“Sooner or later you’re going to have to tell your story — officially. You can tell it to me now unofficially. If there’s anything about it that sounds fishy, I’ll point it out.”
“Why should any of it sound fishy?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Mason said. “All I know is that your extreme reluctance to talk may be an indication of guilty knowledge. You’d better consult a lawyer, if that’s the case.
“And remember this, Mrs. Bass, someday you’re going to be on the witness stand and I’m going to cross-examine you and if you don’t tell me your story now, I’m going to ask you why you were afraid to tell it.”
“Who says I’m afraid to tell it?”
“I say so.”
“Well I’m not.”
“Then why won’t you tell it?”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t tell it.”
“Make up your mind.”
The room was silent for several seconds, then Hannah Bass said, “There wasn’t anything wrong with it, it was just yielding to a childish whim. Robert is an unusual boy. He loves Western pictures. He wants to grow up and be a marshal or a cowpuncher or something of that sort. He’s crazy about firearms. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“How did it happen that you started letting him have the .22?” Mason asked.
“It was one time when I was baby-sitting with him. I had to stay there for two days while Mr. and Mrs. Jennings were away. They left Robert with me.”
“You occupied the spare bedroom on the second floor?”
“Yes.”
“At the front of the house?”
“Yes.”
“Go on,” Mason said.
“Well, I opened a drawer in the bureau in order to put some of my things away and found this gun.”
“What sort of a gun?”
“A Colt Woodsman.”
“You know something about guns?”
“I was married to a man who ran shooting galleries. He was one of the best shots in the country. He taught me how to handle guns.”
“And how to shoot?” Mason asked.
“I became a very good shot,” she admitted.
“All right, what happened?”
“Robert came walking into the room while I was looking this gun over. He was completely fascinated with it. He wanted to hold it for a while.”
“What did you do?”
“I took out the magazine clip and saw that it was fully loaded. I snapped back the recoil-operated mechanism and found there was no shell in the barrel. So I let Robert handle the gun.”
“And then what happened?”
“He was completely fascinated. He had seen me work the mechanism. He wanted to know how to handle the gun and all about it.
“So then I took the shells out of the magazine, put the magazine in place and let him play with the empty gun for a while. Then I put it back in the drawer. I don’t think Robert talked about anything else all day. I was afraid his parents wouldn’t like what I had done, although for my part I think the best way to teach boys about firearms is to teach them at an early age and teach them to handle them safely. However, all parents don’t have the same idea.”
“So what did you do?” Mason asked.
“I made Robert promise that he wouldn’t tell his folks anything about that gun.”
“And after that?” Mason asked.
“Well,” she said, somewhat reluctantly, “after that Robert had sort of a hold on me. When his parents would be gone he’d insist on having me unload the gun and let him keep it in his hand. At first I made him stay in the house, but after a while — well, I let him take it outdoors and play with it.
“For the life of me I don’t see that there was anything wrong with what I did, but there were times when I felt as though I should go to Mrs. Jennings and discuss the matter with her.
“The trouble was I had already let Robert play with the weapon. I don’t think I have ever seen a child as completely fascinated with any toy as Robert was with just holding that automatic in his hands.”
“Did he ever pull the trigger?” Mason asked.
“Of course he did. However, I made him promise that he’d never, never pull the trigger when the gun was pointed at anyone. I showed him the safety, showed him how to put it on and keep it on, and it was part of his agreement with me that he was always to have this safety in place while he was handling the gun.”
“You were there with him at night?” Mason asked.
“Sometimes. I’ve stayed as much as a couple of days at a time.”
“And Robert has played with the gun each time?”
“Yes.”
“And at night has he ever slept with the gun under his pillow?”
“Once, yes.”
“How did that happen?”
“He’s a rather nervous, high-strung child despite the fact that he keeps his emotions under such excellent control. He liked to camp out in that tent on the patio and he told me it would give him a feeling of assurance if he had the gun with him. He said there were noises in the night and he wanted some protection, was the way he expressed it.”
“And you let him take the gun?”
“Just that once. That was when I found he had a shell for it. That’s when I began to get frightened of the whole business. I told him he was just a little boy seven years old, that he couldn’t have any gun for protection until he got to be a big man.”
“Now then, when Lorraine Jennings and Barton Jennings went down on Friday night to meet Norda Allison at the airport, did you take care of Robert?”
She shook her head.
“Who did?”
“I think they left him there alone with the dog. Rover wouldn’t let anyone get near Robert. I think his folks put Robert to bed and then just quietly went down to meet the plane.”
“Would they leave him alone like that?”
“Sometimes. The dog was always there. Sometimes they’d leave after he’d gone to sleep. I don’t like the idea of that. I think that whenever you are planning on leaving a child alone, you should tell him. I think if a child wakes up at night and finds he’s alone, when he expects his parents to be there, it gives him an emotional shock.”
“Did they ever say anything to you at any time about the gun, or did you ever say anything to them? In other words, do you think that they knew you were letting him take the gun?”
“I never said anything to them and they never said anything to me. Robert promised me that he wouldn’t tell them and I’m satisfied he wouldn’t. Robert is a child, but he’s a man of his word.”
“But you do know Robert wanted the gun when he was sleeping out in the patio?”
“Yes.”
“If Robert had wakened and wanted something in the house and had found his mother and his stepfather were away, do you think it is possible that he could have gone to that bedroom and taken the gun out of the drawer?”
A look of sudden alarm came on her face.
“Do you?” Mason asked.
“Good heavens, did he do that?” she asked in a half whisper.
“I’m asking you if it’s possible.”
“It’s very possible,” she said.
Mason smiled and said, “I think that does it, Mrs. Bass. Here’s your forty dollars for the baby-sitting.”
“Good heavens,” she said, “if he had done that, if Mr. Mason, do you think that child could possibly have... good heavens, no! It’s preposterous! He wouldn’t have done anything like that!”
Mason said, “Those are the words you use to reassure yourself, Mrs. Bass, but if there had been a mirror in front of your face, you would have seen from your dismayed expression exactly how possible you thought that would have been.”
Mason handed her four ten-dollar bills.