“I never would have suspected her,” Della said.
Mason was thoughtful. “I should have suspected her sooner than I did. Any person who has studied criminology recognizes in that type the most dangerous potential murderer. She was a creature of repressions, a sex-starved, disappointed female. By pretending to fall in love with her, Wenston had no trouble whatever in making her an accomplice. She’d have done anything for him. You have only to read any of the well-authenticated works on criminology to recognize her counterpart in dozens of murders.”
“Did you have any idea the picture was faked?” Della asked.
Mason said, “Yes. Gow Loong tipped me off to that. He’s Chinese. His eyes notice little details which we pass up, probably because the Chinese have such marvelous memories. He noticed that the picture of the Wickford family group showed a face on the father which was not only like the photograph of the picture of Tucker taken in Shanghai, but was absolutely identical with it in every line and shadow. Gow Loong didn’t know enough about photography to realize what this meant, but, as is the case with Chinese the world over, being confronted with something he couldn’t understand, he became suspicious.”
“How about Opal Sunley?”
“Just a good kid,” Mason said, “who knew something mysterious was going on. She knew she was being paid to keep her mouth shut, and she kept it shut. She was there to transcribe records. She transcribed them. She didn’t ask any questions and didn’t try to find out what was going on. Of course, Junior was in love with her. When he heard what he thought was a shot in the adjoining house, he dashed over there to investigate, because he was afraid Opal might have returned to the residence of her employer. He was in love. Her reticence about her job made him think she was having an affair with her boss. He was suspicious, and he was jealous. When he didn’t find her there, he telephoned her. Notice her number was one that could be easily dialed in the dark. When she answered, he pretended he was calling from his own house. He then went back home, ashamed of himself. He never wanted her to know that he had suspected her to the extent of going over to the adjoining flat and making a search. He’s young and romantic. He would have even gone to jail before he’d have told the truth. Della, we actually are approaching the beach.”
“Well, it does look like it,” Della said. “You don’t suppose that I got my directions mixed, do you? How about the charred remnants of the clothes Tragg found out at Mrs. Perlin’s bungalow?”
Mason said, “That’s simple. Karr went to San Francisco to be treated for his wound. According to the story he told the doctor there, he’d been shot after he’d retired. That left them with some bloodstained clothes to get rid of; trousers, underwear, shirt, possibly a coat, and most certainly a pair of shoes. When Karr came back, he gave those things to Mrs. Perlin, told her to keep out of sight for a while, and to dispose of those clothes. She burnt them in the furnace at her bungalow.”
“Why did they have her disappear?” Della asked.
“Probably because she was the weak link in their organization. She couldn’t have stood up to police questioning. Della, we definitely are headed toward the beach.”