“Did you take him out of the hospital?”
“No. I had a delivery to make. I turned him over to the doctor.”
“You don’t know when he left?”
“No.”
“You don’t know how seriously he was hurt?”
“Sure. He was just banged up a bit. I stuck around until I was sure there was nothing wrong with him.”
“Was he suffering from amnesia — loss of memory?”
“He was punch-groggy, if that’s what you mean.”
“How did the accident happen?” Mason asked.
Trader adjusted the piece of tobacco between his molars, chewed with a barely perceptible motion, his facial muscles bunching into little knots as his jaws clamped shut. His eyes were cold and uncordial. On the wall, a clock clacked off the seconds.