I yawned.
My lawyer said hurriedly, “Look here, Lam, that’s rather an unfair test you’re giving yourself. The officers drag you up there. She looks at you, and you alone. She knows you’re suspected—”
“It’s okay,” I said wearily. “I was never in the damn joint in my life. Let ’em get it out of their system.”
“And you’ll co-operate so we can keep it absolutely on the QT?” the D.A.’s man asked.
“I don’t give a damn what you do. I want to go to bed and get some sleep. Let’s get it over with.”
Bertha Cool said, “Now listen, Donald, I think that other way was the best. You go down to the jail and—”
“My God!” I shouted at her. “You act as though you thought I was guilty, both of you.”
That quieted them. Bertha looked at me in a dazed sort of a way. The lawyer was a good guy in his place, but he’d shot his broadside. When he made his demand and passed over the papers, he didn’t have anything for a follow-up.
“And just so there won’t be any mistake about it,” I said, “Mrs. Cool and my lawyer are going to ride in the same car with us.”
“Okay,” the D.A.’s man said. “Let’s get started.”