“Uh huh, I guess so.”
I said, “Let’s try refolding this blouse so the bullet holes all match up.”
I tried half a dozen different folds. It didn’t match at all.
Bertha became interested.
I said, “How else could we fold this? How would a woman pack it?”
“Hell, I don’t know,” Bertha said. “I usually throw them in and tramp a hundred and sixty-five pounds of pressure on top of them and then close the lid of the suitcase. You know me, lover. I have got past the coy age. I don’t give a damn what I look like, just so I’m clothed.”
I said, “We haven’t got too much time on this thing, Bertha.”
“That’s twice you’ve said that. What the hell has time to do with it?”
I said, “I may have to be gone for a little while.”
“Working on this case?”