did you and your husband

quarrel about tonight, Mrs. Johnson?

We don't have to have a reason anymore.

Don't you have a decent picture

of your husband?

No, he doesn't like to

have his picture taken.

I don't want any photographs

of him floating around

that might get in the papers.

The killer doesn't know

what he looks like.

- Didn't he see him?

- No, he shot at his shadow.

- Shot? He shot at Frank?

- Twice.

Nobody knows that except the killer,

your husband, and now you.

So, let's keep it that way.

It's important.

He's really in danger, then?

Worried? I thought you were

beyond worrying about him?

I didn't say that.

If he doesn't give himself up,

you're really gonna have

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