Without rising, Warner asked: "You do front end alignment?"
"Well, no, sir, that calls for pretty tricky machinery. Still, the way we're growing all the time—"
"Interior finish?"
"No, sir, that's mostly factory. Of course, in a pinch—"
Edith heard Hunter begin snarling: "What possible bearing—"
"None, sir. I just wanted to make sure Mr. Clipp hadn't left out anything. No further questions."
During the short courtroom roar, checked by the gavel, Edith thought she could read exasperated forgiveness in the face of Judge Terence Mann. But foreman Peter Anson, she saw, was not amused, nor Hoag, nor Francis Fielding. Business is serious: to make fun of a man when he's advertising is something like interrupting him in the men's room.
State Trooper Carlo San Giorgio, solemn, deceptively fresh-faced and young, followed Mr. Clipp. He had stopped a blue and white Pontiac, license JD1081, on Walton Road two miles beyond the city line, at 8:34 P.M., Sunday, August 16th. The driver was a young woman who gave her name as Mrs. James Doherty, which agreed with her driver's license. Her driving had been unsteady, with some wavering over the white line.
"Was she driving fast, exceeding the limit?"