“Not unless we’re put on the stand and have to.”
“It’s going to sound like hell if it comes out for the first time on the witness stand,” Mason warned her.
“It’ll sound like hell for Sarah Breel,” Bill Golding said.
“And for you too,” Mason pointed out.
“We can take it if we have to,” the woman said. “Sarah Breel can’t.”
“That,” Mason said, “remains to be seen.”
Golding laughed unpleasantly. “Quit bluffing,” he said, pulling his copy of the subpoena from his pocket. “What do you want me to do with this subpoena?”
Mason met his eyes. “What do you think?”
Slowly, deliberately, Golding tore the subpoena in two, nodded to the woman and said, “Come on, Eva.”
They walked wordlessly out through the exit door and into the corridor. Mason shoved his hands down deep in his trouser pockets and slumped down in his chair, staring thoughtfully at the top of the desk. Della Street said, “Chief, they’re lying. They thought up that whole story so you wouldn’t dare to bring their blue sedan into the case. It’s just a lie they’ve made up out of whole cloth to tie your hands.”