“They want to talk some more.”
“Good heavens, Mr. Mason, I’ve told them absolutely everything I know.”
“Where’s Mrs. Winters?”
“She went on to her apartment.”
“On that streetcar?”
“No, I transferred. The car we took in front of your office building took Aunt Adelle directly home.”
“Then she’s probably home ahead of you.”
“I’ll say she is. I had to wait ten minutes for a car at the transfer point.”
“Where were you?” Mason asked Cora Felton.
“I happened to be on the same car—just a coincidence. I’d been to a movie. I certainly was surprised when Eva got aboard and told me what had happened.”
“I’ll feel better,” Mason said, “if I get you both out of the neighborhood while we talk. Let’s drive out a little way and park the car.”
“Why do we have to talk? What’s it all about?” Eva asked. “I thought we’d finished everything.”
Mason was driving the car slowly along the road and keeping a watch in the rear view mirror. “You told the police that you had been with Adelle Winters all day?” he asked her.
“Yes.”
“Why did you tell them that?”
“Because it’s the truth.”
“Did you sign a statement to that effect?”
“Yes.”
“Swear to it?”
“Yes. It was an affidavit.”
“I’m not the police. Don’t lie to me. I’m your lawyer—tell me the truth. Now were you with her all day?”
“Yes.”
“Every minute of the time?”
“Well . . . I . . . practically.”
“Never mind that ‘practically’ stuff. Tell me the truth.”
“Well, there were a few minutes here and there around the hotel—for instance when she went to the rest room. . . .”
“But how about before you went to the hotel?—while you were still at the apartment?”
“Well . . . but, Mr. Mason, what difference does it make?”
Mason was impatient. “Heaven knows why I waste time on you. Do I have to drag the truth out of you with a block and tackle? Go ahead and tell me what happened.”
With a nervous laugh she obeyed. “Well, of course, it doesn’t mean a darned thing, but after we left the apartment and got down to the lobby, we stopped to put through some phone calls from the booth there. After we’d been there a few minutes, Aunt Adelle suddenly remembered that she’d left something of hers in the apartment, and she wanted to go up and get it.”
“What was it?”
“Well, she told me—after we got to the hotel—that it was a .32 revolver. She said she’d had it in a sideboard drawer, had taken it out, then had inadvertently left it on the sideboard, intending to put it in her handbag, and . . . well, she’d just forgotten it. She didn’t want to leave it there. So I waited in the apartment-house lobby, reading, and she took the key and ran back up to the apartment. Of course, now that she says she never owned a gun . . . well, I hardly know what to think.”
“How did it happen you didn’t mention this to the police?”
“Isn’t that obvious, Mr. Mason? When we got back to the apartment later and found Hines with a bullet hole in his forehead, Aunt Adelle said the only thing to do was to get in touch with you. And you told us to notify the police. Then Aunt Adelle suggested that there’d be no sense in complicating the situation by mentioning that she’d left something up in the apartment.”
“Did she tell you it was a gun she had left there?”
“Not then. She had told me that back at the hotel.”
“What time was it when she went upstairs for the gun?”
“Around two o’clock. It was just before we left the apartment house. Perhaps ten minutes after two—I’d looked at my watch as we left the elevator, and it was five to two then. We were in the lobby some ten or fifteen minutes, what with one thing and another. It was probably a minute or so past two when she started back to the apartment upstairs.”
Mason said, “Now this is terribly important. Where were you?”
“You mean while Aunt Adelle went back upstairs?”
“Yes.”
“In the lobby.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Not outside, where any person who had been shadowing you could have seen you?”
“No. I waited inside the lobby reading a racing form sheet.”
“How long was she gone?”
“Oh, just a few minutes.”
“Can you make a better estimate than that?”
“Well, perhaps five or six minutes.”
“But it couldn’t have taken so long as that for her just to go up to the apartment and back, could it?”
“It must have—there was no other place for her to go. Mr. Mason, what is the reason for all these questions?”
“Adelle Winters had a gun, and that gun killed Robert Hines.”
“What?”
“That’s right.”
“Are you certain?”
“Practically certain. The Ballistics Department hasn’t given its report yet, but the police found Mrs. Winters’s gun.”
“Where?”
“Where she had been seen to put it, in a garbage pail at the Lorenzo Hotel.”
“And you mean the bullet had been fired from that gun? Why, Mr. Mason, that’s utterly impossible!”
“Although Mrs. Winters had bought some fresh ammunition, she hadn’t as yet reloaded the gun. It was loaded with shells of an obsolete type, and the bullet was quite distinctive—it was exactly the same type that the police recovered from the skull of Robert Hines.”
“Why, that’s absolutely incredible!”
“All right, let’s see what Adelle Winters has to say. Let’s see what her story is about the gun. Did you believe her when she said she didn’t have a gun—that it was all a bluff?”
“No, I didn’t. That’s the funny thing about Aunt Adelle. You have to take some of the things that she says with a . . . Well, it isn’t exactly that she wants to deceive you; it’s just—well, it’s hard to explain. You see, she’s been a practical nurse, and she’s nursed a lot of persons with incurable diseases. So she got into the way of lying, reassuring them, telling them they were going to get well. Or, if she was nursing someone who’d had a nervous breakdown, she’d lie to keep her patient from worrying, telling things that would help toward the sick person’s recovery. If you could only see Aunt Adelle in that light, you’d understand the whole thing.”
“In other words, she’s a liar!”
“If you want to put it bluntly, she is. She believes in avoiding trouble by detouring facts.”
“And you were sure she was lying about not having a gun?”
“I’d always felt she had a gun—yes.”
“And suppose she’s lying about what happened there in the apartment?”
“No, that wouldn’t be like Aunt Adelle at all. Can’t we go talk with her?”
“I’m afraid the police are waiting at her apartment.”
“We might drive there and find out.”
“It’s a waste of gasoline, but we’ve got to try it. You show me the way. The main thing, as I see it, is to get you in the clear.”
“How do you mean?”
“You told the police you had been with Adelle Winters ‘all the time.’ Now if her gun killed Robert Hines, you must have been with her when the shot was fired—and that has put you in quite a mess. The police are waiting out at your apartment. You’ll be charged as an accessory. I want to get you in the clear. Later we’ll see what can be done for Aunt Adelle.”
“But we’ll first make certain that she isn’t at her apartment?”
“Exactly,” Mason said.
“How?”
“We’ll drive out there, then Cora can scout out the situation.”
“All right,” Eva said. “You drive straight d
own this street.”
Mason and the two girls drove to the place where Adelle Winters had her apartment, an unpretentious three-story brick building, a good thirty-five minutes by streetcar from the center of the city.
A knot of curious spectators milling around told the story even before Cora had slipped out to mingle unobtrusively with them and pick up the news. She was back within five minutes.
“They nabbed her?” Mason asked.
Cora nodded. “They picked her up just as she was entering the apartment. They shot a lot of questions at her and Adelle got confused. They showed her a gun and asked her if it was hers. She admitted it was. That’s all anybody knows. They put her in an automobile and drove away.”
Mason said, “Okay.” He turned to Eva. “I’m going to lead with my chin, Eva. I’m going to put you some place where the police can’t find you tonight, and then make a bargain with the D.A.’s office tomorrow.”
Eva Martell asked, “Why can’t I tell my story to the police right now?”
Mason shook his head. “I’ve got to get you a promise of immunity, and I won’t be in a good bargaining position unless I have something to bargain with.”
9
HARRY GULLING, who was considered the wheel-horse of the district attorney’s office, was rarely seen in court; only occasionally did his name appear in the public press. But those who were on the inside knew that Hamilton Berger, the district attorney, relied on Gulling to make important decisions. Those who knew the ropes would never think of trying to make a deal with Hamilton Berger until they had first seen Harry Gulling and obtained a clearance through him.
It was nine-forty-five in the morning when Mason was ushered into Gulling’s office. Mason shook hands, sat down opposite Gulling—he was a tall, thin man who had a trick of holding people with an unwinking stare from cold blue eyes—and said, “I’m representing Eva Martell. She was living in Helen Reedley’s apartment with a woman named Adelle Winters. I believe you’re holding the Winters woman on suspicion of murder.”
Harry Gulling remained motionless, his glacial blue eyes framing pinpoint pupils as he listened. Now he said nothing, but just waited for Mason to go on.
“I think my client can be of some help to you,” Mason said.
“How?”
“Well, perhaps—and mind you I’m only saying perhaps—her testimony might be of some assistance.”
“What?”
“Suppose that after thinking back over the events of yesterday she remembered that she had not been with Adelle Winters all the time. I assume you’re familiar with the case?”
“I’ve just finished questioning Mrs. Winters,” Gulling said, “and here on my desk are the police reports.”
“Very well. Then we’re in a position to talk turkey. Eva Martell is a young woman who is trying to get by—playing parts here and there, sometimes as an extra, and by serving as a model. She’s never had any experience before with this sort of thing. Adelle Winters, who’s an old friend of Eva’s family, is apparently something of a character. Whether or not she’s guilty of murder is a matter for you to determine. But you have the murder weapon, and I understand you have identified it as belonging to Adelle Winters. In view of the statement given you yesterday by Eva Martell, you could hardly expect to get a conviction, because you simply can’t show that Adelle Winters had any chance to commit the murder.
“Now I’m frank to admit that my client ought to have searched her recollection a little more thoroughly. Perhaps she was trying to protect Adelle Winters. Perhaps she was confused. But let’s say that in the excitement of the day’s events she neglected to tell you of a time when Adelle Winters was not with her. Then what?”
Gulling kept his eyes on Mason’s face. “Where is your client now?”
“She can be produced in a very short time if necessary.”
“The police want her.”
“She’ll be only too glad to render what assistance she can to the police.”
“And exactly what do you want?”
“What’s the use of beating around the bush?” Mason asked. “I understand Eva Martell signed a statement and swore to it. In case that statement contains an incorrect recital of fact, I want to be sure that nothing is going to be done about it.”
“So that’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“And that’s the reason you’re jockeying for position around here instead of bringing your client in and having her say, ‘Look, I made a mistake.’”
“Of course it is,” Mason said angrily. “What the hell did you think? That I was going to lead with my chin?”
“You have led with it.”
“Bosh!” exclaimed Mason.
“Adelle Winters is guilty of cold-blooded murder. We can prove it. Your client is an accessory after the fact—and probably before the fact.”
“Hang it, Gulling, if my client doesn’t come out in the open and admit she’s mistaken, but simply sits tight, what the hell are you going to do about it?”
“You’ve asked a question,” Gulling said. “Now I’ll tell you the answer. Adelle Winters had a .32-caliber gun and it was loaded with a very distinctive type of obsolete bullet. That gun was in her possession up until two-twenty yesterday afternoon, when she dropped it into a garbage pail. At approximately two o’clock Robert Hines was killed with a bullet fired from that gun—a bullet exactly matching the shells that were left in the gun, and also matching a bullet that the ballistics experts fired from that gun.
“Eva Martell swears she was with Adelle Winters every minute of the time. That being the case, we’re going to convict both of them of murder. And I’ll tell you how we’re going to do it, Mr. Mason. When police took Adelle Winters into custody last night, the matron went through her clothes and took her personal possessions. And what do you think she found?”
Mason tried to keep a poker face. “I don’t see that anything she could have found would make any difference.”
“Don’t you indeed, Mr. Mason!” Gulling said with cold irony. “Well, perhaps you’ll change your mind when I tell you that she found Robert Dover Hines’s wallet with his identification cards, his driving license, and three thousand-odd dollars in currency of large denominations. There’s your motive for the murder. And when your sweet, innocent little actress friend gets on the witness stand and swears that she was with Adelle Winters every minute of the time, she’s going to be convicted of first-degree murder. And if she changes her story, she’s going to be convicted of perjury. I’m tired of having people give this office the run-around.
“And I’m going to tell you something else, Mr. Mason. Eva Martell is wanted by the police. They hold a felony warrant for her arrest. She is now a fugitive from justice. If you conceal her, you yourself will be an accessory, and you know what that means. I’ll give you until noon today to have Eva Martell surrender to the police. In the event she doesn’t, we’ll take proceedings against you. And I think that represents everything this office has to say on the subject. Good morning, Mr. Mason.”
10
MASON SAT on one side of the heavy, coarse-meshed screen that ran the length of the visitors’ room in the jail. On the other side sat Adelle Winters.
“Mrs. Winters,” Mason said, “I’m going to put the cards on the table. I was trying to help Eva Martell, and I thought at the time it was an easy case—now I find out that it isn’t.”
“Why isn’t it?”
“Because of the things you have done. Police feel that you and Eva deliberately planned to murder Hines for the purpose of getting his money.”
“That’s absurd!”
“They can build up a pretty strong case.”
“Eva is absolutely innocent. But I’m in a mess—I know that.”
“You seem to have dragged Eva in with you.”
“But I wouldn’t have done that for worlds! I love that girl like a daughter. Are you going to be my lawyer, Mr. Mason?”
“I don’t think so. I got in here be
cause I told the jailer that I had to talk with you as an attorney to find out whether I’d take your case. That still holds true. But what I want to know is where Eva stands in this.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what happened, Mr. Mason. When you spoke to me about the danger of carrying that gun, I pretended not to pay any attention. Actually I was very much impressed. I realized that someone might make it appear we had committed a technical crime. And as I understand it, there’s a law that if you have a gun in your possession when you’re committing a crime, you can’t get probation—you have to go to the penitentiary.”
“Generally that’s true.”
“Well, I decided to get rid of the gun. From your office I went back up to the apartment, and the first thing I did there was to take the gun out of my purse and put it in the sideboard drawer. Then—later, when we were planning to get out—I took it out of the drawer and put it on top of the sideboard. But in the excitement of gathering my things together and getting out, I forgot it. Down in the lobby I did some telephoning. I called Hines several times, and got no answer. I called you, and kept hearing the busy signal. Then I suddenly remembered about the gun. So I told Eva to wait—that I had forgotten something and had to go back upstairs.”
“What time was this?”
“Oh, perhaps two o’clock, perhaps a little after.”
“So what did you do?”
“I went up in the elevator, walked along the corridor, opened the door of the apartment. The gun was there on the sideboard. At the time, I didn’t notice anything strange about it; but afterwards I recalled that when I’d left it the muzzle had been pointing toward the wall, though when I picked it up the muzzle was pointing toward me. The door to the bedroom was closed. I didn’t open it—fortunately. The murderer must have been in there right then.
“So I picked up the gun, turned toward the door, and then noticed that wallet lying on the floor near the bedroom door. I swear to you, Mr. Mason, I didn’t any more than look at it, see that it was Mr. Hines’s wallet, and push it down inside my blouse. I intended to give it to him when I saw him, which I thought would be soon.
“I left the apartment and picked up Eva, and we took a cab to the Lorenzo Hotel; it took less than five minutes. At the hotel I went at once to the ladies’ room and opened my purse to get my compact. When I did that, I smelled a peculiar powder smell. It came from the gun, of course. So I looked at it, and one shell had been fired. I smelled of the barrel, and it smelled of fresh powder. I wanted to get rid of it, so I took it out to that garbage pail and dumped it in.
The Case of the Borrowed Brunette Page 10