“That’s right. That’s why I felt so pleased when I saw there were two perfect fingerprints on it, and that’s why I was so sarcastic when I realized that it was your interference that had started me off on a false lead.”
Bertha said, “I’m sorry.”
“You should be. You’ve been in the business long enough to know that you’re not to touch anything when you come on a body. You’re to keep your hands off everything. It was all right finding your fingerprints on the handle of the door. You had to open the car door to see she was in there, dead, but that was as far as you should have gone.”
Sergeant Sellers’ voice contained patient rebuke. The man was tired, completely weary, dejected and disappointed.
Bertha said once more, “I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“I realize that doesn’t help.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Look here,” Bertha said suddenly, “that murder was planned so the death would seem to be accidental.”
“That’s right.”