Chapter Fifteen

Mason sat in his office, shirt open at the neck, the remnants of a cup of coffee in front of him.

Paul Drake sat in the client’s overstuffed chair, making notes. Della Street opened a sealed package, put a new charge of coffee in the percolator.

Mason, dog-tired, said, “I’m stuck with this woman, Paul. I walked into the case blind and I can’t get out.

“Now, then, I can’t tell you all that the police have on her because probably I don’t know, but the big thing I have to find out is whether the police have located the fatal weapon.”

“Your client have a gun?” Drake asked.

“That,” Mason said, “is only part of the question. She has a thirty-eight-caliber Colt revolver which was bought in an open market at a reputable gun store, and the store’s firearm record will show she has that gun.”

“Where is it?” Drake asked.

“Probably in the hands of the police,” Mason said. “Now, then, Paul, the thing I absolutely have to find out is whether that gun fired the fatal bullet.”

“And if it did?” Drake asked.

“If it did,” Mason said, “the only thing I can do is to try to cop a plea. There isn’t one chance in ten thousand that a jury would acquit Ellen Adair.”

“And if it isn’t the fatal gun?”

“If it isn’t the fatal gun,” Mason said, “we’ve got to be able to prove that it isn’t the fatal gun.

“The fact that she had a gun and the fact that the gun is presumably the same type of gun which was used in the murder — by that I mean it wasn’t an automatic and didn’t eject a cartridge — and all of the other things combined are going to make quite a case of circumstantial evidence.”

“But it’ll still be circumstantial evidence,” Drake said.

“Circumstantial evidence,” Mason told him, “is, as a matter of fact, about the strongest evidence we have. The big trouble with circumstantial evidence lies in its interpretation.”

Drake said, “I understand from a confidential source that the police are going to be able to show that Ellen Adair’s automobile was parked in Agnes Burlington’s driveway and that Ellen Adair was inside the house long before the police were notified.

“The assumption of the prosecution is going to be that there was some evidence she wanted suppressed or changed in some way and that Ellen Adair came and got you and you went with her to the scene of the crime, fixed things the way you wanted them to be found by the police, and then notified the police.”

“They’ll adopt that attitude,” Mason said. “It’s an unjust attitude and an uncharitable attitude as far as an attorney-at-law is concerned, but, nevertheless, there’s enough evidence to support it, so they’ll adopt it.”

“Can they prove that her car was there and that she was in the place?” Drake asked. “If they can, it looks pretty tough, unless you can do some mighty fast talking by way of explanation.”

Mason said, “It’s just another piece of circumstantial evidence, and there are lots of bits of evidence. For instance, Paul, I think the circumstantial evidence will show that Agnes Burlington met her death within about two hours after she had eaten a meal. I want to know what that meal consisted of and what time it was eaten.”

“How are you going to prove that?”

“There’s a supermarket nearby. I think probably she ran in there from time to time for provisions. See what you can find out there.”

“Think they’ll remember her at the supermarket?” Drake asked.

“It’s a chance worth taking,” Mason said. “I have an idea that we’re dealing with a woman living alone who would go into the supermarket, pick up a few odds and ends, perhaps one of these complete frozen dinners, take it home, put it in the oven until it was ready to serve, then eat — that is, when she was eating by herself.

“Now, then, the police have been a little bit reluctant to give out information about the contents of the stomach. I think perhaps there’s a clue in their reluctance.

“If she had eaten a steak dinner with French fried potatoes, a salad and perhaps a dish of vegetables, it would indicate that she had been out with some man, in which event the man would have escorted her back to her duplex house.”

“But you don’t know whether it was a dinner she ate as her last meal or a lunch or a breakfast.”

“I know that the lights had been left on,” Mason said, “and that leads me to believe that the crime took place sometime in the evening; and if that was within two hours of the time the meal was ingested, it probably was the sort of meal she’d get when she didn’t want to be bothered with a lot of cooking and a lot of dishes.

“If, on the other hand, the meal was one that would have cost from three to six dollars in a restaurant, I have an idea she was out with a man.”

“That’s good reasoning,” Drake said.

“Therefore,” Mason told him, “a lot depends on the nature of the meal. Circumstantial evidence can be tricky sometimes, but it never gives you a complete double cross the way some people will, and two million dollars is quite a temptation to anyone.”

Drake nodded. “Anything else?”

Mason looked at his watch. “Nothing, except to get some sleep, Paul. Try and find out what you can.”

Drake said, “I know one thing: they’re having trouble finding the fatal bullet.”

Mason’s eyes widened. “But they have to find it, Paul.”

“That’s what Lieutenant Tragg has told his officers, but they’ve sifted everything in the house, and I understand, off the record, they are a little chagrined because they can’t find the fatal bullet.”

Mason said, “It’s in there someplace. They’ll dig it up. I certainly would like to know if it matches with any gun they’ve uncovered in the case.”

“I think I’ve got a pipeline in to the police. I may not be able to get you a lot of detailed information, but I think I can let you know if they have the fatal bullet and whether it matches the gun.”

“See what you can do,” Mason said.

Drake unwound his tall figure from his chair, said, “I’ll be in touch, Perry,” and went out.

Della Street regarded the lawyer with troubled eyes. “Can you afford to put Ellen Adair on the witness stand?” she asked.

“No,” Mason said, “not the way things are looking now. The district attorney would tear her to pieces on cross-examination. She’s put herself in an impossible position and, so far, the circumstantial evidence is all against her.”

“What can you do if you can’t put her on the stand?”

Mason said, “There’s one nice thing about circumstantial evidence; it’s a two-edged sword. It cuts both ways, and it always tells the truth. The trouble with circumstantial evidence is that sometimes we make an incorrect interpretation because we don’t have all the evidence.

“However, Della, I’m just nursing one theory which I’m hoping against hope will pan out.”

“Want to talk?” she asked.

Mason got up from behind his desk, started pacing the floor. “I want to talk,” he said. “You’re a jury. I’m a lawyer representing the defense.”

“All right,” she said; “go ahead.”

Mason said, “The district attorney tells you that he has unmistakable circumstantial evidence that the defendant came to the home of Agnes Burlington, parked her car in the driveway, and went in to see the woman who was murdered.

“The prosecution has introduced moulage exhibits, and there seems to be no question that the automobile belonging to the defendant was actually driven into the driveway of the Burlington house.

“Now, I’ll ask you the question: when was it driven?

“At first blush you may think we can’t answer that question — that is, that we can’t answer it with reference to the time of death — but I think we can.

“The evidence shows that Agnes Burlington was in the habit of watering her lawn in the evening. She had an underground system, and it was her habit to turn this on so that just a mere trickle of water was coming out from the various outlets. She would then leave this water on until she went to bed, when she would turn it off.”

“Can I ask a question?” Della Street said.

“Jurors can always ask questions,” Mason said, smiling. “What is your question, Miss Juror?”

“How do we know that it was her custom to turn on the water in the evening and turn it off when she went to bed?”

“We don’t as yet,” Mason said, “but I think the evidence indicates that that’s what happened this night, and I think — in fact, I hope — we can show that it was her custom.”

“Go ahead,” Della Street said.

“Now, then,” Mason said, “the particular night in question, the one we’re interested in, Agnes Burlington didn’t turn off the water; she didn’t turn off the electric lights.”

“Why?”

“The answer has to be because she was alive when she turned on the water, she was alive when she turned on the lights; but when the time came when she would normally turn off the water and normally turn off the lights she was dead. Moreover, weather records show there was a violent thundershower on the evening of the fourth. This is an unusual event for this climate; but there was the usual violent wind, the usual brief, drenching rain.

“If Agnes Burlington had been alive after that drenching rain, she would have turned off the water on the lawn. And the noise of the thunder could have prevented any neighbors from hearing the shot.

“Therefore, the water ran all night on the lawn, all the next morning. The lights were on all that night, all the next morning. Then Ellen Adair drove up to see Agnes Burlington.

“We can’t prove the exact time that Ellen Adair parked her car, but we do know that it must have been many hours after Agnes Burlington’s death, because the water, turned on so that it would trickle through the watering system onto the lawn, had soaked the lawn and then had drained down into the driveway so that it had left the driveway so muddy that the soil had retained the prints of the tires on the defendant’s car when she had driven in.

“In other words, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the evidence conclusively shows that Ellen Adair must have driven her car into that driveway twelve to fifteen hours after Agnes Burlington had met her death.”

Mason paused. “How am I doing?” he asked.

“Very well,” Della said. “But won’t Ellen tell you what time she drove in there and left those tracks?”

“Sure she will. She has. She says it was just an hour or two before she came here to the office to tell me about Agnes Burlington.

“I think that’s another lie. She’s either trying to protect her son or is distorting the evidence.

“I have to prepare this case for a jury without relying on any outside help. I have to rely on the evidence.”

“You’re doing fine,” Della Street said. “My verdict is not guilty!”

Mason grinned. “You’re a little too easily persuaded by defense’s arguments, Della. But, so far, that’s our only hope to cling to — that and the hope that the fatal bullet wasn’t fired from the revolver that the police found in the glove compartment of Ellen Adair’s car.”

“Suppose it turns out that the fatal bullet was fired from that gun?”

“Then,” Mason said, “we’ve got to find some dramatic development which is going to indicate innocence; otherwise we’re licked.”

“What about Wight Baird?” Della Street asked. “Couldn’t he have fired the fatal bullet?”

“Sure he could,” Mason said, “and for all we know he did. There’s a modem young man who wants to go through life the easy way. I don’t know how much the Bairds left him, but if it wasn’t a substantial amount he could have pretty well gone through it. And if it was a substantial amount he could have decided that a couple of million more might be very acceptable.”

“But, then, why would he kill Agnes Burlington, whose testimony would establish his claim to the two million?”

“How do we know her testimony would have established his claim?” Mason asked. “We have the word of Ellen Adair for it, but how many times has Ellen Adair lied to us?”

Della Street nodded. “You have a point there,” she said.

“Well,” Mason said, “the preliminary examination starts tomorrow, and by that time we’ll find out a lot more about the case.”

“You won’t try to get the case dismissed?” Della Street asked.

“Not with all this evidence piled up against our client,” Mason said. “Not unless we can get some sort of a break.”

“Well, we can always hope,” Della Street said.

“The whole thing turns on that fatal bullet,” Mason said, “whether it was fired from Ellen Adair’s gun or whether it wasn’t.”

“What does Wight say about the gun?”

“What you’d expect him to say,” Mason said. “He borrowed the gun for target practice a week or ten days earlier. He fired the gun several times, then put it back in the glove compartment of Ellen Adair’s car, where he had told Ellen he’d leave it. Natural enough in one way when you consider his youth, his diversification of interests, girlfriends, studies, hot-rod automobiles, and liquor.”

Della said, “I shudder to think of what that young man would do with two million dollars in cash.”

Mason regarded her thoughtfully. “Look at it from his standpoint,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Figure out what he’d do without two million dollars in cash.”