The Case of the Crying Swallow

Chapter seven

Paul Drake was talking on the phone as Mason entered the suite of rooms Drake was using for headquarters. In an adjoining room Della Street, a list of numbers at her elbow, was putting through a steady succession of calls.

“Come in, Perry,” Drake said, hanging up the receiver. “I was trying to get you. We’re getting results fast.”

“Shoot.”

“Our party is a man thirty-eight years old, bronzed, wears cowboy boots, a five-gallon hat, leather jacket, Pendleton trousers, rather chunky and has a wide, firm mouth. The license number of his automobile is 4E4705. He’s driving a Buick and has quite an elaborate house trailer painted green on the outside with aluminum paint on the roof. Up until Saturday morning he was in the Silver Strand Trailer Camp. He left Saturday, showed up again late Monday night, pulled out again Wednesday morning and hasn’t been seen since.”

“How did you get it?” Mason asked.

“Just a lot of legwork.”

“Give me the highlights.”

“We located the store that has that cash register — the only one in town. Cash register gives the time and date of sale, the amount of the items and the total. This sale was made shortly after the store opened Saturday morning, and the cashier remembers the man’s general appearance. She particularly remembered the cowboy boots. We started covering trailer camps and almost immediately picked up our trail.”

“What are you doing now?”

“I’ve got operatives scattered around with automobiles covering every trailer camp, every possible parking place for a house trailer anywhere in this part of the country. We’re working in a constantly widening circle and should turn up something soon.”

Mason took out his notebook. “The number is 4E4705?”

“That’s right.”

“Then our mysterious observer in the observation tower made a mistake in addition. Remember, we were looking for a number 4″4704. The first number must have been 4E4705 and ditto marks were beneath the E. The real total then should have been...”

He was interrupted by a knock on the door, a quick staccato knock which somehow contained a hint of hysteria.

Mason exchanged glances with Drake. The detective left the desk, crossed over and opened the door.

The woman who stood on the threshold was twenty-seven or twenty-eight, a tall brunette with flashing black eyes, high cheekbones and an active, slender figure. A red brimless hat perched well back on her head emphasized the glossy darkness of her hair and harmonized with the red of her carefully made-up lips.

She smiled at Paul Drake, a stage smile which showed even, white teeth. “Are you Mr. Drake?” she asked, glancing from him to Mason.

Drake nodded.

“May I come in?”

Drake wordlessly stood to one side.

His visitor entered the room, nodded to Perry Mason and said, “I’m Mrs. Drummond.”

Drake started to glance at Mason, then caught himself in time and managed to put only casual interest in his voice. “I’m Mr. Drake,” he said, “and this is Mr. Mason. Is there something in particular, Mrs. Drummond?”

She said, “You’re looking for my husband.”

Drake merely raised his eyebrows.

“At the Silver Strand Trailer Camp,” she went on nervously. “And I’m looking for him too. I wonder if we can’t sort of pool information?”

Mason interposed suavely. “Your husband, and you’re looking for him, Mrs. Drummond?”

“Yes,” she said, her large dark eyes appraising the lawyer.

“How long since you’ve seen him?” Mason asked.

“Two months.”

“Perhaps if you want us to pool information, you’d better tell us a little more about the circumstances and how you happened to know we were looking for him.”

She said, “I’d been at the Silver Strand Trailer Camp earlier in the day. The man promised me that he’d let me know if my husband returned. When your detectives appeared and started asking questions, he took the license number of their car, found out it belonged to the Drake Detective Agency and...” She laughed nervously and said, “And that is where I started to do a little detective work on my own. Are you looking for him for the same reason I am?”

Mason smiled gravely. “That brings up the question of why you’re looking for him.”

She gave an indignant toss of her head. “After all, I have nothing to conceal. We were married a little over a year ago. It didn’t click. Harry is an outdoors man. He’s always chasing around on the trail of some mining deal or some cattle ranch. I don’t like that sort of life and... well, about two months ago we separated. I sued for divorce.”

“Have you got it yet?”

“Not yet. We had an understanding about a property settlement. When my lawyer sent my husband the papers, he sent them back with an insulting note and said he wouldn’t pay me a red cent and that if I tried to get tough about it, he’d show that I didn’t have any rights whatever.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“And you want to find out just what he means by that?” Mason asked.

“That’s right. And now suppose you tell me what you want him for. Has he done something?”

“Is he the type who would?” Mason asked.

“He’s been in trouble before.”

“What sort of trouble?”

“A mining swindle.”

Drake glanced inquiringly at Mason.

“Where are you located?” Mason asked Mrs. Drummond.

“I’m right here at the hotel. And don’t think they’re the ones who told me about Mr. Drake’s being here,” she added hastily. “I found that out by... in another way.”

“You spoke of pooling information,” Mason said suggestively.

She laughed and said, “Well, what I meant was if you find him, will you let me know? And if I find him, I could let you know. After all, he shouldn’t be difficult to locate with that trailer, but I want to catch him before he can get out of the state. If I can find out where he is, I have — some papers to serve.”

“You have a car?” Mason asked.

She nodded, then added by way of explanation, “That is one thing I salvaged out of our marriage. I made him buy me a car, and that’s one of the reasons I want to see him. The car’s still in his name. He agreed to let me have it as part of the property settlement, but in his letter to my lawyer he said he could even take the car away from me if I tried to make trouble. Does either of you gentlemen have any idea what he meant by that?”

Mason shook his head and Drake joined in the gesture of negation.

“Perhaps,” Mason suggested, “we might work out something. You see, even if your assumption is correct that we are looking for your husband, we would be representing some client in the matter and would naturally have to discuss things with that client.”

“Is it because of something he’s done?” she asked apprehensively. “Is he in more trouble? Will it mean all his money will go for lawyers again, just like it did before?”

“I’m sure I couldn’t tell you,” Mason said.

“That means you won’t. Look, I’m in room six-thirteen. Why don’t you ask your client to come and see me?”

“Will you be there all during the evening?” Drake asked.

“Well...” She hesitated. “I’ll be in and out. I’ll... I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll keep in touch with the hotel and if there are any messages, I’ll be where I can come and get them.”

She flashed them a smile, moved toward the door with quick, lithe grace, then almost as an afterthought turned and gave them her hand, glancing curiously through the open door of the adjoining room to where Della Street was seated at the telephone. Then she gave Mason another smile as the lawyer held the door open for her, and left the room, walking with quick nervous steps.

Mason closed the door and cocked a quizzical eyebrow at Paul Drake.

“The guy’s wise,” Drake said. “That means we haven’t much time, Perry.”

“You think he was watching his back trail?”

Drake nodded. “She’s an alert little moll who knows her way around. This man Drummond has done something that he’s trying to cover up. He left her to watch his back trail. She hypnotized the man who runs the trailer camp and then when my man showed up in an agency car—”

“But how about her asking questions at the cash-and-carry, Paul?”

Drake snapped his fingers. “Shucks, there’s nothing to that. That’s the way she builds up a background for herself. After all, she—”

The telephone interrupted. Drake picked up the receiver, said, “Drake talking... Okay, let’s have it... When?... Where?... Okay, stay — on the job... We’ll be right down.”

Drake hung up the receiver, saying, “Well, that’s it. We’ve got him located.”

“Where?”

“Little down-at-the-heel trailer camp in a eucalyptus grove about three miles from here. Not much of a place, auto-court cabins in front and, as an afterthought because there was lots of room, the owner strung up some wires and advertised trailer space in the rear. The conveniences aren’t too good and it’s patronized mostly by people who want to save two bits a day on the regular parking rate. The chief advantage is lots of elbowroom. The grove consists of several acres, and if a man wants to walk far enough to the bath and shower, he can pick his own parking place for the trailer.”

“Any details?” Mason asked.

“One of my men just located it. The trailer came in yesterday night. The man who runs the place was busy selling gasoline at the time, and the driver of the car called out that he’d come back and register later. He tossed the man a silver dollar and the man told him to park any place he wanted to where he could find a plug for his electric connection.”

Mason said, “Let’s go. Della, you stay here and run the place. We’ll telephone you in half an hour or so.”

They drove down to the trailer camp in Mason’s car. Drake’s operative, lounging casually in the door of one of the auto cabins, gave the detective a surreptitious signal and pointed toward the adjoining cabin.

Registering simply as “P. Drake,” the detective rented the vacant cabin, then settled down with Perry Mason. A few moments later Drake’s operative came across to join them.

“Ever met Pete Brady?” Drake asked Mason.

Mason shook hands, saying, “I’ve seen him once or twice before around your office.”

“Glad to know you,” Brady said to Mason, and then to Drake, “I’m not certain but what the guy who runs the place is getting a little suspicious. I asked too many questions.”

“What’s the dope?”

“The trailer’s out there attached to the car. So far, I haven’t had a glimpse of the man who is in it, but it’s the license number of the car we want okay — 4E4705.”

“Let’s take a look around,” Mason said.

“You’ll have to take it easy,” Brady warned. “Just sort of saunter around.”

“How about the gag of buying a trailer?” Drake asked. “Have you used that?”

Brady shook his head.

“We’ll try that,” Drake said. “You can wait here for a while. What’s the guy’s name who runs the place?”

“Elmo, Sidney Elmo.”

“Did he see you come over here?”

“No. I waited until he was selling gas.”

“Okay. Stick around. I’ll go tell the bird that we heard one of the trailers here was for sale. He won’t know anything about it. That gives us an opportunity to go sauntering around looking them over.”

Five minutes later when Drake returned, Mason joined him and they walked slowly out past the line of somewhat dilapidated cabins into the eucalyptus grove. Late afternoon shadows made the place seem cold and gloomy. The ground was still moist from the rain and the drippings of the trees when ocean fog enveloped that portion of the country.

“There’s the outfit,” Drake said. “What do we do? Go right up and knock and ask him if it’s for sale?”

Mason said, “Let’s try one of the other trailers first. We can talk loud enough so our voices will carry over here.”

“Good idea,” Drake said.

“Take this one,” Mason suggested.

The two walked over to the small homemade trailer Mason had indicated. It was parked about a hundred feet from the green trailer. Electric lights showed a well-fleshed woman in her late forties cooking over the stove. On the outside, a man was taking advantage of the failing light to tinker with the bumper on the trailer. There was an Oklahoma license plate on the car.

“This the outfit that’s for sale?” Mason asked.

The man looked up, a long, thin mouth twisted into a smile. He said with a drawl, “I ain’t saying yes, and I ain’t saying no. You want to buy?”

“We’re looking for a trailer that we heard was for sale here.”

“What sort of a trailer?”

“We just heard it was a good one.”

“That’s the description of this job all right.”

Drake interposed, “You’re not the man who spoke to the manager of the Silver Strand Trailer Camp and said he wanted to sell, are you?”

“Nope. Fact is, I’m not particularly anxious to sell. But if you wanted to buy it, I’d be willing to listen.”

“We’re looking for a particular trailer that’s for sale,” Mason explained. “How about that green one over there? Know anything about it?”

“No. It just came in last night.”

“Don’t suppose you’ve talked with the people who own it?”

“I ain’t seen ’em. They haven’t been around all day.”

Mason said, “That looks like it. Let’s go over there, Paul.”

“Take it easy,” Mason said as they approached. “Ever use a house trailer, Paul?”

“No. Why?”

“The steady weight of the trailer has a tendency to wear out springs. So most trailers are equipped with an auxiliary wheel which can be screwed into position when the trailer is parked.”

“There isn’t any here,” Drake said.

“That’s just the point. Furthermore, no spout bucket has been put out under the spout. And to cap the climax, the cord hasn’t been connected with the electric outlet.”

“What are you getting at, Perry?”

By way of reply, Mason knocked loudly on the trailer door. When there was no response, the lawyer tentatively tried the knob.

The door swung open.

There was still enough afternoon light to show the sprawled figure lying on the floor. The dark pool eddying out from under the body showed little jagged streaks of irregularity, but its ominous significance could not be misjudged.

“Oh-oh!” Drake exclaimed.

Mason stepped up and entered the trailer. Carefully avoiding the red pool, he looked down at the body. Then he bent over, touched the high-heeled cowboy boot, moved it gently back and forth.

“Been dead for some time, Paul. Rigor mortis has set in.”

“Come on out,” Drake begged. “Let’s play this one on the up-and-up and notify the police.”

“Just a minute,” Mason said. “I...” He bent over, and as he did so a shaft of light struck his face.

“What’s that?” Drake asked.

Mason moved slightly so that the beam of light struck his eyes.

“That,” he announced, “is a hole in this trailer, directly in line with the window of that Oklahoma trailer. Light from the window over there where the woman is cooking comes through the hole in this trailer. The hole could have been made by a bullet.”

“Okay, Perry. Let’s notify the police.”

Mason said, “First I want to find out a little more about that Oklahoma trailer.”

“For the luvva Mike, Perry, have a heart! You’re in the clear on this one — so far.”

Mason, moving cautiously, left the trailer. He hesitated a moment when he stepped to the ground. Then he carefully polished the doorknob with his handkerchief.

“That’s removing evidence,” Drake said. “There are other prints there besides yours.”

“How do you know?”

“It stands to reason.”

“You can’t prove it,” Mason said. “The murderer probably wiped his fingerprints off the door just as I did.”

Mason walked back to the trailer with the Oklahoma license. The man, still bent over the bumper at the rear of the trailer, seemed to be working aimlessly, stalling for time. The position of his head indicated an interest in what had been going on over at the other trailer.

“That the one?” he asked as Mason approached.

“I don’t know. No one seems to be home.”

“I ain’t seen ’em leave. They couldn’t go very far without their car.”

“Seen any visitors over there?” Mason asked casually.

“Not today. There was a young woman called last night.”

“What time?”

“I don’t know. We’d gone to bed. Her headlights shone in the window and woke me up when she came. I sat up in bed and looked out the window.”

“See her plain?”

“Yeah — a redhead. Checkered suit — trim-looking package.”

“She go in?”

“I guess so. She switched off her lights and I went back to sleep. Woke me up again when she left. Her car backfired a couple of times.”

Mason glanced at Drake. “I’d like to find these people.”

“I think there’s only one — a man. He drove in last night and had quite a bit of trouble backing the trailer around. You take one of these big trailers and it’s quite a job to park it. You try to back up and everything’s just reversed from what it is when you’re backing just a car. We went to bed pretty early and sometime after I’d got to sleep this other car came up. What really woke me up was headlights shining in my window. I looked out and seen this woman.”

“Remember what sort of car she was driving?”

“It was a rented car.”

“How do you know?”

“From the gasoline rationing stamp on the windshield.”

“Your wife didn’t wake up?”

“No.”

“How long have you been here?” Mason asked.

“What’s it to you?”

“Nothing.”

“I thought not,” the man said, suddenly suspicious, and then after a moment added, “You’re asking a lot of questions.”

“Sorry,” Mason said.

The man hesitated a moment, then, by way of dismissal, turned back to the bumper.

Mason glanced significantly at Paul Drake. Silently the two walked away.

“Okay, Paul,” Mason said in a low voice. “Get Della on the phone. Tell her to put operatives on every drive-yourself car agency within a radius of fifty miles and see if we can find where the woman rented the car. When we spot the place, I’ll handle the rest of it.”

“I don’t like it,” Drake said.

“I don’t like it myself,” Mason told him. “But the young woman who called there last night was Marcia Winnett.”

“And her car backfired,” Drake said dryly.

Mason met his eyes. “Her car backfired, Paul. And in case it ever becomes necessary, remember that the only person who heard it said it was a backfire.”

Drake nodded gloomily. “Not that that will do any good, Perry.”

“It keeps us in the clear, Paul. You don’t rush to the police to report that someone’s car backfired.”

“When you’ve discovered a body, you do.”

“Who knows we’ve discovered any body?”

“I do.”

Mason laughed. “Back to the hotel, Paul. Try to trace that car. And just to be on the safe side, find out where Mrs. Drummond was last night.”