“Yes.”
“Who killed him?”
“Honestly, Mr. Mason, I don’t know.”
“Better tell me what you do know,” Mason said.
She said, “I’m going to be frank with you, Mr. Mason.”
“Do,” Mason said, and then added significantly, “for a change.”
She said, “I wanted a divorce. I am very much in love with Bob. Bob had reason to believe that Albert was dipping into the Hastings Memorial Trust Fund. He was working with Adelle Hastings, trying to straighten things out. He wanted her to demand an audit of the books. Under the circumstances, if my attachment for Robert had been discovered, it would have made very serious complications all around. You can understand that, Mr. Mason.”
Mason said tonelessly, “I can understand that.”
Della Street slipped a shorthand notebook from her purse. Mason said, “Don’t do it, Della. I don’t want any of this recorded anywhere… Go ahead, Mrs. Tidings.”
She said, “Albert had been trying to effect a reconciliation. I told him that it was impossible. Bob and I had been to a show. We were driving home. We found Albert’s car parked down near the circle at the end of the road. It was raining hard. Albert was in the car, slumped down in the seat to one side of the steering wheel. He had been shot and was unconscious. We stopped our car. Bob and I got out in the rain and tried to see how seriously Albert was injured. There was still a faint pulse. He had been shot in the chest. We realized that we couldn’t do anything in the space there was inside the car. I told Bob he’d have to help me get Albert into the house, and then I’d telephone for a doctor and the police.