“Find him?”
“I think he’s the dead man in the next room.”
“I thought you said this woman came here after you did.”
“She did.”
“Then how’d you get in?”
“The door was unlocked and slightly ajar,” Mason said.
“Well, Homicide will be here in a minute or two. The radio dispatcher rushed us out to hold things until Homicide could get here. You haven’t touched anything, have you?”
“No, nothing important.”
“Doorknobs and things like that?”
“Perhaps.”
The officer frowned. “Okay,” he said. “Get out. It’s a pleasant day. You can wait outside as well as in. Let’s not get any more fingerprints around… You didn’t touch the body, did you?”
“No.”
“Go through the clothes?”
“No.”
“Where is it?”
“In that bedroom.”
“Okay,” the officer said. “Go on out… What’s this — blood on the floor?”
“That’s what led us to the corpse,” Mason said. “We noticed the bloodstains on the floor. You notice they go from the outer threshold into the door of the bedroom.”
“Okay,” the officer said. “Go on out. I’ll take a peek in that bedroom.” He opened the door, looked in, then stepped back and pulled the door shut.
Mason said, “There’s some reason to believe the body is that of Albert Tidings, this woman’s husband. Wouldn’t it be well to have her make an identification?”
“She can do that when Homicide gets here,” the radio officer said. “I’m just keeping the evidence lined up. Go on. Out with you. I’ll call you if I want anything.”
Mason led the way out into the fresh air and warm sunlight. The radio officer followed them to the door and called to his partner, who sat behind the wheel of the radio car. “Keep an eye on this outfit, Jack. There’s a stiff in here. It’s a job for Homicide right enough.”
He stepped back inside the house and slammed the door.
Mason offered Mrs. Tidings a cigarette, which she accepted gratefully. Drake shook his head in refusal. Mason placed one between his own lips, and snapped a match into flame. As he held the light to Mrs. Tidings’ cigarette, the grind of a motor running fast in second gear could be heard from the grade.
“That’ll be Homicide,” Mason said.
The Homicide car flashed swiftly around the turn, hit the more level stretch of roadway along the ridge, and swept down upon them. Men jumped out. The radio officer got out from his car and reported in a low voice. The other radio officer appeared at the door of the house. “In here, boys,” he said.
Sergeant Holcomb strode across to Mason. “Hello, Mason.”
“Good morning, Sergeant.”
“How’s it happen you’re here?”
“I had some business with Albert Tidings,” Mason said. “I had a tip I could find him here.”
“Did you?”
“I think it’s his body,” Mason said. “On a guess, I’d say it had been here at least since yesterday afternoon. The gas heat’s turned on, and the windows and doors are tightly closed. That’s a condition you’ll have to take into consideration in determining the time of death.”
“When did you get here?”
“About half an hour ago.”
“You didn’t have any reason to think you’d find a body?”
“No.”
“You’ve seen him before?”
“No.”
“Talked with him over the telephone?”
“I called his office yesterday, yes.”
“What time?”
“I don’t know. I would say it was shortly before eleven o’clock.”
“What did he say?”
“I had a tentative appointment with him,” Mason said. “I wanted to cancel it, and make one at a later date.”
“Have any argument?”
“Not exactly.”
“What was your business with him?”
Mason smiled and shook his head.
“Come on,” Sergeant Holcomb said. “Kick through. If we’re going to solve a murder, we’ve got to have motives. If we knew something about that business you wanted to discuss with him, we might have a swell motive.”
“And again,” Mason said, “you might not.”
Sergeant Holcomb clamped his lips shut. “Okay,” he said. “Don’t leave here until I tell you you can… That your car?”
“Yes.”
“Who’s the other one belong to?”
“Mrs. Tidings… Mrs. Tidings, may I present Sergeant Holcomb?”
Sergeant Holcomb didn’t remove his hat. “What are you to him?” he asked.
“His wife.”
“Living with him?”
“No. We’ve separated.”
“Divorced?”
“No, not yet… That is, no. I haven’t divorced him.”
“Why not?”
She flushed. “I prefer not to discuss that.”
“You’ll have to, sooner or later,” Sergeant Holcomb said. “I don’t want to pry into your private affairs, just to be doing it, but you can’t hold out on the police. You stick right around here. I’m going in.”
The others had already gone on into the house, and Sergeant Holcomb joined them. Mason dropped his cigarette to the cement, ground it out with the sole of his shoe.
“Just as a matter of curiosity, Mrs. Tidings,” he said, “had your husband been here before?”
“Once.”
“On a friendly visit?”
“A business visit.”
“Was there some question of alimony between you?”
“No. Well, it wasn’t serious. Alimony was a detail. I didn’t care about that.”
“You wanted your freedom?”
“Why do you ask these questions?”
“Because it might help my client if I knew some of the answers, and the police are going to make you answer them anyway.”
“Who,” she asked, “is your client?”
Mason said, “I’m not ready to make any statements yet.”
“Is it that Gailord girl?”
“Why?” Mason asked. “What makes you think it’s she?”
She watched him with narrowed eyes. “That,” she said, “isn’t answering my question.”
Mason said, “And you aren’t answering mine.”
He strode out to the curb to stand gazing thoughtfully. The radio officer watched him narrowly. Paul Drake stood close by, his manner seemingly detached.
Suddenly Mason turned to Mrs. Tidings. He said, “You look like a nice girl.”
“Thank you.”
“You wouldn’t by any chance be trying to kid anyone, would you?” Mason asked.
“Why, what do you mean, Mr. Mason?”
Sergeant Holcomb opened the door of the house, motioned to Mrs. Tidings. “Come in here,” he said.
Mason took his cigarette case from his pocket and carefully selected another cigarette. “Watch your step,” he said in a low voice, his eyes turned toward the distant horizon with its gleam of snow-capped mountains. “And if you have anything to say to me, you’d better say it now.”
Mrs. Tidings shook her head in a swiftly decisive gesture of negation and walked firmly toward the house.
Chapter 5
Della Street was waiting in the doorway of Mason’s private office as he came down the corridor. She beckoned to him to come in without going through the reception room of his office.
“Someone laying for me, Della?” he asked.
“Mrs. Tump and Byrl Gailord.”
Mason said, “Her appointment wasn’t until two o’clock.”
“I know it, but they’re all worked up about something. They say that they have to see you right away.”
Mason said, “I thought I’d pick you up for a bite of lunch.”
“I’ve tried to stall them off,” she said. “They won’t stall… They’re biting fingernails and whispering.”