“Has he confessed?” I asked.
“No, but those finger-prints tally. They found a gun on him that the officers think is the murder gun. They’ve rushed it to the ballistics department.”
Alta patted my hand.
Bertha stood looking down at us. “All right, Donald,” she said, “break it up. The rest of it’s up to the police. We’re going back.”
“Back where?” Alta asked.
“Back to work.”
“But he’s working.”
“Not on this case. It’s all washed up.”
She walked calmly out of the solarium.
“Want to try something?” I asked Alta.