“I still tell you it’s a job. A woman paid me two hundred dollars. She wanted her…”
“Go on,” Sellers said as I stopped.
I shook my head, and said, “I can’t do it without betraying the confidence of a client. I’ll have to get her permission before I can say anything.”
“You can give us a lift on this thing, Donald. I want it cleared up and off the books.”
“No, I can’t, Frank. I tell you it’s a job.”
“Phooie! You were out with a jane on your own. Bertha herself says so. You try pulling this sort of stuff, and you’ll lose your licence. I’ll try to make it easy on the partnership because Bertha’s been a square shooter, but as far as you’re concerned, you’ve always cut corners.”
I said, “I tell you I was on a job. It had to do with Dover Fulton, but it didn’t have a darned thing to do with the killing.”
“You’re supposed to co-operate with the police. Remember that.”
I said, “Look, Frank, this is a suicide, frustrated love. They were both of them nuts. They chose that way out. It’s their business. As far as the police are concerned, the case is closed. You know that as well as I do.”
“It has some funny angles. The department wants them cleared up.”