Mason nodded.
“I didn’t kill my husband, Mr. Mason.”
“Well,” Mason said, “you’ve got to talk. It’s got to a point now where it’s your story against Bob Fleetwood’s. Your story can’t explain certain things. Fleetwood’s does. There’s some evidence I don’t know about. Tragg’s out investigating it now. If that evidence corroborates Fleetwood’s story the way it would seem to, the killing is wrapped around your neck. I can get you off with manslaughter, or I might get a self-defense acquittal, but the responsibility for the fatal blow is yours.”
“What evidence is there that could possibly give such corroboration?”
“Tracks for one thing.”
“Well, my story is the truth.”
“I hope it is,” Mason said and signaled to the matron that the interview was over.
17
It was shortly before noon. Drake tapped his code knock on the panels of Mason’s exit door.
Della Street opened the door.
Drake came in, followed by a thin man in the late fifties.
“You remember Bert Humphreys,” Drake said. “He worked on that Melrose murder case for you, Perry.”
Mason nodded, said, “Hello, Humphreys.”
Humphreys nodded, the swift, competent nod of a man who has important information to impart and wants to get on with it.
“Sit down,” Drake said to Humphreys, “and tell ’em your story.” Drake turned to Mason and said parenthetically, “As soon as I got your call this morning saying to get a man up to Overbrook’s place to look for the tracks of a car in soft soil, I telephoned Humphreys. Humphreys was working on the case at Springfield. He jumped in his car and beat it up there. He had at least an hour’s start on the officers. He managed to get a complete diagram of everything that was up there before the officers arrived. They were sore as hell at finding him there, but there was nothing they could do about it.”
“Go ahead,” Mason said to Humphreys. “What was it? What did you find?”
Humphreys took a sheet of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, said, “I made a map. But, before I show you the map, Mr. Mason, I’d better tell you generally what happened. I got up to Overbrook’s place and told him I’d come to investigate the car tracks. He thought I was from the sheriff’s office and he spilled the whole thing to me.”
“What did he say?”
“Well, it seemed that the more Overbrook thought things over about Fleetwood, the more uneasy he became. He felt certain from the way his dog had been barking that there had been noises before Fleetwood came walking up the road. And Overbrook came to the conclusion they might have been noises made by a car and by people talking when Fleetwood got out. So Overbrook, who’s something of a hunter and tracker, started back-tracking Fleetwood.”
“He could find Fleetwood’s tracks?”
“Yes. Not right near the house, but reasonably close to it. You see, it had been raining hard Saturday and the ground was soft, and it’s kept on drizzling more or less ever since, so the ground has stayed pretty soft. That gave Overbrook excellent tracking conditions.”
“What did he do?”
“He back-tracked Fleetwood without any great amount of trouble, and came to a place where an automobile had been parked. Overbrook started to look the tracks over, and then he saw some things that made him do a lot of thinking. So he didn’t even stop. He kept right on going.”
“You’re certain of that?”
“Hell, yes. You can see his tracks plain as day. He walked right up to the spot where this car had been parked, turned in toward the place where the front of the car had been, then swung out in a turn and kept right on walking until he came to a farm road that was on hard soil. Then he walked back to his house, picked up a tractor and trailer, loaded the trailer with scrap lumber that he’d had hanging around ever since he tore down the chicken house, drove the tractor and trailer back to the place on the farm road where he’d come in, took the boards one at a time, and made a little boardwalk running alongside his tracks and right out to the place where the tracks of the automobile were located. He was particularly careful in laying the boards. He’d lay one or two boards, then walk back along the boardwalk to get more boards, come out and lay them, and walk back along the boardwalk again. In that way, he preserved every track there was in the ground. You can see the whole story there just as plain as day. He’s a good, careful man and I guess he made a lot better job of preserving those tracks than the officers would have done if he’d left it to them. The way things are now, even with the officers milling around there, you can still see the tracks — or you could when I left. They were getting ready to use some plaster of Paris then.”
“Then what?”
“After Overbrook fixed the boards, he drove to the post office and telephoned the sheriff. He told the sheriff what he’d found and what he’d done, and the sheriff telephoned Tragg. They told Overbrook to go back and guard the place until detectives showed up.
“Well, I came out there and started looking around. Overbrook thought I was from the sheriff’s office. He yelled at me to go around by the house and drive out on the farm road. I did that, and he showed me the boardwalk he’d built leading out to where the car had been parked, and told me what he’d found. I sketched the whole business, and had just finished my sketch when the sheriff and Lieutenant Tragg showed up. They were a little peeved about the whole thing, but thanks to the way Overbrook had laid the boards down, I hadn’t messed things up any at all, and they couldn’t make any real beef. Of course, they kicked me off the place and probably would have taken my sketch away from me if they’d known I had it. But Overbrook didn’t say anything about it until after I’d got started. By that time, I guess the officers had troubles of their own. They were making sketches of their own and taking photographs.”
“Let’s take a look at the sketch,” Mason said.
Humphreys spread the sketch on Mason’s desk.
“Now here,” he said, “you have everything. Here’s the place where the machine turned off the road.”
“Any question about it being the right machine?” Mason asked.
“Apparently not. Where the car was standing the ground was pretty soft, but where the car turned off the road, you could see the tracks of all four tires just as plain as day. Mrs. Allred’s car had new tires on the wheels, and there were three different makes of tires. Because the car was making a turn, there’s a place where the tracks of each one of the tires is distinctly outlined, just as though they’d been inked and then driven over a piece of paper. You can see every detail of the tread just as plain as day.
“I’d previously sketched the treads of each one of the tires of Mrs. Allred’s car after the police located it down there at the bottom of the cliff. It’s Mrs. Allred’s car all right, or else it’s a car that was equipped with absolutely identical tires.”
Mason nodded. “I just wanted to clear that point up.”
“Well, here you are,” Humphreys said, indicating the diagram. “The road runs right along the edge of the tillable ground. On this side is a fence and alfalfa. On this side it’s all open land and unfenced. Where the car turned off, the ground is soft. You can see tracks just as plain as you could in fresh snow. Now look at this sketch. Here’s where the car turned off the road. It went up here and stopped. You can see where Fleetwood got out of the car. Here are his tracks where he got out of the door on the left side. You see, he walked right around toward the front of the car and across the headlights. His tracks show that he turned slightly when he got to this point almost directly in front of the headlights. He stood there for a second. First his footprints are in this direction. That’s where he stood when he called out to Mrs. Allred when she jumped out of the luggage compartment of the automobile.”