Mason’s face held an expression of puzzled surprise. “Paul, you’re not kidding me about this? You mean she was there?”
“Of course, she was there.”
“And that’s who it was? What I mean is, the body’s been identified?”
Drake nodded.
“Then she must have been killed after she telephoned me and... Gosh, Paul, she said she wanted to confess. She must have telephoned me then started getting ready to meet me. The thought of what she’d done began preying on her mind, and she decided on suicide. What is there that indicates it wasn’t a suicide?”
“The course of the bullet, and position of the body,” Drake said.
“Tell me what happened, Paul.”
“I waited for you to telephone. At first I didn’t think very much of it. Just a matter of routine. Then when about forty-five minutes had gone by and you hadn’t phoned, I began to worry. After all, it could pretty easily have been a trap. You work on a case in an unorthodox manner. You keep two or three jumps ahead of the police. You’re usually pretty close to the murderer. A man who was being crowded could bump you off, and, by shutting your lips, might save himself a one-way trip to the gas chamber at San Quentin. One o’clock in the morning was a hell of a time to be calling a lawyer out of bed. The more I thought of it, the less I liked it. I rounded up a couple of tough operatives and sat here with my eye glued on the clock. Somehow, I had a feeling in my bones you weren’t going to call. I wanted to get started. I felt that seconds were precious, but you’d said an hour, so I decided to give you the full hour.
“Believe me, boy, when the second hand on that electric clock swung around to the sixtieth minute, I was on my way. And maybe you don’t think we burnt up the roads getting out to Hillgrade.”
“Good boy,” Mason said. “I knew I could count on you. Then what happened?”