“I wrapped that gun in tissue paper, then I wrapped it in heavy brown paper. I sealed the brown paper with transparent adhesive tape, then I typed a label stating what was in the package and fastened that label with adhesive tape to the paper, then I signed my name across the seals and put the sealed package in the bottom of my bag of golf clubs.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I put the golf clubs in my locker, locked the door of the locker, put the key to the locker back in my desk drawer in its accustomed place. Then later on when Mr. Hastings didn’t show up for his ten o’clock appointment I tried to call him, found that the tape recording answering service was still on and I drove out to Hastings’ house.”
“Did you get in?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Mr. Hastings kept a key here in the office so that in case it became necessary for him to send anyone out to the house there would be a key. Sometimes he would call on long distance telephone with instructions for someone to get an article from his house, perhaps a suitcase packed with fresh clothes, perhaps some papers which he had left at the house. I’ve been over all this with the police, answered all their questions and—”
“Never mind what you’ve been over with the police,” Burger snapped. “You’re going over it again, all of it. You’re answering my questions now. Where was that key kept?”
“In the closet of Mr. Hastings’ private office.”
“That’s this office?”
“Yes.”
“Show me the closet.”
Beason walked over to the closet, opened the door, said, “The key hangs on this nail here.”
“It’s not there now,” Burger said.
“No, sir,” Beason said. “The police took it from me this morning.”
“It was generally known where that key was kept?” Burger asked.
“I would assume so.”
“All right, now what happened to that gun after you put it in the golf bag?”
“I was summoned to Mr. Mason’s office.”
“By whom?”
“By Perry Mason.”
“And what happened there?”
“He accused me of taking the gun. I admitted it.”
“Then what happened?”
“I telephoned Rosalie Blackburn, my secretary, and asked her to bring it to Mr. Mason’s office.”
“Which one is Rosalie Blackburn?” Burger asked.
“I am,” the secretary said, stepping forward.
“All right, what did you do?”
“I got the key to the locker, took out the golf clubs, turned the golf bag upside down, took out the package and delivered it to Mr. Mason’s office.”
“What was the condition of the package when you first saw it?” Burger asked.
“It had been cut open with a very sharp knife.”
“And what did you do about that?”
“Nothing. I could see there was a gun inside the paper. It fell out of the package to the floor when I turned the golf bag upside down.”
“What did you do then?”
“I picked up the gun, wrapped it back in the paper and took the package to Mr. Beason at Mr. Mason’s office.”
“All right,” Burger said wearily, “now I want to know who cut open that package?... Come on, speak up.”
There was silence.
Burger said, “Very well, I’m going to tell all of you something. This is a murder case. We’re not playing games here. This is a very serious matter. I want you all to understand something about the law, as well as the facts.
“Garvin Hastings was killed in his bed while he was asleep. When you kill a sleeping man it isn’t manslaughter, it isn’t second-degree murder. It’s not done in the heat of passion, it’s done as the result of cold-blooded, deliberate planning. It’s first-degree murder and the penalty for first-degree murder is either death or life imprisonment.
“Any person who conceals evidence or tries to aid and abet the murderer becomes an accessory. Any person who tries to tamper with evidence is guilty of a crime.
“It is quite evident that someone has been tampering with evidence. We know that Simley Beason did. I am going to hold him strictly accountable. It also appears that after he had tampered with the evidence, some person opened that package. Now, I want to know who did it and why it was done and whether there was any substitution of weapons or any tampering with evidence.
“While you’re all here some person who has significant information may not care to come forward and disclose it, but I want you to realize that you have a duty to disclose everything you know, and I feel sure that in an office this size evidence couldn’t have been tampered with without someone knowing something, at least some suspicious circumstance.
“Now then, my office is going to be wide open for any incoming telephone calls and Lieutenant Tragg here, at Homicide at police headquarters, is going to be anxious to find out what happened.
“If any one of you people have any knowledge, I want you to get to a telephone sometime before the close of business this afternoon and give us that information.
“I want to impress upon you that this is a murder case and that we’re not going to have any fooling around with— Who’s this?”
The people near the door were thrust aside.
A thick-set individual with an aggressive manner pushed his way forward.
“I’m Huntley L. Banner, Mr. Burger,” he said. “I haven’t met you but I’ve seen you in court several times.”
“And who are you?” Burger asked.
“I’m an attorney. I represented Garvin Hastings in his lifetime and I am representing his widow at the moment.”
“I thought Mason was representing his widow,” Burger said.
Banner said, “Mr. Mason is representing Adelle Hastings. I am representing the widow, Minerva Hastings.”
“Wasn’t there a divorce?”
“I think I’ll let Mrs. Hastings answer that question,” Banner said, and again turned toward the door.
The people nearest the door fell back, and a woman in her early thirties entered the room.
She was a striking brunette. Her chin was up, her eyes were flashing.
Banner took her arm and said, “This is Garvin Hastings’ widow. This is Minerva Shelton Hastings. She owns all this business.”
“Didn’t you get a divorce in Nevada?” Burger asked her.
“I did not,” she said. “I went to Nevada and established a residence. I filed a divorce suit. I did not carry it through to completion.”
“What!” Simley Beason exclaimed.
She smiled at him triumphantly and said, “I did not carry it through to completion.”
“But,” Beason exclaimed, “you wrote Garvin Hastings that everything was taken care of, that—!”
“Certainly I did,” she said. “That little strumpet in the office was trying to twist him around her finger, trying to feather her nest financially, and I decided that I would fight fire with fire.”
Hamilton Burger said, “You knew that your husband was planning to marry his secretary?”
“Of course I did. That’s why he virtually booted me out. I was to go to Nevada and get a divorce.”
“And you filed suit for divorce?” Burger asked.
“Yes, I did,” she said defiantly.
“Where?”
“In Carson City.”
“Carson City?”
“That’s right. I had some friends there and I felt I could accomplish what I wanted to accomplish better in Carson City than anywhere else.”
“Then you wrote your husband that you had secured a divorce?”
“I did not. I wrote him that everything had been completed according to plan.”
Simley Beason said, “It’s all a lie. She sent him a copy of the divorce decree.”
Minerva Hastings smiled at him. “I sent him what purported to be a copy of a decree,” she said. “It wasn’t a certified copy.”