“Think back to last Wednesday. Was Belder in here?”
“Wednesday,” the barber said, knitting his forehead. “Let’s see... Yes, that’s right. It was Wednesday. He was in here and got quite a job done — haircut, manicure, shine, massage. Don’t do much massage work any more — seems like people are too rushed and too busy, Lord knows we are. I can’t get men and—”
“How long was he here?” Bertha asked.
The barber took off his coat and vest, carefully fitted them to a wooden coat hanger and put the coat hanger back on the hook. “Must have been here an hour and a half in all,” he said, taking a white barber’s jacket from another hanger and struggling his right arm into it.
“Know the exact time?” Bertha asked.
“Why, yes. Mr. Belder doesn’t like to wait. He comes in during the slack time — along about eleven o’clock in the morning. He was a little late Wednesday; got in just before half-past eleven. I remember now. There was a high fog that day with a raw wind. He had his overcoat with him. The sun came out shortly after he got in the chair and we talked about the wind blowing the fog away. When he left, he left his overcoat. That’s it hanging on the hook over there. I rang him up and told him I had it, and he said he’d come by and pick it up... Say, what difference does it make? Why are you checking up on him?”
“I’m not checking up on him,” Bertha said. “I’m just trying to help him.”
“He hiring you?”
Bertha said, “I told you I’m trying to help him. Has anyone else been in here asking questions about him?”
The man shook his head.