Mason said, “You overlooked one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“On the California line near Topaz Lake there’s a state quarantine checking station. They check the cars that go through, particularly the cars that come into the state. They keep a record of license numbers… You went to Reno by plane?”
“Yes.”
“And stored your car?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In a small garage where I sometimes keep it.”
“Do they know you?”
She smiled and said, “Not as Mrs. Tidings.”
“Under another name?”
“Yes.”
“Mrs. Peltham?”
“No, not Mrs. Peltham. Mrs. Hushman.”
“Who’s Mr. Hushman?” Mason asked.
She lowered her eyes, then after a moment said, “Mr. Peltham.”
There was the sound of a car being driven rapidly past the house. The tires screamed a protest as the machine was whisked around the turntable. Della Street, getting up from the chair in which she was sitting, crossed over to the window to look out.
“A police car,” she said to Mason.
Mason’s eyes narrowed. “Mrs. Tidings,” he said, “I want you to promise me one thing. Make absolutely no statements. Refuse to answer any questions.”
“But surely, Mr. Mason, you don’t think…”
From the window, Della Street said, “Sergeant Holcomb and an officer are getting out. They’re coming toward the house.”
“Will you promise me?” Mason asked.
“Yes.”
“Remember, your life depends on keeping that promise.”
“But, Mr. Mason, they can’t touch me, regardless of how I went to Reno. I certainly was there by five o’clock Tuesday morning, and the testimony of Albert’s secretary shows that he was alive and well until noon on Tuesday.”
“Did you,” Mason asked, as steps sounded on the porch, “know that Mattern was going to do that?”
“No, of course not. It was just a lucky break for us.”
Mason said, “Well, there’s one thing wrong with that. It isn’t the truth. Any time you go to court relying on something that isn’t the truth, your whole defense may collapse under you. I don’t handle my cases that way. I find out the truth, and build up my defense on a solid foundation… Now then, if you killed him, I want you to tell me.”
“I didn’t kill him.”
The doorbell rang steadily and insistently.
“If you’re lying to me,” Mason said, “heaven help you.”
“Mr. Mason, I’m telling you the absolute, honest truth. I’ve lied to you before. Now I’m telling you the truth.”
The doorbell continued ringing, and was supplemented by the pounding of imperative knuckles on the panels of the door.
“If you didn’t kill him,” Mason asked, “who did?”
“Honestly, Mr. Mason, I haven’t the faintest idea. It must have been someone over that trust fund. Sometimes I’ve suspected…”
The door groaned against pressure as the officers pushed their shoulders against it.
Mason said, “All right. Go open the door.”
Mrs. Tidings crossed over and opened the door.
Sergeant Holcomb came pushing his way into the room. He looked at Perry Mason and Della Street.
“You two!” he said, in a voice that showed his anger. “What are you doing here?”
“Talking with my client,” Mason said.
Sergeant Holcomb said, “You knew I was coming. How did you know it?”
Mason shook his head.
“You’re retained by Mrs. Tidings?”
“Yes.”
“For what did she retain you?”
“To handle her business.”
“What’s the nature of that business?”
Mason smiled. “Really, Sergeant, an attorney doesn’t discuss the affairs of his client.”
Sergeant Holcomb whirled to Mrs. Tidings, “All right, Mrs. Tidings,” he said. “We’re going to have some answers to some questions here and now. The records show that you didn’t drive your car to Reno. During the time that you were in Reno, your car was parked in a garage on East Central Avenue. They know you there as Mrs. Robert Hushman. They have seen your purported husband, Mr. Hushman. The garage men have identified photographs of Robert Peltham as being photographs of Robert Hushman. They’ve identified photographs of you… Now then, what have you to say to that?”
Mason said, “I can answer that question.”
“I don’t want you to,” Sergeant Holcomb said. “I want an answer from her.”
She said, “I have nothing to say.”
Mason nodded. “I have instructed her not to answer any questions.”
“If she doesn’t answer that question,” Sergeant Holcomb said, “she’s going to headquarters. She’s going to have a chat with the D.A. If she doesn’t give an explanation of certain facts at that time, she’s going to be charged with first-degree murder.”
Mason carefully ground out the end of his cigarette. “Put your hat on, Mrs. Tidings,” he said.
Chapter 11
Back in the automobile, driving toward Mason’s office, Della Street said, “Why didn’t you tell Mrs. Tidings about the news?”
“You mean about Peltham’s coat being found in his automobile?”
“Yes.”
Mason said, “I’ll let Holcomb do that.”
“That will be an awful shock to her, Chief… Shouldn’t you have tipped her off that you had reason to believe it was a plant, and not to get all excited about it?”
“No,” Mason said.
“Why, Chief?”
Mason said, “I originally intended that little plant to trap Adelle Hastings. I wanted to smoke Peltham out into the open, and I figured that someone would do some talking if it appeared that Peltham was dead.”
“That’s just the danger,” Della Street pointed out. “If Mrs. Tidings thinks Peltham is dead, she might say something.”
“Let her say it,” Mason said. “If Peltham’s hiding behind her skirts, it’s time he was pushed out into the open.”
“Do you think he is?”
Mason said, “I don’t know. Get this, Della. Lots of lawyers go into court with a case founded on false testimony. Sometimes they make it stick. Sometimes they don’t. Personally, I’ve never dared to take the risk. Truth is the most powerful weapon a man can use, and if you practice law the way we do, it’s the only weapon powerful enough to use.
“A lawyer doing the things that I have done and relying on anything less powerful than truth would be disbarred in a month. This case bothers me… It baffles me. I can’t figure exactly what happened, yet I have to know what happened.
“I think I know now what happened, but I haven’t enough truth to forge a sufficiently powerful weapon with which to fight… However, let’s quit worrying about it right now. I think things are going to work out. Let’s go see Adelle Hastings.”
They found Adelle Hastings at her apartment. Beyond a certain hardness of facial expression, there was no sign of emotion.
Mason, studying her with shrewd, appraising eyes, noticed that hard, frozen mask behind which she concealed her feelings.
Mason said, “Miss Street, my secretary, Miss Hastings.”
Adelle Hastings acknowledged the introduction with a polite cordiality which gave everything that formality demanded, but went not a step beyond.
“Won’t you come in?” she asked.
Mason said, “I hardly expected to find you here. I understood you were working.”
“I’m not working today,” she said, and offered no other explanation. “Won’t you sit down?”