Case of the Silent Partner

Chapter 8

Mason tapped at the door of Mrs. Dunkurk’s room in the Clearmount Hotel and went in. Morning sun, streaming through lace curtains, splashed pale orange on the counterpane. Through the open windows drifted the muffled sounds of distant traffic. Within the room, the labored breathing of the woman on the bed dominated all other sounds.

Mason said, “Good morning, Mrs. Lawley.”

She managed to smile.

“How are you feeling?”

“Not... not good.”

“You have some medicine?”

“Yes.”

“Some that you took from the house?”

She nodded.

“And some clothes?”

“A few.”

Talking was evidently an effort. She had held up well under the excitement of the night before, but now reaction had set in. There were dark circles under her eyes. The lids were a bluish gray. Her lips were distinctly blue.

“Did you sleep?” Mason asked.

She shook her head.

Mason said, “I’m going to get you a doctor.”

“No, no. I’m — I’ll be all right.”

“I have one I can trust.”

“He’ll know who I am.”

“Certainly he will. You’re Mrs. Charles Dunkurk of San Diego. You’re here to consult me on a very important matter. The excitement has undermined your health.”

Mason crossed over to the telephone and called Dr. Willmont’s office. He found the doctor was at the hospital, and left word for him to call Mrs. Dunkurk’s room at the hotel. Then he went back to talk with Mrs. Lawley. “Feel up to telling me what happened?” he asked.

She said, “I had a shock.”

Mason’s nod was sympathetic. “Don’t talk any more than you have to. I can tell you most of it. There are only one or two details I need to have you fill in.”

“What are they?”

Mason said, “Your sister came to your house last night. She said enough to make it seem your husband had been in some rather serious difficulties. He raised his voice in an angry denial, and you heard him, got out of bed, and started downstairs.”

“No,” she said. “I was eavesdropping. Millie and Bob never did get along. I always felt that she...”

“I know,” Mason interrupted. “Anyway, you heard enough to make you determined you were going to learn more. When your husband went out, you followed him.”

She started to say something, then checked herself.

Mason said, “Lynk was murdered up in Lilac Canyon. Your sister knows something which makes her think you did it.”

“That I killed Lynk?”

“Yes.”

“She wouldn’t think that.”

“Either that, or there’s some bit of evidence which makes her think the police will arrest you.”

The woman on the bed said nothing, but stared past Mason with a look of almost dreamy abstraction.

“Can you tell me what it is?” Mason asked.

“No.”

“Did you kill Lynk?”

“No.”

Mason said, “Lynk had some stock which he was holding as collateral security — stock in the Faulkner Flower Shops.”

“No, that’s a mistake. He didn’t have that.”

“He didn’t?”

“No.”

“Who does have it?”

“I do.”

“Where?” Mason asked.

“As it happens,” she said, “I have it with me.”

Mason pursed his lips in a silent whistle. “So that’s it,” he said after a moment.

“What is?”

“You got that stock from Lynk.”

“Don’t be silly. I had it all the time.”

“Remember,” Mason went on, “Lynk had a partner. Clint Magard put screws on Lynk yesterday afternoon, and found out everything that had been going on.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with me.”

“A great deal. Magard knows that Lynk had that stock with him last night when he went to Lilac Canyon.”

“He’s mistaken, Mr. Mason.”

He said, “I’m afraid I can’t help you, Mrs. Lawley. I don’t defend murderers. If I handle a case, I want some assurance that my client is innocent.”

She stirred uneasily on the bed. Mason said, “I’m sorry. I’m not going to put you to any more strain. I’d like to help you, but the way things are now, I can’t.”

She sighed, closed her eyes, interlaced her fingers, and said wearily, “I’ll tell you... how it happened.”

“Cut out all the trimmings, just give me the bare facts.”

“After Millie left, I wanted to ask Bob some questions, but I didn’t want him to know I’d been listening. I went back to my room and dressed. I heard Bob moving around downstairs. He did some telephoning. He talked with a friend of his named Coll, and he kept dialing some number that didn’t answer. About eleven-thirty, I heard him go out. I hesitated for a while, wondering whether I dared. Then I decided to take a chance. My coupe was in the garage. I didn’t turn the lights on. I pulled out before he’d gone two blocks and managed to follow him.”

“Where?” Mason asked.

“Lilac Canyon.”

“You followed him?” Mason asked.

“Without any difficulty. He was completely engrossed. I didn’t have any trouble until he got up to Lilac Canyon. Then the road twisted and turned so much I couldn’t see which way he turned.”

“So you lost him?” Mason asked, keeping his eyes and voice without expression.

“I knew from what I’d overheard of his conversation over the phone that a man named Lynk had a place up at Lilac Canyon.”

“So you went to Lynk’s place?” Mason asked.

“Yes.”

“How did you find it?”

“I made inquiries.”

“Where?”

“There’s a little store and service station, just a neighborhood affair, down by the foot of the grade. I remembered having passed that. Lights were on and a lot of cars in front. They were having a birthday celebration for the man that runs it. Of course, I didn’t know that at the time. I just knew the lights were on... They told me when I went in... I asked him if they knew where Mr. Lynk’s place was... I asked indirectly.”

“They told you?”

“Yes. One of the guests knew.”

“And you went up there?”

“Yes.”

“Now approximately how much of an interval had elapsed from the time you lost sight of your husband until you arrived at Lynk’s cabin?”

“Ten minutes.”

“All right, go ahead.”

“I went to the cabin and knocked. There was no answer. The door was slightly ajar — open perhaps an inch.”

“You went in?” Mason asked.

“Yes.”

“And what did you find?”

“You know what I found — a man — I suppose it was Lynk — slumped over against a table. He was dead — shot.”

“What did you do?”

She indicated that she wanted to rest. For more than a minute she lay with her eyes closed, breathing heavily. At length she said, “The shock should have killed me, but, strangely enough, I didn’t have any shock — not then... For some reason, I was as detached as though I had been watching a mystery play on the screen.”

“You weren’t frightened?”

“I seemed to be without any emotion whatever. My feelings were completely numbed. The shock — that is, the emotional shock — came later.”

“Go ahead,” Mason said.

“I knew, of course, that Bob had been out there, that they’d had a quarrel, and Bob had shot him.”

“How did you know that?”

“For one thing,” she said, “my gun — that is, Millie’s gun, the one that she gave me — was on the floor.”

“How did you know it was that same gun?”

“Because there’s a little corner chipped off of the mother-of-pearl handle.”

“Where was the gun?”

“Lying on the floor.”

“What did you do?”

“Picked it up.”

“Were you wearing gloves?” Mason asked.

“No.”

“Then you got your fingerprints all over it?”

“I suppose so.”

“You didn’t think of that at the time?”

“No.”

“Then why did you pick up the gun? Did you think you might have to defend yourself?”

“No, of course not. I thought it was evidence Bob had left. I was protecting him. I... love him. I’m his wife.”

“All right, you picked up the gun. What did you do with it?”

“Put it... in the pocket of my coat.”

“And then what?”

“There were papers on the table,” she said.

“You looked through those papers?”

“No, I didn’t. But something caught my eye. The stock in the Faulkner Flower Shops.”

“How did that happen to catch your eye?”

“It’s distinctive, the lithography on the stock certificate. I saw this stock certificate, picked it up — saw what it was.”

“And what did you do with that?”

“I put it in my purse.”

“Then what?”

“Then,” she said, “I walked out.”

“Did you leave the door ajar behind you?”

“No, I didn’t. There was a spring lock on the door. I pulled the door shut.”

“Get your hands on the doorknob?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And no gloves?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“I got in my coupe and drove away.”

“Where?”

“I went directly home. I realized, of course, what Bob had done. I wanted to hear his side of it.”

“Then what?”

“I waited for a while, and Bob didn’t show up, and then I got in a panic. I began to realize what a horrible thing it all was — the numbing effect of the shock had worn off and left me with the realization of what it meant. My heart got bad. I took some of my medicine. It helped a little.”

“Then what did you do?”

“I felt that I simply had to see Bob. It was the most awful feeling I’ve ever had in my life to realize that the man I love — the man I married — and then seeing that body... I guess that was the first time it really struck me — the force of it. Bob was a murderer.”

She again closed her eyes and lay for a minute or two simply resting.

“Did you go anywhere in search of your husband?” Mason asked after a while.

“No. I realized he wasn’t the sort to face things like that. I knew he’d run away. I felt I’d never see him again. I knew I didn’t want to, and yet I knew that I loved him.”

“What did you do?”

“I needed someone in whom to confide. There was only one person.”

“Your sister?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see her?”

“No. I knew I couldn’t stay in that house by myself. I threw just a few things into an overnight bag, got in my car, and drove by Millie’s house. She wasn’t home. Her car wasn’t in the garage. I knew she worked quite frequently at the office in the Broadway shop — you know, the Faulkner Flower Shops, the Broadway Branch.”

“So you went there?”

“Yes.”

“And she wasn’t there?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“Then was when the reaction set in.”

“What did you do?”

“I was pretty sick for a while. I went into the lobby of a hotel and sat down. I may have been unconscious. A bellboy asked me if I wanted some water, and asked me if I was ill. I told him that I’d overtaxed my heart a little, and if he’d let me stay there for a few minutes, I’d be all right.”

“You finally got to feeling better?”

“Yes.”

“So the net result of what happened is that you picked up the gun with which the murder had been committed, carried it to your house and left it on the dresser of your room with your fingerprints all over it?”

“I’m afraid so, yes.”

Mason said, “Your husband seems to have skipped out.”

“Yes. He would.”

“Where,” Mason asked, “is that stock?”

“You mean the Faulkner Flower Shops certificate?”

“Yes.”

“In my bag.”

Mason handed her the bag. “I’m going to take charge of that.”

She opened her handbag, gave him the folded stock certificate.

The telephone rang. Mason said, “That’s probably Dr. Willmont,” and picked up the telephone. He said, “Hello,” and heard Dr. Willmont say, “What is it this time?”

Mason said, “Another patient, Doctor.”

“Violence?”

“No. I want you to come to the Clearmount Hotel in a rush. I’ll be waiting for you in the lobby. Can you do it?”

“An emergency case?”

“In a way.”

“I’ll be right over.”

“How’s Miss Dilmeyer?”

“Still sleeping.”

“Can’t you hurry that up a bit?”

“I can, but I’m not going to. Too many people are going to pounce down on her as soon as she regains consciousness. I’m going to see she stays quiet just as long as she can. Where did you say you were? The Clearmount Hotel?”

“Yes. That’s a little hotel on...”

“I know where it is. I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

Mason crossed over to the writing desk, took out an envelope, fitted the stock certificate into it, addressed the envelope to himself at his office address, and took some stamps from his billfold.

Mrs. Lawley watched him silently.

“The doctor,” Mason explained, “will be here in about ten minutes. I’ll go down to the lobby and meet him. What have you done with your car?”

“I gave it to the hotel people to put in the garage.”

“You have a claim check?”

“Yes.”

“Give it to me. I’m going to do something with your car. I don’t want you to ask any questions.”

She gave him the claim check. “You know, Mr. Mason, I’m beginning to feel better. Telling you has lightened the burden. You’re very competent and reassuring. There’s one thing you don’t need to worry about.”

“What’s that?”

“About my connection with it.”

“Why?”

She said, “Bob wouldn’t have enough courage to face the music, but he wouldn’t let me get the blame. He’ll write the police a letter or something, and tell them, and then he’ll...”

“Then he’ll what?” Mason asked as her voice faded.

“Then he’ll be a fugitive.”

“What’s he going to do for money? Do you have a joint account?”

“He has my power of attorney. Come to think of it, most of my income has been going into his account. I don’t know. I haven’t bothered with business. The doctor told me I mustn’t even think of it. I put it all onto Bob’s shoulders.”

“What’s the status of your finances?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Mason... After what Millie intimated about Bob and the horses — I just don’t know.”

“You have enough money to pay your bill here?”

“Oh, yes. I have a hundred dollars or so in cash, and a book of travelers’ checks.”

“The travelers’ checks are with you?”

“Yes. I always keep them in my purse.”

“How many do you have left?”

“Almost a thousand dollars — I think it’s exactly nine hundred and twenty. I have some twenty-dollar checks, some fifty-dollar checks, and some hundred-dollar checks.”

Mason said, “I’m going to take them off your hands.”

He walked over to the writing desk, took out a sheet of hotel stationery, tore off the top of the sheet, and wrote, “For value received, I hereby sell, transfer, set over, and assign to Della Street the travelers’ checks hereinafter described and the funds evidenced thereby. I hereby empower the said Della Street as my agent to sign my name to the said checks, cash them, and turn over the money to Perry Mason. I hereby appoint the said Della Street as my agent and attorney-in-fact to cash each and all of said checks at such time, place and manner as may seem expedient.”

Mason took the paper over to her, said, “Read it, sign it, and then put down in your handwriting the description of the travelers’ checks, the numbers, and amounts. You mention that the document is being executed for a valuable consideration. You’ll want some money here to tide you over. You can’t cash checks as Carlotta Lawley while you’re registered as Mrs. Dunkurk. Here’s some cash now, and I’ll give you more as you need it.”

Mason opened his wallet and counted out three hundred dollars in ten-dollar bills.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand. I don’t need so much money in cash, and if you’re going to be my lawyer, you’ll need a fee. You can take those checks as a retainer, and...”

“Your sister said she was going to take care of my fee. That can wait. Right now, I have a definite plan. I need these checks to put that plan in operation. I want a receipt for the three hundred dollars which I have paid you.”

Once more he went over to the hotel writing desk, and drew up a receipt which he handed to Mrs. Lawley. “Now then,” Mason said, taking his fountain pen from his pocket, “don’t try to understand what I’m doing. Don’t ask questions because I won’t tell you. I’m taking you on faith. You’ll have to take me the same way.”

“But, Mr. Mason, why can’t I simply tell my story? Why can’t I...”

Mason interrupted her, “Circumstantial evidence is frequently the most convincing perjurer that ever took the witness stand. You’ve stuck your head into a noose. You were protecting Bob. It seems entirely natural to you. It won’t seem so natural to someone else. You’re overlooking the most damning bit of evidence in the entire case.”

“What’s that?”

“You stopped at that service station and neighborhood store. There was a party going on. You asked for directions to Lynk’s cabin. Someone knew the way and told you. Under the circumstances, a whole flock of witnesses can identify you. You were excited, laboring under a great strain, your heart was bothering you, and your appearance must have been rather conspicuous.”

“You mean that they’ll think I did it?”

“They’ll be so certain about it,” Mason said grimly, “that unless I can do something to get them on the trail of the murderer, they’ll quit working on the case just as soon as they uncover that bit of evidence.”

She closed her eyes and thought for a moment, then said, “Well, why not? After all, Mr. Mason, I’m not kidding myself. This heart condition has been bad. What happened last night hasn’t made it any better. Bob is — well, he wants to live, and what he did, he did for me. I can never forgive him for doing it, but I can understand why he did it. Why not just let me take the responsibility?”

Mason said. “We’ll find out more about that heart of yours in a few minutes. Now you sit back and relax. List the numbers on those travelers’ checks, write them on the power of attorney, and then sign both of these documents. While you’re doing that, I’ll go down to the lobby and wait for Dr. Willmont. When I come back with him, hand me the documents and the travelers’ checks. Don’t let Dr. Willmont know what they are. Simply hand me the papers and the checks all folded up together.”

He got up and stood looking down at her, his smile reassuring. “It isn’t going to be as bad as it seems,” he said, “just getting things straightened out. You’ll find Dr. Willmont very competent.”

He stepped out into the corridor, pulled the door closed, and went down to the lobby. He had been there less than two minutes when Dr. Willmont arrived.

“What is it this time?”

“Woman who needs a careful check-up.”

“Who is she?”

“The name,” Mason said, “is Mrs. Charles X. Dunkurk. She’s from San Diego.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“There are several things I want you to do. First, I want you to confine your questions to bare essentials. Don’t ask her about herself.”

Dr. Willmont shot him a keen glance. “That’s rather a large order,” he said.

“I think you’ll realize it’s reasonable when you see her.”

“You mean I’m not to ask where she lives, whether she’s married, or anything?”

“That’s right. If you ask her any personal questions, it will call up a series of memories which will result in a nervous shock. If you feel she can stand it, go ahead. But it’s your responsibility.”

“All right. What else?”

“Make a complete examination. When you finish, tell me exactly what you find. I don’t want you to shade it one way or another.”

“What do you mean?”

Mason said, “If that woman can stand the shock of being dragged to the district attorney’s office, interviewed, perhaps arrested, I want to play the game that way. If she can’t, I’ve got to play it an entirely different way.”

“All right,” Dr. Willmont said, “let’s take a look at her. What is it? Her nerves?”

“Her heart.”

“That,” Dr. Willmont said with relief in his voice, “should simplify matters a lot. I was afraid you were just making me the goat for a hide-out.”

“No, this is on the square.”

“All right, let’s take a look at her.”

They went up to Mrs. Lawley’s room. Mason introduced Dr. Willmont. “Now then,” he said, “Dr. Willmont is going to prescribe for you. He’ll only ask questions which are absolutely necessary.”

Dr. Willmont bowed and smiled.

Mrs. Lawley handed Mason a sealed envelope. “You wanted this,” she said.

Mason nodded, turned toward the door. “I’ll be waiting in the lobby, Doctor.”

It was twenty-five minutes later that Dr. Willmont walked over to sit down beside Mason. He took a cigar from his pocket, clipped off the end, and lit it.

“I’ll try to give you the picture as clearly as I can without using technical terms. The average man thinks of heart disease as something very serious which will prove speedily fatal. As a matter of fact, the heart is an organ. It’s composed of muscles, nerves, valves, arteries, and a heart lining. Any one of these parts is subject to derangement, and when that happens, we have a condition known as heart disease, or a weak heart.

“Now, without going into details, I can tell you this: That woman’s heart shows every evidence of having been badly impaired. I would say that she had an endocarditis, that she had made a partial recovery, that she had been subjected to a nervous shock which had thrown an unusual strain on her heart, that she has, therefore, suffered a temporary set back, that with proper care and treatment she will gain back the ground she has lost. I would say she was on the mend.”

“How about subjecting her to the strain of appearing before the district attorney, or perhaps...”

Dr. Willmont shook his head. “You keep that woman right there in that hotel bedroom,” he said. “Keep her quiet. Have her meals brought in. Keep her cheerful. Keep her from worrying. Give her the proper medicine, and, inside of a few days, she’ll be back out. As a matter of fact, Perry, I didn’t inquire as to what had happened. I can tell she’s had some shock, but, in the end, the result may be beneficial.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“There’s a mental condition involved. There nearly always is in cardiac cases. This woman was trying to keep a stiff upper lip, but she’d been warned so much about excitement and shock and impressed with the necessity for keeping quiet that she’d resigned herself to invalidism. She was trying to be brave, but subconsciously she felt she’d never be any better. The fact that she was able to stand what she’s recently been through has proven a surprise. It will be beneficial — if she gets proper care now.”

Mason said, “That’s all I wanted to know. She stays here.”

“Who is she?” Dr. Willmont asked.

Mason said, “Make no mistake about that, Doctor. She’s Mrs. Charles X. Dunkurk of San Diego.”

Dr. Willmont nodded.

“What have you learned about Esther Dilmeyer?” Mason asked.

“It was veronal all right,” Dr. Willmont said. “Five grains to a candy center.”

“Fingerprints?”

“None.”

“Any other clues?”

“None that I know of.”

“When will she wake up?”

“Perhaps tonight, perhaps tomorrow morning, perhaps not until tomorrow night. I’m not going to hurry it any. She’s coming out of it nicely. She’s having now what you might call a normal sleep.”

Mason said, “I guess that’s about as good a job as you can do for her. I’d like to talk with her, but I’d probably be trampled to death in the rush. I suppose the police and the D.A.’s office are camping on the doorstep.”

“Worse than that,” Dr. Willmont said. “They think the patient should be restored to consciousness, that heroic means should be used, and...”

“And you do not, I take it?” Mason interrupted.

“I,” Dr. Willmont said, regarding him with twinkling eyes, “definitely do not.”

Mason said, “I’ll walk down the street a way with you.”

“I have my car here. I’ll give you a lift.”

“No, I’m going only a short distance.”

“I have a couple of prescriptions for her.”

“Give them to me. I’ll pay for them and have them sent up.”

Mason took the prescriptions, strolled out of the lobby, watched Dr. Willmont into his automobile, and then went to the garage where he surrendered the claim check, got Mrs. Lawley’s coupe and drove it down to the business district. He found a parking place, carefully polished the steering wheel, the handles on the door, the gear shift lever, and the back of the rear view mirror with his handkerchief. He locked up the car and walked away. After two blocks, he dropped the ignition key through a steel grating in the sidewalk.