Lee paced the lunch-room again, eyes darting to the ‘phone on the wall.
“Goddamn it, ring! They’ve gotta ring!” he thought trying to quell the rising panic.
He pulled out a crumpled,stained handkerchief damp with sweat and mopped his brow.
“There’s got to be a reason why they ain’t called…” he mumbled.
“Maybe-maybe they…” His voice trailed away, trying to find a reason, any reason why the ‘phone hadn’t rung.
“Mr Wilkes, do you know this man?” The voice startled Lee and he turned to the door of the lunch-room. In the doorway a figure in blue, Dallas’s finest, gun drawn, aimed at Lee. A smaller, middle-aged man, one of the accountants, appeared next to him.
“That’s Mr. Oswald,from the stockroom.” The policeman nodded and moved off down the corridor. Wilkes paused before following him.
“Can you believe it? Someone shot the President!” his voice incredulous and wavering. He darted after policeman.
Lee’s blood ran cold and he sank on to the nearest chair.
“Sonofa..they set me up, they fucking set me up…”