Elsie went on, “I understand Everett Belder had taken things out of your hands.”
Bertha said, “Elsie, if I don’t have somebody to talk to, I’m going nuts. Not that you can tell me a damn thing,” she added hastily, “but the thing has been going round and round in my mind all night — like a dog chasing its own tail. I’m in so deep I can’t back out, and I’m afraid to go ahead.”
“I don’t understand,” Elsie said. “You mean you’re in deep with Everett Belder?”
“On this damn murder case.”
“The police think it’s murder? I thought the way the newspaper explained it that it was just carelessness. She left her motor running—”
“The police think it’s murder. I think it’s murder. What’s more, it is murder. And I tried to cut corners and be smart, and now I’m mixed up in it.”
“I don’t see how it could be murder,” Elsie said. “Are the police certain of their facts?”
“They’re certain of their facts. What’s more, they know who did it. There’s no doubt who did it. This isn’t like one of those murder cases where you wonder who the guilty party is. This is a case where you know who it is — and he’s sitting back and laughing up his sleeve. And there’s only one weak link in the whole damned business — and I just happen to hold that weak link. I should go to Sergeant Sellers and put my cards on the table, but I’m afraid to. I held out on the police and that’s bad business.”
Elsie’s face showed sympathy. “Why did you hold out on the police?”
“I’ll be damned if I know,” Bertha admitted. “It started, of course, when Sergeant Sellers grabbed that third letter out of my hands and wouldn’t tell me what was in it. Damn him, he never has told me. I thought at the time, ‘Well, the hell with you, buddy. The next time I try to help you out on anything, you’ll know it!’ ”