“And then last night?”
“Then last night I took the bullet out to her.”
“Tom was with you?”
“No, I went alone.”
“There was some identification mark on that bullet?”
“Yes. Tom had given me an etching tool and we’d both etched our initials on the base of the bullet. Mrs. Faulkner was very insistent that we do it just that way, and told us to be very careful not to mar the sides of the bullet because she wanted to be able to prove what gun had fired the bullet.”
“How much were you to get?”
“She said that if a certain deal went through, we’d get five hundred, and if another deal went through we’d get two thousand.”
“And then last night you took the bullet out to her?”
“That’s right.”
“When?”
“About half past nine, I guess it was.”
“Half past nine!” Mason exclaimed incredulously.
“That’s right.”
“And where was she?”
“At her house.”
“And she paid you the two thousand dollars?”
“Yes.”
“And that’s where the two thousand came from?”
“That’s right.”
“And this story about Faulkner paying you two thousand was all poppycock?”
“Yes. I had to account for two thousand some way, and I thought that was the best way to account for it, because Mrs. Faulkner warned me that if I ever said anything about that two thousand dollars that she wouldn’t back me up at all, and the taking of that bullet would be burglary, a breaking and entering, and that both Tom and I would go to jail.”
Mason said, “Wait a minute. By half past nine Faulkner must have been dead.”
“Yes, I guess so.”
“Lying there in the bathroom.”
“Yes.”
“Then, when you took the bullet out to Mrs. Faulkner, where was she sitting? In the living room? She must have known her husband was dead by that time, if she was there in the house...”
“Not that Mrs. Faulkner,” Sally Madison explained. “Don’t you understand, Mr. Mason? It was the first Mrs. Faulkner, Mrs. Genevieve Faulkner.”
For more than ten seconds, Mason sat in utter silence, his eyes level-lidded, his brows knitted together. “Sally, you’re not lying to me?”
“Not now, Mr. Mason. I’m telling you the absolute truth.”
“Tom will back you up in your story?”
“About recovering the bullet and identifying it. But he doesn’t know the person who was going to pay me the money. Those dealings were all through me.”
Mason said, “Sally, if you’re lying to me now, you’re going to the death chamber just as sure as you’re sitting there, and Tom Gridley will die in jail.”
“I’m telling you the truth, Mr. Mason.”
“You got the two thousand dollars at nine-thirty last night?”
“That’s right.”
“But you did call on Mr. Faulkner?”
“Yes. Between eight and eight-thirty. It’s just like I told you. The door was open just an inch or two. I walked in. There was no one home except Mr. Faulkner. He was in the bathroom — was just shaving — I guess he’d just finished. There was still just a bit of lather on his face where the razor had left marks. There was hot water running in the tub and he only had on his undershirt above his trousers. I guess the running water prevented him from hearing the chimes when I pushed the bell button. I walked in because I felt I just had to see him, and his car was parked out in front so I knew he was there.”
“What happened?” Mason asked.
“He told me to get out. He told me that whenever he wanted to see me, he’d send for me, and he was very abusive. I tried to tell him that Mr. Rawlins had told me he’d taken something that belonged to Tom, and that that was just the same as stealing.”
“And what did he do?”
“He told me to get out.”
“Didn’t give you a check payable to Tom, and offer that as a settlement?”
“No.”
“Just told you to get out?”
“That’s right. He said if I didn’t get out he’d throw me out.”
“And what did you do?”
“I hesitated, and he actually pushed me out, Mr. Mason. I mean he came and put his hands right on my shoulders and pushed me out of the house.”
“Then what did you do?”
“Then I telephoned his first wife and asked her when she wanted to see me, and she told me to telephone again in about half or three-quarters of an hour. I did so, and she told me to come right out; that I could have the money. I went out there and she gave me the two thousand dollars.”
“Anyone else present?”
“No.”
“Did you see a man by the name of Dixon?”
“No.”
“Ever meet him?”
“No.”
“Do you know a man named Dixon?”
“No.”
“Mrs. Faulkner gave you the two thousand dollars. Then what did you do?”
“Then I went back to the pet store and got the panels to treat Staunton’s fish the way I’d promised Mr. Rawlins I would, and — and well, you know the rest, Mr. Mason. I went out to Staunton’s and then I telephoned you.”
Mason said, “Sally, I’m going to take a chance on you because I’ve got to take a chance on you. I want you to say three words for me.”
“What are they?”
“See my lawyer.”
She looked at him in puzzled perplexity.
“Say it,” Mason said.
“See my lawyer,” she repeated.
“You can remember that, all right?”
“Why yes, of course, Mr. Mason.”
“Say it again,” Mason said.
“See my lawyer,” she said.
Mason said, “Sally, from now on those are the only three words you know. If you ever say anything to anybody else you’re sunk. The police will be after you in an hour or so, brandishing that written statement of yours in front of you. They’ll show you inconsistencies. They’ll show you where it’s wrong. They’ll show you where you were lying. They’ll prove this and they’ll prove that and they’ll prove the other. They’ll ask you to explain why you lied about where you went in the taxicab, and they’ll tell you that if you can explain so that the explanation satisfies them they’ll turn you loose; that if you can’t, the only thing that remains for them is to arrest Tom. Do you understand?”
She nodded.
“And what are you to say?” Mason asked her.
She met his eyes. “See my lawyer,” she said.
“Now,” Mason told her, “we’re beginning to get some place. Those are the only three words in the English language that you know from now on. Can you remember that?”
She nodded.
“Can you remember that, no matter what happens?”
Once more she nodded.
“And if they tell you Tom has confessed in order to save you and that you shouldn’t let the man you love take the rap and go to the death-house because he’s simply trying to save you, what are you going to say?”
“See my lawyer,” she told him.
Mason nodded to the matron. “That’s all,” he said. “My interview is finished.”
14
Genevieve Faulkner lived in a small bungalow that was within half a dozen blocks of the place where Wilfred Dixon maintained his sumptuous bachelor residence.
Mason parked his car, ran up the steps and impatiently rang the bell.
The door was opened after a few moments by Genevieve Faulkner herself.
Mason said, “You’ll pardon me for disturbing you, Mrs. Faulkner, but there are one or two questions I must ask you.”
She smiled and shook her head.