The Case of the Daring Divorcee

Chapter Thirteen

A French restaurant some three blocks from the court house traditionally held a small intimate private dining room for the luncheon use of Perry Mason, Della Street and Paul Drake, and in the past many conferences held in this dining room during lunch hours had resulted in last minute changes in strategy.

Now seated around the circular table with a telephone plugged in so they could receive and send out calls, Drake said, “I’ve picked up a tip, Perry. They have a surprise they’re springing this afternoon.”

“Any idea what it is?”

“No.”

Mason said, “There’s something Simley Beason was holding back. I don’t know what it was. He was afraid the were going to ask him some particular question, and the answer to that question might well have been devastating as far as the defendant was concerned.

“When they let him off the stand without asking that question his face showed relief.”

“Any idea what it could be?” Drake asked.

“It might be anything,” Mason said. “Of course the prosecution knows he’s a hostile witness and they’re afraid to ask him general questions because he might have an answer that would crucify them. However, we’re probably out of the woods now. I doubt very much if they’ll recall him. It’s a certainty that I’m not going to call him as my witness and let them tear into him on cross-examination.

“What have you found out about the Carson City angle, Paul?”

Drake took out his pocket notebook. “There’s something here that baffles me. This Harley C. Drexel, the contractor, lives at 291 Center Street, Carson City. He’s a guy fifty-five years old, with a good reputation. He has a house that he built himself on a deep lot with a little bungalow in back of the house that he rents out. He’s a widower, he has a daughter who’s attending college somewhere in the east — supposed to be nice people.”

“Any connection whatever with Adelle Hastings or anybody else who has any connection with the case?” Mason asked.

“Now, there’s a funny thing,” Drake said. “I ran on this by accident. I told you that Drexel rents out the building in the back of his place from time to time. It’s a small compact bungalow cottage. Remember, Perry, his address is 291 Center Street. Now, when Minerva filed divorce proceedings in Nevada, the divorce proceedings she didn’t ever follow up, the address she gave was 291½ Center Street. So evidently Minerva established a residence in Drexel’s house, and presumably got quite well acquainted with him. Then, when we have this mysterious purse business in your office, Drexel’s car is parked in the parking lot half a block from your office.”

Mason’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in thoughtful concentration.

“What do you know about Drexel?” he asked, after a moment. “A ladies’ man?”

“A contractor,” Drake said, “who is concentrating on his contracting. He plunges right into the job alongside his workmen and puts in a day’s work himself from time to time. Mostly he’s a building contractor and carpenter; a plain, unimaginative horny-handed sort of chap.”

Mason digested this information.

The waiter came and took their orders.

Abruptly Mason got up and began pacing the floor.

“It has me stumped,” Drake said. “It means something, but what?”

Mason said nothing, but continued pacing the floor.

Abruptly the lawyer paused, turned to Drake, said, “Paul, here’s something else. Rosalie Blackburn, Simley Beason’s secretary, went to Carson City and got a divorce. Find out if she also lived at 291½ Center Street while she was establishing her residence. If she did, it will indicate a pattern of some sort that we should follow up.

“Now here’s something else. I want to find out about charter planes that went to Las Vegas on the afternoon of Monday, the fourth. When Della Street and I flew in that evening, our pilot told us a representative of the Chamber of Commerce was checking charter flights. Get your men on the job, check with the Las Vegas Chamber of Commerce. Find out if this checking was on the up and up, and if it was, find out what other charter flights came in that same night earlier in the evening.

“I’m going up to court as soon as we finish eating, Paul, and you can get busy on the telephone.”

Drake put through the call to his office and gave the necessary instructions.

“What else do you want, Perry,” the detective asked, holding the phone, “anything?”

Mason, who had resumed pacing the floor, said, “What’s the name of Harley Drexel’s daughter?”

Drake looked at his notebook. “Helen.”

“She goes to college in the east?”

“Yes.”

“And is home for the summers.”

“That’s right.”

“What’s the date Minerva filed her action for divorce?” Mason asked.

“September fifteenth,” Drake said promptly.

“All right,” Mason said, “it takes six weeks to establish a residence in Nevada, so that means Minerva was in the Drexel house during the summer months. If Helen was home for her vacation there’s a darn good chance the two women got to know each other. The Drexel car was in the parking lot all Monday afternoon. Find out where Helen is now.”

Again Drake passed instructions over the wire.

“Anything else, Perry?”

“Not at the moment,” Mason said.

Drake said into the phone, “Get busy on those angles right away and report as soon as you’ve found out anything.”

The detective hung up the phone.

Mason, pacing the floor, said, “Damn it, Paul, there are a lot of angles to this case. If a lawyer is really going to represent a client he has to do a terrific amount of investigative work, and the more he does the more he has to do.”

“I’ll say,” Drake agreed. “How are your chances on this case, Perry?”

“Right at the present time,” Mason said, “we don’t stand a whisper of a chance of getting Adelle Hastings off at this preliminary hearing. We stand a chance of beating the case when we try it before a jury in the superior court, because there’s no way on earth the prosecution can prove someone didn’t tamper with the evidence, and there’s all the circumstantial evidence in the world to prove that they did.

“The prosecution can’t prove the case against Adelle Hastings beyond all reasonable doubt unless they can show that it was the murder weapon that was in her purse. So far we know there were two guns in the case; one gun that Garvin Hastings bought some time ago, the other one a gun that he bought shortly after his marriage to Adelle.

“Now, there’s every inference that the gun that we’ll refer to as the Adelle gun, which was the last one bought, was the one that he gave her; and we know that the gun we’ll refer to as the Garvin gun was the fatal gun.”

“You’re overlooking the fact that the fatal gun has the defendant’s fingerprint on it,” Drake said.

“No, I’m not,” Mason said. “Remember, the defendant was married to Garvin Hastings and lived in the house with him for some time. Garvin Hastings had that gun. Probably he kept it under the pillow at night. The defendant could have been using nail polish or polish remover, and touched her middle finger to that gun. She could have been eating candy and left a fingerprint. The very nature of that fingerprint is that it is a permanent fixture as far as the gun is concerned. In other words, it could have been made any time.”

Drake said, “That’s a pretty theory, Perry, but you aren’t going to be able to prove it.”

“I don’t have to prove it,” Mason said. “All I have to do is raise a reasonable doubt in the minds of one of the twelve jurors.”

Drake said, somewhat skeptically, “You’re probably the one man on earth who could do it.”

The waiter brought their food. Mason ceased pacing the floor long enough to seat himself at the table and eat sparingly of the light lunch he had ordered.

Suddenly the lawyer snapped his fingers. “I think I’ve got it, Paul,” he said.

“Got what?” Drake asked.

“The answer we’re looking for. Get your office on the line. Tell them to go to the Las Vegas airport and check the persons who rented drive-yourself cars.”

“But what are you looking for?” Drake asked. “What do you expect to find?”

“I’m toying with a theory, Paul. I may be able to convince a jury that my theory is sound.”

“You think you can show them what actually happened?”

Mason said, “I can show them what could have happened, and the prosecution can’t prove it didn’t happen.”