The Case of the Black-Eyed Blonde

6

Mason swung the car in a wide turn, started back down San Felipe Boulevard. He was silent and thoughtful, and Della, respecting his mood, refrained from question or comment. The rain was now falling more rapidly, and the all-but-deserted boulevard showed as a glistening wet ribbon of cement in the path’ of the headlights.

Not until Mason turned into Della Street’s block did he speak. Then he said, “Poor kid! Perhaps if we’d gone with her... A lawyer can’t afford to get too big, Della. He always has to remember he’s a part of the machinery by which justice is dispensed. When it comes to a matter of justice or injustice there isn’t such a thing as big or little. Injustice is a social malignancy. Gosh, how I wish I’d told the kid I’d go out there with her!”

“Then you might have been where she is, Chief — face down in the rain.”

“Okay. That’s a chance you have to take. When you get to where you try to play things so safe you’re afraid to take a chance you’re afraid to live.”

“Night, Chief.”

“Night. I...”

From across the street came the frantic blowing of a horn, then a car door swung open and a figure jumped to the street and raced headlong across through the driving rain.

“Better get on your way, Chief,” Della Street warned. “This is probably some client who has looked me up and...”

“Good idea,” Mason said. “So long.”

“So long, Chief.”

Mason slammed the door shut, started the car away from the curb.

The woman who was running across the street stopped, waved her hands frantically, turned, and the headlights caught her countenance disclosing a discolored right eye.

Mason spun the steering wheel, sent the car back to the curb, switched off headlights and motor and had just opened the car door when Diana Regis came sprinting up.

“Oh, I’m so relieved! I’m so glad to see you. And Mr. Mason, I was so afraid you wouldn’t come. I’ve been waiting for ages and ages and ages. But they told me Miss Street had gone out, and I knew she’d promised to meet me here, and... Well, you know... Although, of course, I suppose it is late. I don’t know how late. I got water in my wrist watch and it stopped.”

Mason flashed Della a warning glance, said, “Just what was it you wanted me to do, Diana?”

“I’d like to have you come along with me if you will.”

“Where are you going?”

“Out to sixty-seven fifty San Felipe Boulevard.”

“Going alone?”

“I’m to meet Mildred Danville out there.”

“What time?”

She laughed and said, “Well, the appointment was made for ten-thirty, but Mildred is usually late, and...”

“Didn’t you tell me ten?” Della Street interrupted.

Diana looked steadily, searchingly at Della Street. “Oh my gosh! Perhaps it was ten!”

“Weren’t you to be here around nine-thirty?” Mason asked.

“I tried to be but the rain interfered. I went to get my own car, and the streetcars were running by fits and starts. I didn’t get here until... well, I guess it was quarter of ten.”

“Then you’ve been waiting here ever since quarter to ten?”

“Yes. At any rate, that’s my best guess on the time.”

Mason said, “Let’s go up to Della’s apartment and get out of the rain.”

Della Street took her key from her purse and unlocked the outer door of the apartment. The three of them took the elevator, then went to Della’s apartment. Della Street switched on lights, and divesting herself of her wet raincoat, went at once to the kitchenette where she put on the teakettle.

“I’m about to make some hot toddies,” she announced.

“Good,” Mason announced. “Get the things all ready, and then come in here while you’re waiting for the water to heat, will you, Della?”

Diana Regis settled down in a chair, crossed her knees, saw Mason inspecting her sopping wet shoes and stockings, laughed and said, “I’m afraid I wasn’t prepared for quite such a deluge.”

“How’d you happen to get in touch with Mildred Danville?” Mason asked abruptly.

“She telephoned me when I went back with the detective.”

“What did she say over the telephone?”

“She told me she’d been in some trouble, that she’d borrowed my car and had been picked up by an officer for some traffic irregularity. The officer wanted to see her driving license. Mildred doesn’t have any. She got in trouble a while ago and isn’t supposed to drive a car, but she’s my age, build, and complexion, in fact she looks a lot like me and she uses my driving license. She took the cop up to the apartment on the stall she’d forgotten her purse. She opened the door, thinking she’d never get out of the scrape — and there was my purse on the table! She grabbed it. That’s how the cigar butt came in the ash tray. The cop was smoking.”

Mason glanced at Della. “And you told her about your experience?”

“Yes, over the phone. I was asleep when she took the purse.”

“The black eye?”

“Yes. And then the detective wanted to go home so I told Mildred to call me back and hung up. Well, Mildred didn’t call for quite a while. When she did, she was all excited. She asked me to tell her about my black eye again, and then asked me to meet her at this San Felipe address and to bring you along if I possibly could.”

Della Street went out to the kitchenette, then after a moment called out, “The toddy’s all ready.”

Mason arose with alacrity, said to Diana Regis, “Sit still. I’ll bring them in.”

Mason entered the kitchenette, circled Della Street’s waist with his arm, drew her over against the icebox, away from the door. “Back door out of here, Della?”

“Yes. Out through the service porch.”

“Okay,” Mason said, “get out and work your way around to the front door. Start pounding on the door. Try to make your knock sound like that of a police officer banging away for admission, only don’t make so much noise that you attract the attention of the occupants of the adjoining apartment.”

“When?” she asked.

“As soon as you’ve served the toddy. Take a sip or two, then excuse yourself to do some stuff in the kitchen and get out.”

“Okay, Chief.”

Mason brought in two of the toddies, handed one to Diana Regis. Della Street, a steaming cup in her hand, stood in the door of the kitchenette.

“Here’s how!” Mason said.

They sipped the toddies slowly.

“Oh, that’s good!” Diana Regis exclaimed. “This is really something like. You have no idea how I needed this.”

“Your hand’s trembling,” Mason said.

“I’m terribly nervous tonight.”

Della Street said casually, “Well, this will fix you up. Meanwhile, I’ve got a little household stuff to do in the kitchen. I’ll be with you presently.”

She closed the door.

Mason said to Diana Regis, “Ever hear the name of Bartsler before you went to work for him?”

“No.”

“Know who lives at this San Felipe address?”

“No. Some friend of Mildred. Can’t we please go out there, Mr. Mason? It’s terribly late. She wanted me there at ten o’clock.”

“In a minute,” Mason said. “If she’s waited this long she’ll wait a little longer.”

“But suppose she hasn’t waited this long?”

“Then there’s no use going.”

Diana bit her lip.

They were silent for a few dragging minutes, then suddenly knuckles banged on the front door.

Mason said in an undertone, “Sounds like a cop. Wonder what the idea is now?”

Diana Regis’ cup dropped from her cold, quavering fingers, shattering on the floor, spilling hot buttered rum over the carpet.

“Want out?” Mason asked.

She was too frightened to talk but merely nodded.

Mason grabbed her wrist. “All right,” he said, “this way.”

The lawyer led the frightened young woman out through the kitchenette to the back porch. “Bend down,” he whispered, “so you can’t be seen against the lighted windows. Come on, now, keep crouched down.”

They moved along a service porch, stooped over so that they clung to the dark shadows, crept down steel stairs clammy and cold with the drizzling- rain.

They gained the ground, slipped out through an alley entrance and sought shelter from the rain under the overhang of a shed roof.

“Now,” Mason said threateningly, “tell me the truth.”

She said in a frightened half whisper, “I left Miss Street’s place and went uptown. Then I saw it was late and I didn’t think I could get back to her place and get out there to San Felipe in time, and I didn’t have any idea that you were coming. She discouraged me.”

“So what did you do?” Mason asked.

“I found a taxicab that would take me out there. I had to pay him double fare to get him to do it.”

“Then what?”

She said, “I saw my car parked out in front so I thought that was all there was to it; that Mildred must be there all right, and they were having a conference inside the house. So I paid off the cab driver and told him to go on back to town.

“He didn’t want to go at first — wanted to wait. I told him to go ahead, that everything was all right.”

“Then what?”

“Then I went up the stairs to the porch and rang the bell and nothing happened, and that puzzled me a little bit and I walked around the house to the back door and knocked, and the back door was locked. I couldn’t understand why Mildred would have left my car there unless she was there.”

“And so what did you do?”

“I was pretty wet. It was raining cats and dogs by that time. I went out to my car and sat in the car for quite a while, waiting. Then I got cold and shivery and decided something was wrong. There was a flashlight in my glove compartment. I took it out and walked around the house again, and then I... then I...”

“Saw the body?”

“Yes.”

“Did you,” Mason asked, “walk over toward it?”

She nodded.

“Touch the body?”

“Yes.”

“Was it Mildred?”

“Yes.”

“Then what?” the lawyer asked.

“Then I got in my car — the keys were in it — and drove away. I didn’t know what to do for a while, but then I got the idea of coming back to see Miss Street. I found that she’d gone, so I thought perhaps — well, you know, perhaps that... well, I fixed up a story and jimmied up my watch and tried to fool you.”

“You’re telling the truth now?” Mason asked.

“So help me,” she said, “this is the truth.”

There was the sound of steps from the vicinity of the apartment house. A shadowy figure glided out to the alley, paused, gave a low whistle.

“Over here, Della,” Mason said in a low voice.

“Oh,” her voice showed relief.

“What is it?” Mason asked.

“I want to talk with you a minute, Chief.”

“Excuse me,” Mason said to Diana and, taking Della Street’s arm, walked over a few feet where they could have a conversation just out of earshot.

“Something happened,” Della said. “I’m afraid it’s going to make a difference.”

“What?”

“I knocked on the door just like you told me to, and...”

“And it worked,” Mason said. “It frightened her into really telling the truth.”

“Well,” Della said, “I thought it had worked all right. I waited to give you plenty of time to get away, then I opened the apartment door, went on in and sat down, waiting for you.”

“Go ahead,” Mason said impatiently. “What happened?”

“I hadn’t much more than got myself comfortable and there was a loud imperative knock on the door.”

“What did you do?” Mason asked.

“Sat perfectly tight. I didn’t know what it was, and I wasn’t going to lead with my chin.”

“Then what happened?”

“Then the knock was repeated two or three times. And then I heard Lieutenant Tragg’s voice saying, ‘Open up in there, or I’ll break the door down.’”

“What did you do?”

“Continued to sit tight and say nothing.”

“What did he do?”

“He went away.”

Mason thought that over for a few seconds.

“Does that make a lot of difference?” Della Street asked.

“I’ll tell the world it makes a lot of difference,” Mason said “Thanks to Lieutenant Tragg, the little third-degree that I’d arranged to make Diana Regis tell the truth has become a boomerang.”

“You mean that she thinks you helped her escape and...”

“Exactly,” Mason said. “If she ever tells the story of what happened, I’ll be hooked for being an accessory after the fact. No one will ever believe our story — not now.”

“Can they pin that murder on her?”

“I don’t see why not. She’s left tracks all over the place and has left herself wide open.”

“But, Chief, couldn’t I take the stand and explain that it was just a third-degree we’d worked out and...”

“Not a chance,” Mason said. “We’ve cut too many corners in the past, Della. They’d simply think it was another fast one we were pulling so I could get out of it. Where’s Tragg now?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s a cinch he’s spotted my car out in front, and he’s waiting to nab me as soon as I come out. And Diana’s car is there, too.”

Della Street said somewhat dubiously, “My little car is here in the garage and...”

“Get it,” Mason said.

“Now?”

“Yes. Got your keys?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, get it out.”

Mason moved back to Diana Regis and said, “Miss Street is going to get her car out and she’ll take you home.”

“Home?” Diana asked.

“Well,” Mason said, “some place where you’ll be safe for the moment.”

They heard a lock click back then a garage door slide open. A motor started and Della Street’s light coupe came backing out of the garage.

Mason helped Diana Regis in.

“Which way?” Della Street asked.

Mason glanced up and down the alley. “They may be watching that entrance,” he said, indicating the direction of the main boulevard. “Your only chance is to get out the other way.”

“Think they’re watching it?”

“They will be in a few minutes,” Mason said, “but we may stand a chance right now.”

“What happens if we get caught?” Della Street asked.

“We’re in bad,” Mason said. “I’m going back to your apartment. You drive Diana around. Don’t stop anywhere. Don’t let her out. Call me at your apartment in twenty minutes if you get clear. Here’s something else.” Mason whipped a notebook and fountain pen from his pocket, handed them to Della Street. “Write this down, Della: ‘Chief, I may be a little late. The key’s in the mailbox. Go on in and make yourself at home. Della.’”

Della Street wrote the message, handed notebook and pen to Mason. Mason tore the sheet of paper from the notebook. Della Street handed him the key to her apartment.

“Okay, Della. On your way.”

The light coupe shot forward. Mason waited some ten seconds then returned up the steel stairs to Della Street’s apartment. He had barely settled himself with a cigarette and book when heavy knuckles banged on the door.

Mason marked his place in the book with his forefinger, got up and went to the door.

“Well, hello, Lieutenant,” Mason said. “I hardly expected to see you again so soon.”

Tragg looked past Mason, said shortly, “Hello. I’m looking for your most efficient secretary, Della Street.”

“Isn’t in,” Mason said.

“You living here now?” Tragg asked.

Mason laughed. “We had a date for a midnight supper with some friends. I don’t know what happened to Della. I found this note waiting for me when I arrived. So I took the key and let myself in.”

Tragg inspected the note which Mason handed him, started to hand it back, then stopped as something caught his eye. He studied the note for a moment then nodded, returned it to Mason, said, “Well, I may as well join you in waiting if you have no objection. In fact, you may be able to give me the information I want.”

“What is it?”

“This case that you handled for Diana Regis,” Tragg went on. “You were naturally somewhat reticent about that, but I’d like to know more about it.”

“Sit down, Lieutenant. Don’t tell me that you’ve stooped so low as to try to get information out of Della Street you felt you couldn’t get out of me.”

“Not at all, Mason. Don’t worry about that. I understood Diana Regis had been with Della Street earlier in the evening. I wanted to check up on the time element. Since I found you here I saw no reason why I shouldn’t ask you a few questions.”

“Nice of you. Do stretch out and do be comfortable. I think Della has some Scotch out in the kitchen. Should I try to promote a bottle?”

“I’m on duty,” Tragg said.

“Are your superiors that strict?”

“It isn’t that entirely. But in case anything happens, and I should have to call Miss Street as a witness, I wouldn’t like to have it appear I’d consumed her whisky.”

“I see the logic of your position. And why would Della be a witness?”

“Several reasons. I knocked on the door a few minutes ago, Mason.”

“Oh, was that you? I was telephoning and called out to wait. I guess you didn’t hear me.”

“I guess I didn’t.”

“Then, when I did go to the door, no one was there.”

“Interesting! I must have been checking up on the cars down front about that time. You think the body was that of Diana Regis?”

“Wasn’t it?”

“No.”

“Who?”

“A Mildred Danville who shares an apartment with Diana and who looks very much like Diana.”

“Oh, oh! And where does that leave Diana, Tragg?”

“In a spot,” Tragg said.

“Nice of you to tell me.”

“I’m going to tell you a lot,” Tragg said. “I think there are some things you should know, Mason.”

“Such as what?”

“As nearly as we can tell, the murder was committed some time around an hour and a half after it started raining. The rain came down pretty hard right at the start.”

The lawyer nodded.

“The woman had been running away from her assailant. She was knocked down by the bullet which was fired from some little distance — say over twenty feet. It had been raining long enough so the dust on the ground had turned to mud. She’d got mud in her fingers as she fell with her hand clutching at the ground. You can still see the tracks made by the fingers, and there’s mud under the nails.”

“Why not fix the time as two hours or later — after it started to rain?”

Tragg said, “General condition of the body. Of course the tests are purely preliminary at present.”

“Nice rain,” Mason said.

“I understand the farmers like it. How long before Della’s going to be back?”

“You know as much about it as I do. You’ve seen the note.”

Tragg said, “Yes — interesting about that note, Mason.”

“What about it?”

“Looks as though it had been scrawled rather hastily.”

“I suppose it was,” Mason said. “She probably went out and stood in front of the mailbox with a fountain pen in her hand scrawling this note.”

“Then she wrote it with your pen and in your notebook,” Tragg said. “That page of paper with its perforations matches the sheets in a notebook you carry. And,” Tragg went on dryly, “you’ll notice that there’s an ink smudge where someone moved his finger along the signature at the end of the note while the ink was still damp.”

“Yes, I noticed that,” Mason admitted.

“And did you, by any chance, notice that there was an ink smear on the inside of your right thumb?”

Mason turned his hand over, said, “No, I hadn’t noticed.”

“I thought so,” Tragg said.

The two men smoked for a while in silence.

Tragg said at length. “It looks as though we have a pretty good case against Diana Regis.”

“Gone that far with it?” Mason inquired.

“Yes.”

“Just because you found her purse on the sidewalk?”

“Don’t be silly,” Tragg said. “Mildred Danville managed to get away with Diana’s car and with some money belonging to Diana. Diana went after the car and the money.”

The telephone rang.

Lieutenant Tragg said, “If you don’t mind, Mason, I’ll answer it. I think it’s for me. I left word that I was to be called here in case of certain developments.”

With a quick motion, Mason moved around the table, interposing himself between Tragg and the telephone. “Quite all right, Lieutenant,” he said, “but it happens that I am also expecting a call and left word that I could be reached here.”

Mason picked up the receiver.

Tragg stood just behind Mason, grimly belligerent.

“Hello,” Mason said, and then added, “Be careful what you say.”

A gruff masculine voice said, “I want to talk with Lieutenant Tragg. What the hell have I got to be careful about?”

Mason surrendered the telephone with a smile. “You win, Lieutenant.”

Tragg took the receiver, said, “Hello, this is Tragg,” then listened for several seconds, said, “All right, get a statement. Stay with it. Good-by.”

He hung up the telephone and frowningly regarded the end of his cigarette.

“Something?” Mason asked.

“Taxicab driver,” Lieutenant Tragg said, “took a blonde with a black eye who answers the description of Diana Regis out to the San Felipe Boulevard address. There was a car parked in front. Didn’t seem to be anyone home, but that didn’t seem to worry the girl any. She told the cab to go back to town. He stuck around thinking that if no one was home, he might take the girl back.”

“Fix the time?” Mason asked.

“About an hour after it started to rain.”

Mason yawned.

“Thing that interests me,” Tragg went on, “is that the cab driver is certain there was a car parked at the curb when he drove up. There wasn’t any car except yours when we got there. You wouldn’t by any chance have been there earlier in the evening and then gone back... No, you wouldn’t have stuck around that long... No, it looks as though Diana pulled the trigger and then made a getaway in her automobile — which is now parked in front of this place.”

“Rather frank with me, aren’t you?” Mason asked.

Tragg met his eyes. “What I’m trying to do, Mason,” he said, “is to show you exactly how much of a case we have against your client, so in case Della Street is acting under your instructions and keeping her out of circulation, you won’t be able to plead afterward that you didn’t know the true facts in the case. If you’ve whisked her away from right under my nose, you’ll have the full responsibility. I want Diana Regis. I want her as a material witness. I want her as a possible suspect for murder. And I’ve been very careful to see that you know exactly what I have on her and why I want her, Mr. Perry Mason.”

“Nice of you, Lieutenant Tragg, I’m certain,” Mason said.

The telephone exploded the somewhat intense silence which followed.

Tragg made a dive toward it and found Mason’s shoulder in the way. “You already had your call, Lieutenant,” Mason pointed out, and then added, “Remember?”

Tragg couldn’t think of the answer to that one.

Mason picked up the telephone, said, “Hello. Keep your voice low.”

Della Street said, “Okay. What do I do?”

Mason said, “Music.”

“Music?” she asked, puzzled.

“Here.”

Della Street thought that over for a few seconds, then said, “Music you don’t like. Chief?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t you tune it out?”

“No.”

“Music,” Della Street repeated thoughtfully. “You mean that it has to be faced?”

“That’s what I’m trying to get across.”

“By Diana?”

“All three.”

“Am I to bring her up there?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want her to talk when she gets there?”

“No.”

“Want her to keep absolutely mum?”

“Yes.”

“Suppose there’s something she can explain? Should she try?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Della Street said, “we’ll be up.”

“Be seeing you,” Mason said, and hung up the telephone.

Lieutenant Tragg sighed, reached across Mason’s shoulder, picked up the telephone as soon as the lawyer had dropped the receiver in the hook and dialed a number.

“Hello,” he said. “Put me on with the Transmitting Department... Hello, radio? Lieutenant Tragg. I guess you can pick up that car now... Yeh, the one that Diana Regis and Della Street are running around in... That’s right. Okay, broadcast a message to the radio car to close in and pick them up.”

Tragg hung up the telephone, sighed, picked up his hat. “Well, Mason,” he said, “better luck next time.”

“Trap didn’t work?” Mason asked.

Tragg shook his head. “I thought you’d lead with your chin that time, but you didn’t. Perhaps it was intuition. Perhaps I overplayed my hand. Oh well, we have to take the bitter right along with the sweet. But keep cutting corners, Mason, and I’m going to catch you off first base one of these days, and then I’ll tag you out.”

“Going so soon, Lieutenant?” Mason inquired solicitously.

“Yes. I’ve got to be up at Headquarters when they bring Diana in and see if I can get anything out of her. I don’t suppose I can.”

“Going to file a charge against her?”

“That depends. Going to represent her?”

“Can’t tell yet,” Mason told him.

“Well, good night, wise guy.”

“Good night,” Mason retorted.

The two men grinned at each other, then Tragg turned and walked swiftly down the corridor.

Mason went back to the apartment, found a bottle of Scotch in Della’s kitchenette, fixed himself a drink and sat waiting.

In about ten minutes the phone rang. Mason picked it up, heard Della Street’s voice say in a swift rush of excitement, “They got her, Chief. I guess they’d been following us. A police car closed in and took her along with them and impounded the car and took it and left me right out on the sidewalk.”

“Where you can get a taxi?” Mason asked.

“Not very well at this hour of the night.”

“Okay,” Mason said, “where are you?”

Della Street gave him the address.

“Wait there,” Mason said, “and I’ll pick you up. I think we’re going to go to the office and make a petition for a writ of habeas corpus for Diana Regis.”