The Case of the Black-Eyed Blonde

11

Diana Regis sat on the opposite side of the heavy screen mesh which separated the prisoners’ side of the table from the visitors’ side. In the background hovered a big-boned matron, while a sharp-eyed officer kept watch on the visitors’ side to see that no attempt was made to pass any article through the screen mesh.

Mason held his ears close to the screen, and Diana, her black eye now turned to a shade so dark that it seemed a greenish hue, leaned forward so that she could tell her story in half whispers.

“What,” Mason asked, “is there in your past life that you want to conceal?”

“Why, nothing.”

“You’re certain about that?”

“Yes.”

“You’re divorced?”

“Yes.”

“You get the divorce or did he?”

“I did, cruelty.”

“Hang it,” Mason said irritably, “you try holding out on me all the time. Can’t you realize you’re just cutting your own throat when you hold out information on your lawyer?”

“I guess,” she admitted somewhat ruefully, “I should have told you about the gun.”

Mason said sarcastically, “It might have been considered worthy of mention by someone who wanted to play fair with her lawyer.”

“Mr. Mason, please don’t.”

Mason said, “I’ve got so far into this that I can’t very well back out. Wow you start pulling all of this stuff on me. Go ahead and tell me about the gun, and try telling the truth.”

“Mr. Mason, I’ve always told you the truth, only... well, about the gun, I didn’t because I thought it was Mildred’s, and that perhaps she’d been intending to do something, well, desperate.”

“How do you know it was Mildred’s?”

“I’ve seen her with it.”

“When?”

“The last two or three weeks. She’s... I know she carried a gun.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“When did you discover this gun?”

“Last night.”

“When?”

“Right after I left Miss Street’s apartment the first time. I decided I’d go down to my apartment and see if there was anything there — any further message from Mildred. I took a taxi.”

“What time did you get there?”

“I don’t know.”

“How soon after you left Miss Street’s apartment?”

“Not over fifteen minutes.”

“Was it raining?”

“Yes, it had just started to rain, perhaps twenty minutes earlier.”

“Then where was the gun?”

“Lying on top of the dresser.”

“What did you do?”

“I naturally wondered what it was doing there. I picked it up and looked at it and then put it in the dresser drawer and then thought that perhaps... well, I didn’t know... I didn’t want to have it found right on top so I went over to the dirty clothes hamper and put it in there.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I just was worried about Mildred. I thought she might have got into some sort of trouble. She told me she was going to try something rather desperate.”

“Then what?”

“Then I started back to Della Street’s apartment, but it was raining and... well, I was worried about Mildred, wondering if she’d got into some sort of trouble, so I took a taxi and went right out to San Felipe Boulevard.”

“How long did that take you?”

“It was quite a long ride from my apartment. It must have taken twenty-five minutes or half an hour.”

“Do you know what time you got there?”

“It must have been around half past eight or quarter to nine.”

“And what did you do?”

“Just what I told you, Mr. Mason. I looked around for a while, went over to my car and waited, then I got out and walked around back, and then I found Mildred’s body and then I got in my automobile and drove back to try and find Miss Street, and she was gone and... Well, that’s just the way it happened.”

Mason said, “Now listen, Diana, let’s be fair about this thing. When Mildred’s body was found it was lying face down in the mud. There were tracks where her fingers had dragged through the mud. Now your story simply can’t be true, because if that gun was actually used as the murder weapon the killing must have taken place after it started to rain.”

“I can’t help it. I’m telling you the truth, Mr. Mason.”

“How much did you tell the police?”

Her eyes shifted.

“Good Heavens!” Mason said angrily. “Can’t you play fair with me? How much did you tell the police?”

Tears came to Diana’s eyes. “I told them everything.”

“I told you to keep your mouth shut.”

“I know you did, but they — well, it was all right until they found that gun, and then they were so nasty and sneering and triumphant, and — and my fingerprints were on the gun and they started to bully me. Well, I told them the truth.”

“But,” Mason said angrily, “it can’t be the truth, Mildred wasn’t killed until after it started to rain.”

Diana said nothing.

“Look here,” Mason charged, “you’re trying to protect someone. You found that gun some time after you’d discovered the body, not before. You hid it and...”

“No, Mr. Mason, honestly. I swear.”

“How,” Mason demanded, “could that gun have been used in committing the murder if the murder was committed after it started to rain, and... wait a minute!”

Mason drew his brows together in a frown. His voice suddenly showed excitement. “Look here, Diana, you’ve got to tell me the exact truth. You can’t deviate from it by so much as a hairsbreadth.”

“I’m telling you the truth, Mr. Mason.”

Mason abruptly got up from the chair and signaled the matron that the interview was over. “All right,” he said, “I’m going to get busy. If you’re lying you’ll get a first degree verdict slapped into your face.”

Mason left the jail, came down to where Della Street was sitting in the automobile waiting. “Well?” she asked.

Mason said, “She says she found the gun before she went out to San Felipe Boulevard. That means that she found the gun very shortly after it began to rain.”

“But the murder couldn’t have been committed then,” Della Street said. “The marks of the hand dragging through the mud show that it had already started to rain when the murder took place.”

Mason nodded slowly.

“Then she’s lying,” Della Street said bitterly.

“No,” Mason said, “there’s one chance, one slender theory that may give us a fighting chance. The girl may be telling the truth.”

“I don’t see how.”

Mason said, “What do you do with a rain water cistern at the end of the dry season, Della?”

“I wouldn’t know, why? What’s that got to do with it?”

Mason said, “You drain the cistern of the old water that’s in it. You let the new rainfall wash the dirt off the roof and then you close the cistern so you collect a fresh supply of rain water.”

“Well?” she asked.

“And yesterday when it was apparent that it was going to start raining the natural thing to have done would have been to open the drain faucet in the cistern and let the old water drain out. And that water would naturally run down into the low part of the backyard where the body was discovered so that the murder could have been committed before the rain started, and there still would have been mud there that would have left the tracks of the clutching fingers...”

“Chief!” Della Street exclaimed. “I remember now. You said the faucet was open when we were out there!”

Mason nodded. “The point is, can we prove it?”

“Could I be a witness?”

“Did you notice the water running out through the faucet?”

She puckered her forehead in thought, then said, “No, I didn’t see it. I remember you mentioned that the faucet was open, but I actually didn’t turn around to look at it.”

“There you are,” Mason said.

“But how about you? Couldn’t you be a witness?”

“Not while I was also a lawyer for the defendant — and even if I were a witness, would the jury believe me? No, Della, we’ve got to rely upon the police photographs. They should show that there is a stream of water coming down from the faucet on the cistern.”

“Did you tell Diana?” she asked.

Mason shook his head.

“Why? It would give the girl some hope, something to cling to, something...”

“And the police would find out she was clinging to something, work her over until they found out what it was, and we’d be licked before we started. No, Della, the only hope we have of using that theory is to bring it as a stunning surprise to the prosecution, let them build up their entire case on the theory that the murder was committed an hour or so after the rain started, and then spring this on them to show that it could have been committed before. That’s the only way we can ever account for the time element on the finding of that gun.”

Delia Street gripped his arm. “Gosh, Chief! I’m so excited! If it will only work!”

Mason started the car, said grimly, “It’s darn near got to work. There was some sort of bond between Diana and Mildred that made Diana intensely, fanatically loyal to her friend. She saw Mildred’s gun and hid it — and didn’t tell me. She found Mildred’s body — and told no one but tried to get me to go out with her. She’s playing a deep game.”

“Find out what the trouble was in her past life?” Delia asked.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I was afraid to have her tell me about it. Once she told me, it would be easier for her to start talking the second time and tell the police all about it. I gave her a brush-off for holding out on me, and then left. She’ll grit her teeth now and hold out on the cops until doomsday — or let’s hope so.”