“Why?”
“We want you to look at a man.”
“Why?”
“We want to see if you know him.”
“What does the law have to do with that?”
“Nuts. Open up. Let us in.”
“All right. Wait a minute. I’ll let you in.”
We waited. I lit a cigarette. Bertha Cool looked at me with a puzzled expression in her eyes. The lawyer looked as important as a rooster in a hen yard. The officers fidgeted, exchanged looks.
Esther Clarde opened the door. She had on that black velveteen housecoat with the zipper up the side that she’d worn the night before. Her eyes looked a little sleepy. She said, “Well, I guess it’s all right. Come on in and—” She saw me and jerked the door shut. She yawned and said, “Okay, what is it?”
The investigator from the D.A.’s office jerked his thumb at me. “Ever see this guy before?” he asked.