Sergeant Sellers said, “Well, we may as well go back to the automobile. All right, come on boys. Charlie, you can stay here and keep an eye on the place. Usual instructions — sew it up tight. Let no one in without a pass until after the fingerprint men have finished with the place; then we’ll give the newspapers a tumble and move the body. All right, Mrs. Cool, you come with us.”
In the automobile Bertha Cool answered questions with monosyllables or, at times, with a tight-lipped silence. She steadfastly refused to give any information as to her connection with Jerry Bollman or the reason she had for characterizing him as a blackmailing chiseler.
Sergeant Sellers gave it up after a while. He said, “I can’t force you to answer these questions, Mrs. Cool, but a grand jury can.”
“No, they can’t. I have a right to treat certain communications as confidential.”
“Not the way I look at it.”
Bertha Cool said, “I’m in business. I’m running a detective agency. People hire me to do things. If they wanted to tell their troubles to the law, they’d go to police headquarters in the first place.”
“All right,” Sellers said. “If you’re thinking so much of your future business, you might remember that police goodwill is an asset for a private detective agency and, on the other hand, the ill-will of the police isn’t going to make you any money.”
“I’ve told you absolutely everything I know that would help clear up the case. The things I’m withholding are private matters that have absolutely nothing to do with it.”
“I’d prefer to have you answer all my questions and let me be the judge of what’s pertinent and relative and what isn’t.”
“I know,” Bertha said, “but I prefer to handle it my way.”