The Case of the Dubious Bridegroom

Chapter 13

Mason, the morning mail stacked unopened on his desk, paced the floor, from time to time tossing comments to Della Street.

“The thing doesn’t tie in,” Mason said. And then after a moment, “The gas tank on that car of Ethel Garvin’s was full... The windshield was dirty... She didn’t get that tank filled at a service station unless she was in too big a hurry to wait to have the windshield cleaned. That doesn’t sound reasonable.”

Again Mason paced the floor, then tossed out a few more comments.

“We know that someone was at Hackley’s at twelve-twenty-four in the morning. We think that Virginia Bynum may have been there but she couldn’t have been there at that time because she was out on the fire escape watching Denby.”

Della Street said, “Well, as far as I’m concerned, the one I would like to know about is Frank C. Livesey. I’ve known men just like him before. He’s conceited, vain and, if you ask me, he’s cruel.”

“What makes you think he’s cruel?”

“I know he’s cruel. It’s his way with women. He’s a man who’s been a playboy. He finds himself getting past the age of playing, but he’s in a job where a certain class of girl is absolutely dependent upon him. Not for her bread and butter perhaps, but for her gingerbread and cake, and with that type of girl gingerbread and cake is really more important than the bread and butter.”

Mason said, “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“The heck it doesn’t,” Della Street said. “A man of that type becomes arrogant. He...”

Knuckles sounded on the exit door of Mason’s private office, one rap then a pause, three raps then a pause, then two raps.

“That’s Paul Drake’s code knock,” Mason said. “Let him in.” Della Street opened the door.

Paul Drake entered the office, grinned a greeting, said to Mason, “What are you doing, wearing holes in the carpet again?”

“That’s right,” Mason said. “I’m trying to get the thing straightened out.”

“Well,” Drake told him, “I have some news for you.”

“What?”

“Police have located a man down in Oceanside by the name of Irving, Mortimer C. Irving... Now, get the time element on this thing, Perry, because it’s important.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“Irving had been down visiting some friends at La Jolla. He was driving back to Oceanside and was a little worried about the time. As a matter of fact he’d evidently been in a poker game down in La Jolla and he didn’t want his wife to find out about it. He had lost some money and was feeling pretty glum about it. He made a point of noticing the time because he was getting a story ready for his better half.”

“Go on,” Mason said.

“When he got to within about two miles of Oceanside he saw a car parked off to the side of the road. The lights were on. What’s more they were on the bright beam so that even coming up the road the way he was, the glare bothered him.”

“What time?” Mason asked.

“Well,” Drake said, “the guy got home at exactly twelve-fifty. He looked at his watch and his wife also verifies that. Ten minutes to one in the morning.”

“Go ahead,” Mason said.

“Now the important point,” Drake said, “is that this thing ties in with the testimony of a rancher who remembers that a car was parked for a while so that the lights shone into his bedroom. He didn’t pay too much attention to it but he remembered that there was a car there somewhere around the middle of the night, lie didn’t look at his watch or a clock and therefore his testimony doesn’t amount to much for practical purposes, but in any event we know that a car was parked there.”

Mason nodded.

“Now this man Irving enters the picture and he could be a damned dangerous witness. He says that he wondered why a car was parked there with the lights on the bright beam and thought perhaps someone might be in trouble.”

“Go on,” Mason said. “What did he do?”

“Well, he brought his car to a stop but kept in the road. He has a spotlight on his machine and he swung that spotlight around and looked the car over. He said it was a big light or tan-colored convertible and that no one was in it. It was standing there with the lights on — and he looked it over pretty carefully. He couldn’t see any sign of anyone anywhere around the automobile, just the car standing there. He didn’t take the license number but he did give it a pretty good once-over. Now, then, get this Perry, the description of the car is one that could match Garvin’s automobile.”

“Or any other convertible, for that matter,” Mason said. “All the guy knows is that he saw a big convertible.”

“Tan colored.”

“Lots of them are that color,” Mason said. “Mine is a light brown, Garvin’s is a light shade of bluish gray that would probably look tan in the light of a spotlight. You see all sorts of convertibles in the light colors.”

“I know it,” Drake said. “I’m just telling you what the police have. Now by the time they get done with this witness he could be damned dangerous. You know what they’ll do. They’ll start coaching him and telling him what he saw until finally he’ll become convinced that he actually saw Garvin’s car. He’ll even recognize any dents in the fenders. He might get to thinking he remembers the license number.”

Mason nodded moodily and said, “It’s a crime the way witnesses hypnotize themselves — sometimes with the aid of the police. I...”

The door from the outer office opened and Gertie, the telephone operator and receptionist, came bouncing into the room only to stop short at sight of Paul Drake.

“Oh,” she exclaimed, “I thought you and Della were alone.”

“It’s all right,” Mason said. “What is it?”

“Mrs. Garvin is on the telephone, Mr. Mason. She’s calling from San Diego, and she’s all excited. She says she simply has to talk with you right away and — well, I thought perhaps you’d like to have me plug in both lines so Della could listen and perhaps take notes. She’s...”

“Go ahead, do that, Gertie,” Mason said, “and then put her on the line.”

As Gertie turned and ran back to the outer office, Mason nodded to Della Street and said, “Take a notebook, Della. Make notes on what she says.”

Della Street nodded, opened her notebook, waited until the jingle on the bell showed that Gertie had put the call on both lines, then she nodded to Perry Mason. They picked up the receivers on the two telephones simultaneously.

“Hello,” Mason said.

Lorraine Garvin said hysterically, “Oh, Mr. Mason, I’m so glad I got you. I...”

“Take it easy,” Mason said. “Tell me what’s happened.”

“They tricked us.”

“Who did?”

“The police.”

“What happened?”

“Well, the Mexican immigration authorities came to us and wanted to know how long we were remaining in Mexico and Edward told them he didn’t know, that we might go down to Ensenada and that we might be there for two or three weeks, we might even be there longer.

“Well, they were very nice about it, but told us we’d have to get tourist cards. They said those tourist cards were good for six months, that they were issued at the immigration station at the border and that we wouldn’t have to go across the border to the U. S. side to get them but could just have them issued on the Mexican side.”

“All right, then what happened?”

“So we got in Edward’s car and started for the border, but when we got there, the officers kept pushing us over into a line of traffic that was off to the right. Ed tried to explain to them that he wanted to get tourist cards but they didn’t talk English.”

“All right, what happened?”

“Well, the first tiling we knew we were in a line of traffic that was headed for the United States side and we couldn’t get out of it. So Ed thought it would be best to just drive the car across and then swing right around and come back on the Mexican side. The cars were going right on through one right after the other, the officers at the border just looking to make sure there was no contraband and then motioning them on.”

“You should have known better,” Mason told her, frowning.

“We know better now,” she told him. “Well, it was just a trap. We tried to pull out and a couple of U. S. traffic officers blew whistles and yelled at us to get back into line and Ed told them we just wanted to get tourist cards and they said we’d have to go across and come around now, that we couldn’t get out of line. So we crossed over the border and the minute we did a car shot out from the United States side and drew alongside and that man Tragg grinned at us and said to Edward, ‘I told you we’d do it the hard way if you didn’t come the easy way,’ and they took Edward to San Diego and put him in jail.”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m at the U. S. Grant Hotel in San Diego.”

“They didn’t arrest you?”

“No, they were very nice to me. They told me how very sorry they were to inconvenience me and that I could go back to Mexico in the car and get our bags. And then they called again and asked me if I had any objection to letting them look the car over.”

“Where’s the car?”

“In the garage here at the hotel.”

“Hadn’t they looked it over before?”

“Well, they looked it over when they took us in, but now it seems they want to take it and have it searched for fingerprints or something. They said they’d have to have it for about three hours.”

Mason said, “Where are the keys to the car?”

“In the car, I guess.”

“When did the police telephone you?”

“Just now.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I told them that I’d have to go across the border to get my bags and check out of that little hotel there in Tijuana. They told me that they’d give me a police car and...”

Mason interrupted to say hurriedly, “Now, do exactly what I tell you to. Get tough with them. Tell them that you certainly aren’t going to be seen riding around in any police car; that you’re going back to get those bags; that they can send an officer with you if they want, but you’re going back in your own car and get those bags and check out of the Hotel Vista de la Mesa. Do you understand that?”

“Yes.”

“And see that you do that,” Mason said. “Don’t let them get their hands on that automobile for at least an hour and a half or two hours. Delay the thing just as much as you can. Don’t act as though you’re trying to conceal anything, but simply be mad and hurt and annoyed and independent. Be sure that you don’t tell the officers that they can’t have the car. Tell them they can have it as soon as you get back from across the border. Do you understand?”

“Yes, but I don’t see why...”

“You don’t have to,” Mason said. “Do exactly as I tell you and don’t tell anyone you’ve been talking with me. Now you understand what you’re to do?”

“Yes, but I...”

“Do it, then,” Mason said. “Delay things so it’s two hours if possible before the police get hold of your automobile. I’ve got to get busy. Have confidence in me. Do exactly what I tell you. Good-by.” Mason hung up the telephone.

“What is it?” Drake asked.

Mason, on his feet, his eyes sharp with excitement, said, “Just as you said, Paul. You know what’s going to happen? The police are trying to get hold of Garvin’s car. They tricked him into going across the border, and then nabbed him. Now they want to get his automobile. You know what they’re going to do with it? They’re going to take that automobile up to Oceanside, show it to Irving, have Irving say that that’s the car he saw, then let Irving look it all over carefully, and point out any little individual things he can find on the car — fender dents or dented hub caps or anything of that sort.”

“Well,” Drake said, wearily, “there’s nothing you can do about it. After all, if Irving is the kind who falls for a deal like that...”

“They all fall for it,” Mason said. “Don’t be silly. You know what happens with witnesses.”

“What happens?” Drake asked, lighting his cigarette.

Mason said, with feeling, “It’s been demonstrated dozens of times that if you have a crime committed in front of a whole roomful of witnesses and then call on those witnesses to make a written statement of what took place, the statements will contain all sorts of variations and contradictions. People simply can’t see things and then tell what they’ve seen with any degree of accuracy.”

“I suppose so,” Drake said.

“Hell, it’s been demonstrated time and again,” Mason said. “It’s a favorite stunt in classes in psychology in college. But what happens when you have witnesses in the trial of a case? They get on the stand one after another and tell a story that might have been written on a mimeograph. A witness sees something. He tells it to the police. The police point out little discrepancies between his story and that of the other witnesses. They point out what must have happened. Then they let the fellow think it over. Then they talk with him again. Then they let him talk it over with other witnesses. Then they take him to the scene of the crime. Then they get the witnesses to re-enact what happened. By the time a witness gets on the stand he’s testifying to a composite of what he saw, what he thinks he saw, what the other fellow tells him he saw, and what he concludes he must have seen, judging from the physical evidence. Look at what’s happening in this case right under our noses. They’ve found this witness. They’re going to take Garvin’s automobile and...”

“I know,” Drake said, “but there’s nothing we can do.”

“The hell there isn’t,” Mason said. “You take Della in your car. Follow me just as fast as you can.”

“What are you going to do, Perry?”

Mason said, “I’m going to take my convertible, drive it down to Oceanside, park it in just about the position the witness says that other car was parked. You and Della are going to get Mr. Mortimer C. Irving, tell him you want him to take a look at a car, and drive him down the highway. My convertible will be parked there and I’ll bet you ten to one the guy identifies my convertible as the one he saw — if he sees it before he sees Garvin’s car.”

“And then what?” Drake asked, dubiously.

“And then,” Mason said, “we’re going to come back home and Mrs. Lorraine Garvin is going to tell the police they can ‘borrow’ her car to look it over. The police will rush the car up to Oceanside and ask Irving to identify it. Irving will then tell them that isn’t the car, that he’s already identified the car, that it’s a car with a certain license number.”

“He won’t identify it if he thinks it belongs to you and knows who you are,” Drake said.

“He won’t know who I am,” Mason told him, “and he won’t know whom the car belongs to.”

Drake shook his head and said, “In the words of a man who has a lot more sense than I have in such matters ‘include me out.’ ”

“Why?”

“It’s too damned dangerous. You can get into trouble over that.”

“What sort of trouble?” Mason asked. “All we’re doing is asking a man to identify a car.”

“And pulling a razzle-dazzle on him. You’re making him think it was the same car he saw there shortly after midnight and...”

“And that’s exactly what the police arc going to be doing,” Mason said. “The police adopt the position that it’s all right when they do it, but illegal when someone else does it. The hell with that stuff! Arc you coming or not?”

“Not,” Drake said positively. “I have a license to consider. That’s getting too close to...”

Mason glanced over at Della Street.

She pushed her chair back, started for the hat closet and said, “My car’s in the parking lot, chief. It’s all filled. I can’t make quite as good time with it as you can with that big convertible of yours, but I’ll be right on your heels if you keep anywhere near the speed limit.”

Mason grabbed his hat, “Let’s go,” he said.

Drake said, “There’ll be a hell of a squawk over that, Perry. They’ll...”

“Let them squawk,” Mason said. “I’m not going to sit tight and let them put ideas in the mind of that witness. I’m not going to let them hypnotize my client into a murder rap. If I have a right to cross-examine a man and ask him how he knows that’s the car, after he’s given his testimony in court, I have a right to cross-examine him before he testifies and demonstrate to him that he can’t really tell one convertible from another. Come on, Della.”