I darted a glance around. The barber chairs were all empty. Fickler and three of the barbers, Jimmie, Ed, and Philip, were seated along the row of waiting chairs, in their white jackets, each with a dick beside him. Tom was not in view. Other city employees were scattered around.
Purley had guided me to the corner by the cash register. “How long have you known that Janet Stahl?” he demanded.
I shook my head reproachfully. “Not that way. You said I was needed, and I came on the run. If you merely want my biography, call at the office any time during hours. If you call me Archie, even after hours.”
“Cut the comedy. How long have you know her?”
“No, sir. I know a lawyer. Lay a foundation.”
Purley’s right shoulder twitched. It was only a reflex of his impulse to sock me, beyond his control and therefore nothing to resent. “Some day,” he said, setting his jaw and then releasing it. “She was found on the floor of her booth, out from a blow on her head. We brought her to, and she can talk but she won’t. She won’t tell us anything. She says she don’t know us. She says she won’t talk to anybody except her friend Archie Goodwin. How long have you known her?”
“I’m touched,” I said with emotion. “Until today I’ve merely leered at her, with no conversation or bodily contact of any kind. The only chat I’ve ever had with her was here today under your eye, but look what it did to her. Is it any wonder my opinion of myself is what it is?”
“Listen, Goodwin, we’re after a murderer.”
“I know you are. I’m all for it.”
“You’ve never seen her outside this shop?”