I shook my head. “Private agency. We’re on the case and we’re supposed to be hot.”
“Oh. Private, huh? Well... the inspector sent you down. You want a job?”
“Not just this minute. You gentlemen go ahead. I’ll listen and see if I can think of something.”
I stepped a pace closer to Gebert and looked him over. He was reddened up a good deal and kind of blotchy, but I couldn’t see any real marks. He had no necktie on and his shirt was torn on the shoulder and there was dried sweat on him. His eyes were bloodshot from blinking at the strong light and probably from having them slapped open when he closed them. I asked him:
“When you said my name just now, did you want to tell me something?”
He shook his head and made a hoarse grunt. I turned and told Sturgis: “He can’t tell you anything if he can’t talk. Maybe you ought to give him some water.”
Sturgis snorted. “He could talk if he wanted to. We gave him water when he passed out a couple of hours ago. There’s only one thing in God’s world wrong with him. He’s contrary. You want to try him?”
“Later maybe.” I crossed to the row of chairs by the wall and sat down. Sturgis stood and thoughtfully wiped his neck. The wiry cop leaned forward to get closer to Gebert’s face and asked him in a wounded tone:
“What did she pay you that money for?”
No response, no movement.