The Case of the Duplicate Daughter

Chapter Nine

Mason parked his car in front of the residence on Vauxman Avenue, hurried up the front steps and was about to press the doorbell when the door was flung open by Muriell Gilman.

“Oh, Mr. Mason, what is it?” she asked. “Tell me.”

“I’ll tell all of you at once,” Mason said. “How about the others — are they up?”

She shook her head. “I did what you said, Mr. Mason. I let them sleep on.”

“That’s fine,” Mason said. “Now get them up and tell them to come down here. I have some important news. I want to have them all together when I tell you.”

“But, Mr. Mason, tell me, is Daddy... Daddy hasn’t been hurt... or... or killed?”

“Physically,” Mason said, “your father is quite safe at the moment. I have some news and I’m not going to have it dragged out of me piece-meal. I want you all together when I tell you the news and I want to have Nancy and Glamis down here so I can talk with them at the same time I talk with you.”

“Glamis is a savage before she has her coffee,” Muriell said. “I’d better take her some coffee.”

“You get her down here and let her be savage,” Mason said. “Tell her I want to talk with her.”

Muriell said, “Come on in, Mr. Mason, and I’ll get Nancy and Glamis down here.”

Mason followed her into a big, tastefully arranged living room.

“Can I take a look at the dining room and kitchen while you’re upstairs?” Mason asked.

“Why, certainly. Let me run up and tell Nancy and Glamis. I’m satisfied you’ll have a little time before they get some clothes on, get presentable and get down here. If you’ll just wait, please.”

“I’ll wait,” Mason said, “but I’m going to look around.”

Muriell hurried up the staircase. Mason glanced briefly around the living room, then walked to the dining room, pushed back the swinging door to the kitchen, looked in the kitchen, studying the location of the doors and windows, and was back in the dining room by the time Muriell returned.

“Did you get them up?” he asked.

“I got them awake,” she said. “Nancy is coming right down. I don’t know about Glamis. She was really put out.”

“That’s too bad,” Mason said casually. “Now, I notice that standing here in the dining room you can look out at the garage and the workshop, but you can’t see them from the kitchen.”

“That’s right. The dining-room wall makes a little jog right here and you can see the garage and workshop through that window.”

“Where was your father sitting?”

“Right near where you’re standing, right there at that place at the table.”

“Then he could have seen the workshop from the window while he was eating breakfast.”

“Yes, I guess so.”

“But you couldn’t see out from the kitchen?”

“No, the kitchen door opens onto a service porch— You can see the workshop and garage from the door of the service porch, however, but you can’t see out from the kitchen. Why, Mr. Mason? Does it make any difference?”

“I don’t know.” Mason said. “I’m trying to get the picture — and it’s rather a confused picture right at the moment. I’m hoping your stepmother can—”

“Can do what?” a woman’s voice asked.

Mason turned to encounter the curious, slightly indignant eyes of a tall, blond woman who, despite the lack of make-up and the fact that she apparently was dressed only in a housecoat and slippers, was remarkably attractive.

“I’m hoping,” Mason said, “you can clear up certain matters for me.”

“I hope so, too. I’m Nancy Gilman. I understand you are Perry Mason, the noted lawyer, and that you have some very important news for me about my husband. I didn’t stop for make-up or anything, I just put on a housecoat and slippers, and here I am, Mr. Mason. I’m certainly hoping that the information you have is sufficiently important to justify an invasion of this sort at this hour of the morning.”

Mason reached a sudden decision. He said, “All right, I’ll hand it to you straight from the shoulder. Your husband, Carter Gilman, is in jail.”

“For heaven’s sakes! What’s he been doing?”

Mason said, “The authorities think he’s guilty of murder.”

“Of murder!”

“That’s right.”

Nancy Gilman drew out a chair and seated herself. She looked at Mason long and earnestly, then shook her head and said, “There’s something completely fantastic about all this, Mr. Mason. You don’t seem to be the drinking type. Are you sure of your facts?”

“I have just come from visiting him in the jail,” Mason said.

“May I ask what this murder is all about — drunken car-driving, or what?”

Mason, watching her closely, said, “Apparently he is accused of the deliberate, willful murder of Vera M. Martel.”

Nancy Gilman’s eyebrows went up. She looked inquiringly at Muriell, then back at Mason. “And who is Vera M. Martel?”

“A private detective who may have been blackmailing you,” Mason said, standing with his shoulders squared, his weight on the balls of his feet, his manner indicating impatient disapproval of Nancy Gilman’s attitude and his intention of forcing the truth out of her.

“Blackmailing me?”

“That’s the general idea.”

Nancy Gilman shook her head. “Nobody’s been blackmailing me, Mr. Mason.”

“Or trying to?”

Again there was a shake of the head.

“What about the ten thousand dollars?” Mason asked.

“What ten thousand dollars? Mr. Mason, you have a peculiar attitude. It’s the attitude of someone who is trying to force an unwilling witness to give out information.”

“What attitude would you suggest?” Mason asked.

“Really, I don’t know, Mr. Mason. I know who you are, of course, and your reputation; otherwise, I wouldn’t have come down here. I hardly feel qualified to tell you how to practice law but your manner arouses my curiosity and, if you’ll pardon my frankness, a certain instinctive resentment.”

“All right,” Mason said, “have all the resentment you want. Let’s get the facts straight. There’s no time to play cat and mouse with a situation of this sort. The police are going to be out here at any minute and they’re going to question you. You have an attractive personality, are evidently quite accustomed to dominate any situation in which you find yourself by using personality and sex appeal, both of which commodities are of no value in dealing with the police. For your information, the police don’t play games.”

“I’m not playing games, Mr. Mason.”

“Do you know anything about ten thousand dollars in cash?”

“What am I supposed to know about it?”

“Did you know your husband drew that money from his bank?”

She shook her head.

“Did you draw it from your bank?”

“Heavens, no!”

“Did you have ten thousand dollars in cash within the last few days?”

“Certainly not.”

“Have you ever had any conversation with Vera M. Martel?”

“I wouldn’t know her from any woman I’d meet on the street. You say she’s a private detective?”

“A private detective,” Mason said, “and she may have been a blackmailer. The police have reason to believe she was choked to death in the workshop out in back of the house and that ten thousand dollars, which was intended to be used as a bribe or a blackmail payment, was left in the workshop while someone went out to dispose of Vera Martel’s body.”

“Mr. Mason, you seem sober, you seem serious and what you’re saying at least seems logical to you, but from my standpoint I’d say you were either drunk, had been taking dope, or were completely crazy.”

Glamis Barlow swept into the room imperiously. She was attired in a filmy negligee which silhouetted her long legs and the curves of her body, and she was angry.

“May I ask what in the world this is all about?” she asked.

Mason said, “I wanted to question you.”

“Well, question me at some decent hour then,” she said, “and don’t think I have to answer your questions just because I was attracted by you yesterday. Today you’re a pain in the anatomy. Now what’s this all about?”

Nancy said, “Carter has been arrested for murder, Glamis.”

“For murder!”

Nancy nodded. “So Mr. Mason insists. It seems a woman named... what was that name again, Mr. Mason?”

“Vera M. Martel,” Mason said.

“Mr. Mason seems to think a woman named Martel was murdered out in the workshop,” Nancy Gilman said.

Glamis looked at the lawyer with eyes that were like blue ice. “Mr. Mason, is this your idea of a joke or are you trying to get some information out of us and have chosen a shock approach in order to do it?”

Muriell, hurrying in from the kitchen with a cup of steaming coffee, said, “Here, honey, have some coffee.”

Glamis made no effort to reach for the coffee cup, no effort to thank Muriell. She simply ignored Muriell as though the girl had no existence, and continued to hold Perry Mason with a fixed stare of hostility.

“I’m waiting for an answer, Mr. Mason,” she said.

Mason said, “Listen, I’ve told your mother and I’m telling you — we aren’t playing games here. We don’t have much time. The police are going to be here within a few minutes and, believe me, when you start talking with the police you’ll come face to face with reality.

“Now, you can start in answering some direct questions and avoiding all histrionics. Do you know Vera M. Martel?”

“No!” she spat at him.

“Did you ever pay Vera Martel any money?”

“No.”

“Do you know anything about ten thousand dollars in cash which was supposed to have been found in the workshop?”

“No.”

“Did you go to your bank and get ten thousand dollars in cash any time within the past few days?”

“No.”

“Have you ever had any conversations with a Vera Martel?”

“No.”

“Do you know who she is?”

“No.”

“All right,” Mason said, “let’s get this thing straight. Do any one of the three of you know anything about Vera Martel?”

“I certainly don’t,” Glamis snapped.

“And you?” Mason asked Nancy.

“Don’t be silly, Mr. Mason. I’ve told you half a dozen times, I don’t know her. I don’t know anything about her. I never had anything to do with her, and I don’t propose to be sitting here in my own house and be browbeaten by some attorney.”

Mason said, “You make just one wrong answer to the police and you’re all going to be in this thing up to your necks. What’s more, you’re going to drag Carter Gilman into the gas chamber. Remember that the police have ways of tracing these things. Murder isn’t a parlor game that you play according to rules.

“Now you, Glamis, got in your car after you left me, drove to the airport and went to Las Vegas.”

“So you were having me shadowed! I wondered about it. As it happens, I go to Las Vegas every so often.”

“And what did you do in Las Vegas?”

“I gambled, I saw my father, Steven Barlow, and I came home. I had some drinks, I lost some money and I minded my own business — a most commendable habit, Mr. Mason. I would suggest that you try it sometime.”

The door chimes sounded. Muriell started for the front door.

“Just a minute,” Mason said. He held Glamis Barlow with his eyes. “Vera Martel had an office in Las Vegas. Did you call on her or try to call on her at that office? Did you go near the place?”

“Mr. Mason, don’t be silly. I tell you, I don’t know any Vera Martel, so why should I go to her office?”

The door chimes sounded again and then there was a knock on the door.

“That,” Mason said, “sounds very much like my friend, Lieutenant Arthur Tragg of Homicide. May I suggest that when you talk with him you either keep very, very quiet or you answer questions truthfully. Don’t try lying. That’s going to get you in all sorts of trouble.

“Now, then, I want all three of you to tell me you are, and each of you is, giving me all of your right, title and interest to any and all money that was in the workshop yesterday.”

“Why should we give it to you?” Glamis asked.

“Not the money,” Mason said, “only your title to the money. If it wasn’t yours you wouldn’t be giving me anything.”

Again the door chimes sounded and peremptory knuckles banged on the door, alternating with the door chimes.

“All right,” Nancy said. “We’re all agreed, girls?”

The two girls nodded.

“Have any of you pawned any diamonds, jewelry or raised any cash by any emergency loans?” Mason asked. “Remember, that’s one thing the police can trace just as surely as—”

Angry knuckles pounded on the front door and simultaneously there was the sound of knuckles on the back door, then the back door opened and a police officer pushed his way through the kitchen into the dining room. “Why don’t you folks answer the doorbell?” he asked.

He strode across the dining room to the living room, opened the door and said, “Come on in, Lieutenant.”

Mason lowered his voice. “Don’t tell anyone anything about any money. Don’t tell anyone I was asking about any money.”

Mason looked from one to the other, let his eyes rest for a long moment on Muriell.

Lt. Tragg entered the room, said, “Pardon me, ladies, but I’m after some information and... I see that Mr. Perry Mason has been briefing you on what happened... I noted your car was parked in the driveway, Perry.

“After all, this is a free country and we don’t try to keep an attorney from conferring with his clients or even briefing friendly witnesses. But we don’t like to be left cooling our heels out on the front porch while the session is unduly protracted.

“Now, Mr. Mason, since you’ve had ample opportunity to talk to these witnesses, I think that it’s only fair that I be given an opportunity to discuss things with them privately. We’re going to excuse you.”

“And if I don’t choose to go?” Mason asked. “Are you going to put me out?”

“Good heavens, no, nothing like that,” Tragg said. “I’m simply going to put a police guard at the door of one of these rooms and question these women in the room with a police guard seeing that we’re not disturbed— Or I can, of course, take the witnesses to Headquarters for examination, which will cause a certain amount of newspaper publicity which your client might find objectionable.”

Glamis reached over to pick up the coffee cup which Muriell had deposited on the dining-room table. She smiled provocatively at Lt. Tragg and said, “I like men who use direct action, Lieutenant.”

“Good,” Lt. Tragg said, appraising her unsmilingly. “Then I’ll talk with you first, before you’ve had your coffee.”

Tragg took the coffee.

Glamis became white-faced. “You beast!” she spat.

The officer took Mason’s arm. “I’ll escort you to the door, Mr. Mason. I’m quite certain Lieutenant Tragg doesn’t feel your presence would by of any help.”

Mason jerked himself free, swung around and said, “Just a minute. You may have the right to examine these witnesses in private and you may not. I’m not certain that I’m going to let you get away with it, and I’m not certain that I won’t tell all of these witnesses not to answer any questions.”

“On what grounds?” Tragg asked. “On the grounds that to do so might incriminate them?”

“They don’t have to give any grounds,” Mason said. “They don’t have to answer questions, period.”

“That’s right, they don’t,” Tragg said. “Of course, when they’re subpoenaed in front of a grand jury they either have to answer questions or take refuge in the fact that the answers might incriminate them.”

Mason turned to the women. “I’ve talked with you,” he said. “I’ve told you the circumstances. I’m going to warn you — don’t tell any lies to Lieutenant Tragg. Either tell him the truth or tell him nothing.”

“A very, very commendable attitude,” Lt. Tragg said. And then added somewhat wistfully, “I do wish I knew what had taken place before we got here. You see, Perry, we were running down another angle of the case which we considered of prime importance; even of more importance then questioning the members of Mr. Gilman’s family.

“I’m sorry that I can’t tell you what that angle is, but you’ll doubtless discover it by the time you get to court. I can assure you of one thing, Perry. It’s a dilly.”

“It must have been,” Mason said, “to cause you to postpone a trip out here.”

Mason walked to the door, turned, said, “Remember what I told you. Either tell him the truth or keep silent, and don’t volunteer any information. Answer his questions and then quit.”