A private eye talks to a palm reader, hoping she can help him locate a lady living in the same building the psychic is working out of. After the private eye admits who he’s looking for:
She stood up. “Who sent you?”
“Nobody. I just thought you might be able to help.”
“Don’t know the name, mister. I just moved in here last year.”
“But I thought you might be able to use your divination—”
“Crap!” She stood up. “You a copper?”
“No. I’m an agent…”
from Shooting Star by Robert Bloch.