The Case of the Calendar Girl

Chapter Eight

Mason called Beatrice Cornell’s number. “Perry Mason talking,” he said when he heard her voice on the line. “How well do you know Dawn Manning?”

“Not too well.”

“Would she lie?”

“About what?”

“About a murder.”

“You mean if she were involved?”

“That’s right.”

“Sure, she’d lie,” Beatrice Cornell said. “Who wouldn’t?”

“How is she otherwise?”

“Nice.”

“What do you mean by nice?”

“I mean nice.”

“Boy friends?”

“What the hell, she’s normal.”

“Do you keep records of your calls there?”

“Yes.”

“What time was it when someone rang your doorbell and then didn’t go on in?”

“I can’t tell you that. I don’t keep records of things like that, but I think it was about ten.”

“Do you remember when I called you and asked you about an automobile accident and you said you hadn’t been in one?”

“Of course.”

“Would you have a record of the time of that call?”

“Sure,” she said. “I record all telephone conversations.”

“And the time?”

“And the time,” she said. “I have a tape recorder and whenever the phone rings, and before I answer it, I pick up a time clock stamp and stamp that on the piece of paper. Then I mark down the figure which shows on the footage indicator of the tape recorder, switch on the tape recorder and then answer the telephone.”

“And what about this particular call that I placed?”

“I simply marked that personal.”

“But the conversation would be saved?”

“Yes.”

“On the tape recorder?”

“That’s right.”

“And the time?”

She said, “While I’ve been talking with you, Mr. Mason, I’ve been pawing through papers looking for the time sheet. Give me just a minute more and I think I can find it.”

Mason grinned. “How about this conversation? Is it being recorded?”

“It’s being recorded,” she said. “I... Here we are. It was ten-twenty-three when you called, Mr. Mason.”

“Thanks a lot,” Mason told her. “Try and keep that record straight, will you, so you’ll know the time?”

“It’s all straight,” she said, “and this conversation is recorded. I can always refer back to it and tell you the time I gave you.”

“That’s fine,” Mason told her. “Thanks a lot.”

He hung up and called his office.

“Hello, Gertie,” Mason said when the receptionist and switchboard operator answered the phone. “Della isn’t around, is she?”

“No,” she said. “You told her to take the day off because she’d been working late last night.”

“That’s right, I did. She hasn’t shown up?”

“No.”

“Anyone looking for me?” Mason asked.

“Lots of people.”

“Anyone in the office now?”

“Yes.”

“Waiting?”

“That’s right.”

“Anyone who looks official?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Can you tell me who it is?”

“He says his name is Ansley, George Ansley. You left a message for him.”

Mason’s voice showed excitement. “Put him in my private office, Gertie,” he said. “Lock the door of the private office and don’t let anyone in there. Tell him to wait. I’m coming right up.” Leaving his car parked in the parking lot at the Family Kitchen Cafeteria, Mason took a cab direct to his office, went up in the elevator, hurried down the corridor, unlocked the door of his private office and found George Ansley seated in the big, overstuffed chair reading a newspaper.

“Hello, Mr. Mason,” Ansley said. “Gosh, I’m glad you showed up. What’s new?”

“You should ask me!” Mason told him.

Ansley raised his eyebrows. “What’s the matter?”

“Have you been out of circulation all day?” Mason asked.

“Not all day. I checked in about two o’clock this afternoon and... well, I saw the paper.”

“That was the first you’d known about it?” Mason asked.

Ansley nodded.

“Now, look here,” Mason told him, “I want to know exactly what happened at your interview with Borden, everything that was said by either party, and I want to know whether you went back to Borden’s place after you left me.”

Ansley straightened in the chair. “I go back to Borden’s place?” Mason nodded.

“Good heavens! You don’t mean that anyone would think I could have gone back there, and—?”

“Why not?” Mason asked. “The building and contract construction inspectors start picking on you. You get the tip to go and see Meridith Borden. Borden is a crooked politician. He’s smart enough so he doesn’t hold office himself, but acts as go-between.

“It was to Borden’s financial advantage to have you come and see him. Surely you aren’t so naive that the possibility hadn’t occurred to you that Borden was responsible for all of your troubles — putting you in such a position that you’d have to come to him.”

“Of course he was responsible,” Ansley said. “That’s the way he worked.”

“You didn’t have a gun, did you?” Mason asked.

“No.”

“Where’s your car?” Mason asked.

“In the parking lot down here.”

“Okay,” Mason said, “let’s go take a look. Let’s look in your glove compartment.”

“For what?”

“Evidence.”

“Of what?”

“Anything,” Mason said. “I’m just checking.”

The lawyer opened the door and led the way down the corridor. They descended in the elevator, went to the parking lot, and Ansley pulled out a key container. He fitted the key in the lock of the glove compartment, turned the key, then frowned and said, “Wait a minute, that’s the wrong way.”

“You’re locking it now,” Mason said.

“It won’t turn the other way.”

“Then it probably was unlocked all the time.”

Ansley turned the key and said sheepishly, “I guess it was.”

Ansley opened the glove compartment. “I usually keep it locked. I must have unlocked it the other night and left it unlocked.”

“Let’s take a look,” Mason said.

“My God!” Ansley exclaimed. “There’s a gun in there!”

Ansley reached in to take out the weapon. Mason jerked his arm away.

“Close the glove compartment,” Mason said.

“But there’s... there’s a gun there, a blued-steel revolver.”

“Close the glove compartment,” Mason said.

A voice behind them said, “Mind if I look?”

Mason whirled to see Lt. Tragg standing behind him.

Tragg pushed Mason to one side, showed Ansley a leather container with a gold badge. “Lt. Tragg of Homicide,” he said.

Lt. Tragg reached inside the glove compartment and took out the gun.

“Yours?” he asked Ansley.

“Definitely not. I’ve never seen it before.”

Tragg said, “I guess we’d better sort of take this gun along and check it. You know, Borden was killed with a .38 Colt.”

“You don’t mean he was killed with this gun,” Ansley said.

“Oh, sure, sure, not with your gun. But just the same, we’d better take it along. The ballistics department will want to play around with it, and then they’ll give you a clean bill of health. You won’t have anything to worry about. You’ll come with me.”

“I tell you it isn’t my gun.”

“Oh sure, I know. It just parked itself in your car because it didn’t have any place to go. Let’s go take a ride and see what Ballistics has to say about the gun.”

“Mason coming with us?” Ansley asked.

“No,” Tragg said, grinning. “Mason has had a busy day and he’s been away from his office. He has a lot of stuff to take care of up there. We won’t need to bother Mr. Mason. There isn’t anything you have on your mind, no reason why you should have a lawyer with you, is there?”

“No, certainly not.”

“That’s what I thought,” Tragg said. “Now, if you don’t mind, we’ll just take this gun and go on up to Headquarters. Probably you’d better drive up in your car. The boys may want to check the car a little bit, find out when you last saw Meridith Borden, and so on. You know how those things are... Okay, Perry, we’ll see you later. I’m sorry to have to inconvenience your client, but you know how those things are.”

“I certainly do,” Mason said dryly, as Tragg took Ansley’s arm and virtually pushed him into the automobile.