Beware the Curves

said one thing that was true in the story you told. John had been down in the jungle.
    He’d been living away from civilization. He’d been fighting a battle with life and death where his senses had to be alert.
    “You were in that room. When Karl opened the door, the perfume that you use came to John’s nostrils. Then Karl closed the door. When he did that, he said something to you in a low voice.
    “Suddenly John realized that you were Karl Endicott’s wife, that you’d been living with him as his wife. A feeling of revulsion possessed him. He started to become nauseated. The gun that he was holding in his hand he pitched out the window. It fell in the thick hedge. He felt he was going to be ill. He dashed out of the door and ran down the stairs, and out into the night air.”
    Quinn quit talking, stood with his feet apart facing her, the accusation in his manner hitting her with almost a physical impact.
    She didn’t cry. She waited. She looked at him steadily but she seemed to keep getting smaller.
    Finally she said, “I told him he must never, never tell that story.”
    Quinn said, “Ansel is a poor liar, when you start ripping into him. He doesn’t like conflict. I’d always accepted his story at face value, but we’re going to trial tomorrow, and he’s going to have to get on the stand. They’re going to rip him to pieces with cross-examination. So this morning I decided to cross-examine him myself just to see how he’d stand up.”
    There was a moment of tense, dramatic silence.
    “I found out,” Quinn said bitterly and turned away.
    “I’m sorry,” Elizabeth Endicott said, dry-eyed and steady-voiced.
    “You should be,” Quinn snapped at her.
    “Were you in the room?” I asked Elizabeth Endicott.
    “No,” she said quickly but without emphasis.
    “That’s a hell of a denial,” Quinn said. “You’re going to be on the stand. Put some feeling into it.”
    “ No!” she said.
    “That’s better,” Quinn said.
    I said, “Your alibi depends on a man by the name of Walden who was closing his service station at nine o’clock.”
    She said, “It’s a good alibi.”
    I said, “The district attorney has a rancher by the name of Thomas Victor who drove past that service station at seven minutes to nine. He wanted to get gasoline. The station was closed.”
    She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Victor’s watch was wrong.”
    Barney said, “Good Lord, Lam! There can’t be anything wrong with that alibi. Walden testified at the inquest, and they really poured it to him. Victor is the one who’s making the mistake.”
    I kept looking at Elizabeth Endicott. “She’s playing poker with us,” I said to Quinn.
    Quinn whirled back to face her. “Betty, were going to trial tomorrow. You can’t afford to he to us. We’re your friends. Were the ones who are faced with the responsibility of saving everything you want in life. If you he to us, you are cutting your own throat. Tell us the truth.”
    “I’ve told it to you,” she said.
    Quinn turned to me. “What do you think, Donald?“
    “I think she’s lying.”
    Bertha Cool said, “Donald, you can’t—”
    “The hell I can’t,” I interrupted. “Look up Section 258 of the Probate Code, Barney. Read it to her.“
    “What section is that?” Barney asked.
    “Section 258,” I said.
    Elizabeth Endicott looked at me. “Are you a lawyer?” she asked.
    “He used to be,” Bertha Cool said. “He’s had a legal education. He’s one smart little bastard. If you’re lying, dearie, you’d better get it off your chest.”
    Quinn turned the pages of the Probate Code.
    “Got it?” I asked.
    “Yes,” he said.
    “Read it to her,” I said.
    Quinn read the section. “ ‘No person convicted of the murder or voluntary manslaughter of the decedent shall be entitled to succeed to any portion of the estate; but the portion thereof to which he would otherwise be entitled to succeed goes to the other persons entitled thereto under the provisions of this chapter.’ ”
    Quinn looked at Mrs. Endicott, then he looked at me. His face was pasty. “My God!” he said.
    “Go ahead,” I told Elizabeth Endicott, “let’s have the truth.”
    Her eyes met mine. “You’re working for me,” she said. “You have no right to say I’m lying.”
    “The hell I haven’t! I’m working for you. I’d like to salvage something before it’s too late.”
    “I wasn’t in the house when the shot was fired,” she