“Yes.”
“And what did you do?”
“I ran through that door, across the parlor, pulled back the curtains and looked out.”
“Just in time to see the van push the coupe into the curb?”
“Yes.”
“Do you,” Mason asked, “know who was to blame?”
“No. I didn’t see enough of it. And, even if I had, I might not be able to tell much. I never did learn to drive a car. Now, let’s go back in the other room. There’s something I’m interested in, and—”
“What did you do after the accident?”
“Well, I went to my telephone and notified the police there’d been an accident and a man was hurt. After a few minutes, a police car came around that corner. The young man who had helped load the driver of the coupe in the truck was just leaving the Prescott house. The men from the police car asked him questions and made him show them his driving license—”
She broke off as a car drove by on Alsace Avenue. She followed it with her eyes until it slowed and rounded the corner on Fourteenth Street.