“Nothing. He wasn’t there.”
“Where was Carla?”
“She wasn’t there.”
“Perhaps they both went out.”
“No, no. You don’t understand. Carla has been confined to the house for months. She’s been in bed for more than two months. Now she’s getting around the house a bit, and occasionally she goes for a ride.”
“Perhaps Bob took her for a ride.”
“No. Her own car’s gone.”
“You think she drove it?”
“I’m sure she did. No one else ever drives it.”
Mason said, “Bob went some place. You think he went to see Lynk. Now where do you think your sister went?”
“I think she followed him.”
“You think Bob killed Lynk?”
“I think Carla... I don’t know what did happen.”
“All right, where did you get the gun?”
“Well, when I went there the second time and found they were gone, I looked around some. I found this gun on Carla’s dresser.”
“I thought you said it was your gun.”
“It is, but I let Carla have it two months ago. She was left in the house alone quite a bit, and I wanted her to have some protection.”
“Bob was going out?”
“Yes. You couldn’t expect him to give up everything and become just a stay-at-home because Carla was an invalid. No one expected that, and — well, you know how it is. I suppose he... well, he...”
“Played around?” Mason asked.
“Yes.”
“Was the gun on the dresser when you were there earlier in the evening?”
“No. And — well, a few of Carla’s things were gone. I didn’t notice them right at first, but I got to looking around and some of her medicines and a few of her clothes were gone.”
“What do you think happened?” Mason asked.
Words poured out in hysterical rapidity. “I think that she followed Bob out to Lynk’s place. I think Bob had my gun and killed him. I think Carla knows it. Good Heavens, I wish I knew where she was! I’m worried absolutely sick about her. It was bad enough for her to get out of bed and drive her car, but the shock of finding out about Bob, of knowing about the murder, of... it’s awful.”
“Then you think she came back to the house?” Mason asked.
“Yes.”
“About when?”
“I don’t know. I left there about quarter to one. That’s why I was a little late getting to your office for the one o’clock appointment. I arrived about twenty minutes to one, and wasted a good five minutes looking around and trying to find what had happened. Then I decided to rush to your office. Then you told me about Esther Dilmeyer being drugged and — and you said you were going out to see Lynk, and I thought — well, I tried to persuade myself it was all right.”
“Then you had an idea Lynk was dead before I went out there?”
“Well, I didn’t know. I knew the gun had been used.”
“How did you know that?”
“Because I looked at it, and found an empty shell in it.”
“Then,” Mason said, “you got your fingerprints all over the gun?”
“Yes, I guess so.”
“And slipped it in the pocket of your coat?”
“Yes.”
“Now you say you think Bob killed him?”
“That’s right.”
“And that Carla knew about it?”
“Yes.”
“And that Carla came home and packed up some things and left?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think Bob came back with her?”
“No. I think Bob must have just kept right on going. You know, I don’t think Bob would have nerve enough to face anything like that. I think he’d kill a man and then run away.”
“Then,” Mason said dryly, “if we are to follow your reasoning to its logical conclusion, after Bob killed him, Carlotta got the gun with which the murder was committed.”
She bit her lip and turned away so that he couldn’t see her face.
“Is that right?” Mason asked.
She said, “I g-g-guess so.”
“That isn’t logical,” Mason said. “You know it.”
“Well, what is logical?”
“I don’t know, but I want to find out where I stand. You want me to represent your sister?”
“That’s right.”
“But not you?”
“No. I can take care of myself.”
Mason said, “Don’t be too sure. If that’s the murder weapon, it’s in your possession. It has your fingerprints on it.”
“I tell you I can take care of myself. They can’t pin anything on me. I’m strong and healthy. They can question me, and it won’t hurt me. They can’t prove a thing.”
“Where were you at midnight?”
“I was... I was at my store in the office trying to figure things out so I could see just how much money I could raise in case we had to buy that stock.”
“And you want me to represent your sister?”
“Yes, please. I want you to stand back of her.”
Mason said, “No one needs to know anything about her having gone out. If her husband killed him, that won’t involve her.”
“You don’t understand. If you knew about her condition, if you could see her. This must have been a terrible strain. If they should start questioning her, or the newspaper men should get after her and ask her questions about Bob and about where she was, and about how she got the gun and those things — well, it would undo all the good that her treatment has accomplished. She’d either die, or her heart would be so bad it never would get better.”
Mason said, “Who’s going to pay me for representing her?”
“I am.”
“If I’m representing her, I’ll be representing her alone.”
“Of course.”
“Her interests would come first.”
“That’s what I want.”
“If yours get in the way, you’d be in the position of an adverse party. I’d smash you just as quickly as I would a total stranger.”
“That’s the way I want you to do.”
“Did you ever hear of the paraffin test?” Mason asked abruptly.
“The paraffin test? What are you talking about?”
“For telling whether a person has fired a gun recently?”
“What’s paraffin got to do with that?”
“Whenever a gun’s fired, an invisible spray of powder particles backfire, and imbed themselves in the skin of a person’s hand. They’re microscopic particles, invisible to the naked eye, but they always fly back and are imbedded in the skin.
“The Scientific Crime Detection Bureau has worked out a new technique for telling whether a person has fired a gun. They pour melted paraffin over the suspect’s hands, reinforce it with a thin layer of cotton, and then cover it with wax. After the paraffin has just about set, the whole thing is rolled back from the hand. The little bits of powder which buried themselves in the skin of the hand are caught by the paraffin and adhere to it when the mold is taken from the hand. A chemical reagent is poured on the paraffin. That reacts on the nitrates in the powder so that it brings about a chemical change that makes the specks visible to the naked eye.”
“I see,” she said, her voice holding a slight quaver.
Mason said, “If Carlotta didn’t fire that gun, it would be a lot better for her to go to the police right now and tell them her story, whatever it is. Then, before it’s too late, the police could subject her hands to a paraffin test and prove that she didn’t fire the gun. That would clear her.”
“But... but... suppose she did?”
“In that event,” Mason said, “with one shot fired out of the gun, with the police able to prove that the gun had been in her possession, with a paraffin test showing that she had recently fired the gun, and with the ballistics experts showing that the bullet which killed Harvey Lynk came from that gun, your sister would be headed for the gas chamber at San Quentin.