The Case of the Negligent Nymph

Chapter 12

PAUL DRAKE SAID, “WELL, PERRY, HERE’S THE DOPE, WE’VE tried our damnedest to trace that woman who was at Los Merritos and find out where she came from. Such a person was there, all right. The description seems to answer that of Corrine Lansing. This person was suffering from amnesia, hallucinations, complete hysteria, and what they refer to as manic-depressive psychosis.

“She was there on the date Minerva Danby wrote that letter. She never did tell them who she was, so they could depend on what she said. She was kept in the south wing where they had that disastrous fire about four months ago. Some half-dozen inmates were burnt alive. She was one of them.”

“Hie body?” Mason asked.

“Burnt beyond recognition,” Drake said. “Identified, however, by means of a metallic tag.”

“Any chance it wasn’t the same person?”

“Lots of chance that it wasn’t Corrine Lansing,” Drake said, “but no chance that it wasn’t the person who had been confined there and whom Minerva apparently identified on the day of her death.”

“No other clues?” Mason asked.

“No. We just can’t find out a single thing that will give us a definite answer. She was picked up on the streets of Los Angeles about two o’clock in the morning. The first diagnosis was that she was drunk. She was confined as an alcoholic, then taken to the psychopathic ward, then sent to Los Merritos.”

“That’s a private institution?”

“That’s right. Here’s what happened. Police naturally were trying to locate relatives. They had this person listed with Missing Persons and all that stuff. A woman who was looking for a sister who had disappeared thought this person answered the description, was taken to see her said that it was not her sister but listened to her ravings, became sympathetic and said she would send money for private treatments. The superintendent naturally thought the contribution would be in the form of a check. It wasn’t. It was in the form of cash, a package of currency which was delivered by messenger, and a note stating that the woman preferred to remain anonymous.”

“In other words,” Mason said, “there’s absolutely no chance of making an identification now, either that the body is or is not that of Corrine Lansing.”

“That’s right.”

“Burial?” Mason asked.

Drake shrugged his shoulders. “She was listed as ‘Unidentified Dead.’ You know what happens in those cases The bodies are tmned over to the state for purposes ol dissection and what have you. They’re supposed to be held for thirty days.”

“A burnt body?” Mason asked.

“I understand they’re somewhat in demand, in classes on police administration, arson, criminology and homicide investigation.”

“And how about this message in the bottle?”

“If police found it there in Alder’s desk they certainly have clammed up. They haven’t let out a peep. What do you hear from your client?”

“I don’t I filed habeas corpus a couple hours ago.”

“The sheriff thinks he has something on her, Perry. Incidentally, police, acting on the sheriff s orders, grabbed the night clerk at the Monadnock Hotel Apartments, and are keeping him sewed up as a material witness. Now why would they want him unless he could give them something on Dorothy?”

Mason said, “Damn it, Paul, Dorothy Fenner was in her apartment when the crime was committed. She was released from jail and went directly to her room in the hotel. I drove her up to the place. Now, I’ll tell you in confidence why the sheriff wants that night clerk. He may be able to prove that George S. Alder came to see Dorothy Fenner at her room at the Monadnock Hotel Apartments, but that’s all they can prove. Dorothy Fenner assures me that she was in her room all the time.”

“Well,” Drake said, “there’s something funny about the way they’ve got this night clerk sewed up, Perry.”

Mason said, “It’s just as I told you, Paul. They’ve got him sewed up because they want to prove that Alder came to call on Dorothy Fenner. I know all about that. He gave the clerk five dollars to let him go up without being announced. So what? That doesn’t prove anything.”

“Well, the sheriff seems to think it does. They’re certainly laying for you.”

“Let them lay,” Mason said grimly. “They may find they’ve laid an egg. Did you locate Pete Cadiz?”

“Yes. He’s a specialized sort of beachcomber who lives on a sailboat. You want us to get a statement?”

“Gosh, no. Lay off of the guy, Paul. I can’t even show any interest in him without tipping my hand. I’m not supposed to know anything about that letter. Do you suppose it was taken by the murderer, Paul?”

“I don’t know a thing about it, Perry. All I do know is that the police here are working with the sheriff’s office and they’re all feeling very smug.”

Mason frowned. “Hang it, Paul, they must be barking up a wrong tree. Have you located Carmen Monterrey?”

“She’s at the restaurant address, acting as hostess and fortuneteller. She’ll be there tonight, but no one seems to know where she is today. I have men covering the place. Want anything special on her?”

Mason shook his head. “Della and I are going to eat there tonight—and have our fortunes told.”

“Hope you’re lucky.” Drake grinned. “Ask her what the authorities really have on your client, Perry. I’m satisfied they think they have an ace in the hole.”

“Let ‘em have it and we’ll trump it,” Mason announced optimistically.