“Well,” he said, “that’ll be sort of crowded.”
He walked back to Esther Clarde and said, “All right, sister, you’re at the parting of the ways. Either identify this guy or get hooked as an accessory. Which do you want to do?”
“He isn’t the one.”
“We know he’s the man. You’re standing right at the fork of the road. Pick your bed, because you’re going to have to lie in it.”
Bertha Cool, who had walked toward the elevators and paused to listen in on the conversation, said, “Isn’t that intimidating a witness?”
The detective looked up at her, an angry flush coming to his face. “Move on,” he said. “This is police business.” He flipped back the lapel of his coat to show her his star.
Bertha Cool said, “Phooey. That piece of tin doesn’t mean a damn thing to me. If I understand what I’ve heard correctly, you’re telling this girl that if she commits perjury, nothing will happen to her, but that if she tells the truth, you’re going to hook her for being an accessory after the fact.”
“Go jump in the lake,” the detective said irritably.
“Find one big enough and I will,” Bertha cooed.
Esther Clarde remained quietly positive. “He isn’t the man.”