“Here’s what you do. By hook or crook get hold of the telephone bills on that ship’s telephone, start tracing the numbers that he called from. Let’s find out where he was when he was hiding from both Fallon and Hershey — do you suppose it was a woman, Paul?”
“Apparently he didn’t have any,” Drake said, “but he certainly was a great boy for cash transactions, and my own idea is he was slipping something over on the income tax department.”
“You’ve got some photos of him?”
“Oh, sure.”
“Well, check on those phone bills and see what you can find out.”
“All right,” Drake said. “Now here’s another thing. He...”
Drake was interrupted by a low, insistent knock at the door.
Della Street opened the door a crack, looked out, then pulled the door back and said, “Good morning. You folks are a little early.”
Etna and Josephine Kempton walked through the doorway.
Mason introduced them to Paul Drake, said to Etna, “How’s everything coming?”
“Coming fine,” Etna said triumphantly. “We’re sitting pretty, Mason.”
Mrs. Kempton nodded and beamed. “They couldn’t have been nicer to me.”
Mason’s eyes narrowed. “What sort of a story did you tell them?” he asked suspiciously.
“I didn’t tell them anything. I did just as you instructed me.”
Mason studied her face for a few moments, then abruptly said to Paul Drake, “I’m sorry, Paul, but we’re going to have to ask you to leave. It’s not that we don’t trust your discretion, but it has been held that a client who has a discussion with her attorney in the presence of a third person waives the benefit of the statutory provisions making such conversation absolutely confidential — Della, of course, as my secretary, is included within the scope of the statute, but you aren’t.”
“That’s fine,” Drake said. “Maybe I can get myself a little breakfast. I’m so damned tired of coffee and ham sandwiches bolted in between telephone calls. I’ll go down and have a real meal off a table.”
Drake left the room.
Mason turned to Etna and Mrs. Kempton. “Sit down,” he said. “Now, Mrs. Kempton, I want the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”
“I told you the truth.”
Mason shook his head.
“Mr. Mason,” she said indignantly, “do you think I would lie?”
Mason said, “I know the police. I know how they work. You were alone in that house with a murdered man. You refuse to tell anyone what you know, and yet you claim that the police turned you loose.”
“That’s right. They did. They even sent up to my room and got clothes for me.”
“How’s that?” Mason said.
“Well, they told me that it was necessary to have my clothes gone over carefully by a laboratory man, that they always did that in cases where a witness had been present, at a murder, that it was a matter of routine. They said it would be tomorrow sometime before I could have my clothes back, and that there was no need of waiting there if I didn’t want to, that they’d send the matron up to my room and she could get the clothes for me if I’d tell her what I wanted to wear.”
“They did that?”
“Yes.”
“You gave them a key to your room?”
“It was in my envelope — they take everything away from you and put it in an envelope.”
“And you signed something saying it would be all right for her to go in the room?”
“That’s right.”
“Then what happened?”
“Then they brought me my clothes. Everyone was just as nice as pie. They told me they were sorry they had had to hold me, that they had now found out all about who murdered Mr. Addicks and that I was absolutely in the clear.”
“Who told you that?”
“The matron.”
“Then what did you do?”
“Well,” she said, “they asked me what I wanted to do, and I told them I wanted to call you.”
“When was that?”
“That was early this morning.”
“Go ahead.”
“It seems that no one knew how to reach you before you came to the office, but Mr. Etna had a phone in his residence. I knew that he’d be up so I told them it would be all right to call him.”
“And he came and got you?” Mason asked.
“That’s right.”
Mason looked at Etna. Etna nodded.
“From the detention cells?” Mason asked.
“Well, not exactly,” Etna said. “I picked her up in the garage downstairs.”
“The garage?”
“Yes.”
“What garage?”
“The police garage, where they...”
“That’s where they drove us in last night,” Mrs. Kempton interrupted. “You’ll remember there was a storage garage back of the place where they let us out. Well, I didn’t want to bother anyone, so I told the police that I’d just go on down to the garage and wait there, that they could tell Mr. Etna to come there and get me.”
“So you were waiting there?”
“Yes, right where they took us last night, where we got out of the car.”
Mason turned to Etna. “You couldn’t drive in there?” he asked.
“No, but I left my car outside, and went to the door and motioned to Mrs. Kempton, and she came running out. Why? Does it make any difference?”
“That’s what I want to know,” Mason said.
“I don’t get it,” Etna said.
Mason said, “Mrs. Kempton, you’re leaving out something.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re leaving out something significant, some fact that...”
She interrupted him to shake her head in positive negation. “I’m telling you everything, Mr. Mason.”
“And Mr. Etna drove you directly here?” Mason asked.
“He took me to my apartment first. I stopped there for five or ten minutes, then we drove here.”
“She has a couple of questions she wants to ask you,” Etna said.
Mrs. Kempton nodded. “Mr. Mason, when a man dies what happens to his bank account — I mean any checks that are outstanding?”
Mason said, “Checks are no good after a man dies. His bank account is frozen. As soon as the bank is notified of his death it stops payment on all checks.”
“But suppose a man had a cashier’s check?”
“A cashier’s check,” Mason said, “is a check given by a bank. Banks don’t die.”
“And if it... well, I’m just wondering...”
“Why are you wondering?” Mason asked.
“Oh, on account of the way Mr. Addicks did business. You know, Mr. Mason, he worked on a cash basis a lot. He juggled things around, and I know he used to do business with cash and with cashier’s checks. He’d buy cashier’s checks from different banks and then endorse them.”
“And you’re wondering if his endorsement on a cashier’s check would invalidate the cashier’s check in case he died before the check was cashed?”
“That’s right.”
“Why?”
“Just so I can get the picture straight in my own mind.”
Mason said, “The cashier’s check would be paid — but right now I want to know what happened out there at that house.”
“Well,” she said, “I’m going to tell you the truth, and I’m going to tell you the whole truth, and then you can tell me what to do. I hardly dare to say a word to anyone because what I have to say sounds so...”
“What have you told the newspapermen?” Mason interrupted.
“Nothing.”
“Did they talk with you?”
“No. The police told me they’d turn me loose early this morning so that the newspapers wouldn’t know anything about it. That would give me a chance to get myself adjusted.”
Mason said in an aside to Etna, “This thing gets more and more cockeyed every minute.”
“Oh, the police can be considerate,” Etna said.