Erle Gardner - The Case of the Empty Tin

“She does very fine work,” Mrs. Gentrie explained to Tragg. “I’ve often told her that if she’d specialize in taking pictures of children and...”

“Children!” Rebecca flared. “That’s the mother complex of yours. You want pictures of the little darlings taken on their birthdays, pictures when they first put on long pants, pictures in their new suits. Those sort of pictures clutter up the house and don’t mean a blessed thing.”

“They mean a lot to Arthur and me,” Mrs. Gentrie said.

“Well, they mean nothing to me. They simply are a waste of good photographic material. You find family albums filled up with that sort of junk.” She turned to Lieutenant Tragg and said, “What I want are pictures of unusual cloud effects, of trees against the sky, of flowers. I could win prizes if I just had enough money to get myself a car and didn’t always have to use photographic material which had expired.”

“What do you mean by material that has expired?” Tragg asked.

“Oh, you know, films are only good while they’re fresh. They’ll keep for a certain length of time. You must have noticed that whenever you buy film, there’s an emulsion date on it.”

“You mean the little rubber-stamped date which says develop before a certain date?”

“That’s right,” Rebecca said.

“But you can use it after that date?”

“Oh, yes. It depends on the sort of care the film has had, the place where it’s been stored. You can use it very nicely for as much as six months after the expiration date, and if it’s been in a cool, dry place, you can use it for years afterwards.”

“And you buy this film and paper which has expired?” Tragg asked.

“That’s right. You can get it at certain places at a very great discount.”

Tragg thought that over for several moments, then said, “What happens, however, when it finally gets too old?”

“Well, then, of course, it does different things. Usually it fogs.”

Tragg said, “Then these films which were in the box were old films — that is, the expiration date had passed?”

“Yes.”

“And couldn’t the fact that the films had fogged been due to the age of the emulsion?”

“Well, I guess it could,” Rebecca said hesitatingly, “but I’ve never had any trouble before with films I’ve got from this particular source. This person handles only the best.”

“But they were fogged?”

“Oh, yes, very definitely.”

Tragg said, “That’s very interesting. But it’s rather a definite change of subject from the thing I was trying to impress upon Mrs. Gentrie. That is the fact that her son is in a very dangerous position. He’s seen fit to try and confuse the issues in a murder case. It’s quite possible that he’s protecting the guilty party.”

“I don’t know what makes you say things like that,” Mrs. Gentrie said indignantly. “Junior’s a good boy. He...”

“The reason I’m saying that,” Tragg interrupted firmly, “is that I’m satisfied your son is a good boy. I’m satisfied, however, that he’s very young, very romantic, and inclined to carry gallantry altogether too far. He’s trying to protect someone in a murder case, and that’s a particularly dangerous thing to do. Now I think your boy’s a mighty good kid, Mrs. Gentrie, but I think Opal Sunley is a woman who is older, more experienced, and knows her way around. I’m not satisfied the companionship would have been a good thing under any circumstances. And now that a murder has been perpetrated, I’m absolutely satisfied something about that companionship is causing your son to withhold information from us, and put himself in a very questionable position with the law.”

Mrs. Gentrie averted her eyes, said almost under her breath, her voice choking in a sob, “He wouldn’t do anything wrong.”

Tragg said, “That’s not it. If he doesn’t tell the truth, we’re going to take steps to get the truth. I felt I should come to you and talk frankly, since you’re so deeply concerned and so fond of him.”

Rebecca said, “You see how it is, Florence. You wouldn’t listen to me. I hope you’ll listen to the lieutenant. When a boy starts trying to conceal things from his own mother...”

“What did Junior ever try to conceal?” Mrs. Gentrie demanded angrily.

“Plenty,” Rebecca said with a disdainful sniff. “He and that girl started making all kinds of surreptitious dates. You know as well as I do they didn’t make them over the telephone. He never called her — at least not from here, and yet they were having their dates, dates he never told you about. I tried to warn you about it and...”

“I think,” Mrs. Gentrie said, “it’s going to be better if you wait until we’re alone to go into this, Rebecca. You always make it a point to listen when the children are making dates on the telephone, and then you ask them questions. Junior’s getting to the age where he resents that. He isn’t a boy any more. He’s growing into real manhood.”

“Well, this creature has got him mixed up in a murder case,” Rebecca said with self-righteous approval, “and I’m trying to help Lieutenant Tragg, that’s all. It’s just as distasteful to me as it can be. I consider Junior just as much a part of me as though he were my own boy, but after all, when a young man starts gallivanting around — and now, the evidence of those fingerprints makes it just as plain as the nose on your face. He’s been sneaking over there at night...”

“Stop it!” Mrs. Gentrie commanded indignantly. “You don’t know that he’s been sneaking over there, and as far as that’s concerned, Opal Sunley doesn’t stay over there nights.”

“How do you know she doesn’t?”

“Well, she comes in and works by the day.”

“But she’s over there quite frequently at night.”

“Only when she has to work.”

Rebecca sniffed.

Lieutenant Tragg, who had been keenly observing the trend of the conversation and the facial expressions of the two women, interposed soothingly, “I’m sorry I gave the wrong impression, Mrs. Gentrie. All I’m interested in is finding out just how it happened your son left those fingerprints on the telephone.”

“You’re absolutely certain they’re his?”

“Absolutely.”

“Couldn’t he have been using that paint — well, later?”

Tragg raised his eyebrows. “You mean after the shot was fired?” he asked.

Mrs. Gentrie thought that over. “Well, no. I mean before — before his father started to paint.”

“I believe his father mixed up the paint from some he’d brought home from the hardware store.”

“I guess so,” Mrs. Gentrie said.

Hester came through from the kitchen, stood silently in the doorway.

“What is it, Hester?” Mrs. Gentrie asked.

“You want me to get some more preserves from the pantry shelves?”

“Yes...” Mrs. Gentrie looked at Lieutenant Tragg and said, “I wonder if you could pardon me for just a moment, Lieutenant. It seems as though I haven’t been able to keep abreast of my work all day, and...”

“Certainly,” Tragg interposed. “I can understand just how it is, Mrs. Gentrie. Go right ahead.”

Mrs. Gentrie said to Hester, “Clean out all of those ’39 and ’40 tins and jars over on the left side of the shelf, Hester. Bring them up and put them on the pantry shelves. We’ll start serving them until we’ve used them all up.”

Lieutenant Tragg said, “If you’re going down in the cellar, I’ll take a look around after you are finished.”

“Certainly,” Mrs. Gentrie said.

Hester opened the cellar door. The heavy, flat-footed pound of her springless steps sounded on the stairs.

Rebecca said, “Well, if you ask me, I think that can had a lot to do with what happened over there across the street. Don’t you think that message was intended for someone who...”