The Case of the Duplicate Daughter

Chapter Ten

Mason stopped at the first telephone booth, called his office, and when he had Della Street on the line, asked, “What do you hear from Paul Drake? Has he dug up anything?”

“He’s located Glamis’ boy friend, Hartley Elliott,” Della Street said, “and has been calling frantically. He says he’s sitting on the lid and that you’ll have to get out there just as fast as you can.”

“What’s the address?” Mason asked.

“The Rossiter Apartments on Blendon Street.”

“What’s the number, Della?”

“7211. The apartment is 6-B, and Paul seems terribly concerned.”

“If he calls in again,” Mason said, “tell him I’m on my way. Also, tell him that Tragg and a uniformed officer have just descended on the Gilman family at their home on Vauxman Avenue, and it looks as though the party is going to get rough.”

“I’ll tell him. Did you have a chance to get anything worth while before Tragg moved in on you?” Della Street asked.

“There’s something peculiar about the case,” Mason said. “I can’t put my finger on it yet — I had a chance to ask questions and get some negative answers. I’m not certain the negatives mean anything. I’ll be on my way to join Paul. I’ll call you as soon as I have anything new.”

Mason hung up the telephone, jumped in his car and drove to the Rossiter Apartments, went at once to Apartment 6-B and knocked on the door.

Paul Drake opened the door.

There was no mistaking the expression of relief on Paul Drake’s face when he saw Mason in the doorway.

Drake said, “Come in and take over, Perry.”

A tall, slim-waisted man, about twenty-eight years old, with high cheekbones, steady gray eyes, a determined jaw and the build of an athlete was standing by the window.

“This is Mr. Mason, Elliott,” Paul Drake said.

Elliott eyed the attorney appraisingly, bowed, and after a moment moved slowly forward so that when he shook hands with Mason the lawyer had covered two thirds of the distance.

“Mr. Elliott,” Paul Drake went on, lowering his left eyelid in a wink that only Mason could see, “is friendly with Glamis Barlow. In fact, they’ve been keeping company and Elliott spent the night out there Tuesday night. That was it, wasn’t it, Elliott — Tuesday?”

“You know it was,” Elliott said coldly. “It was yesterday morning. Are you trying to trap me in some way? I didn’t spend the night there. I spent the morning there.”

“Just trying to keep the date straight,” Drake said cheerfully.

Mason stood by Hartley Elliott, who didn’t ask either Mason or Drake to sit down.

Elliott folded his arms across his chest. “The date was the thirteenth,” he said stiffly.

Drake said, “By way of explanation, Perry, Hartley Elliott and Glamis got home early and it was rather a warm night. They went up on the porch for a while, then he came in and had a drink with Glamis. When he went out to start his car he found that he had inadvertently left the ignition on. The car wouldn’t start. To make a long story short, he stayed all night.”

“I see,” Mason said.

“Now, before we go any further,” Elliott said coldly, “let me state that I prefer to do my own talking. I don’t know just what the situation is, but I don’t care to have any private detective putting words in my mouth and I don’t know that I care to talk with any lawyer until after I’ve seen my own attorney. I’m willing to listen, but that’s all.”

“You seem rather truculent,” Mason said. “Is something wrong?”

“How do I know?” Elliott said. “I’m minding my own business and in comes a private detective asking a lot of questions about Glamis, about where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing, and then he telephones the office of an attorney and leaves word for the attorney to join him. I’ve indicated to Mr. Drake a couple of times that he doesn’t need to stay here on my account but he’s been persistent in questioning me and persistent in waiting for you. I finally agreed that I would wait for you because Drake said you would explain everything.

“Now, as far as I’m concerned, you can start explaining.”

Mason said, “I’d like to know a little more about just what happened yesterday morning and—”

“I think you heard me,” Elliott said. “I want you to start explaining.”

Mason glanced at Paul Drake, then said abruptly, “All right, I’ll start explaining because we may not have much time. If you stayed in that house yesterday morning, you may not have very much time left for informal conversation.

“Do you know a person named Vera M. Martel?”

“I told you to start explaining,” Elliott said. “I don’t care to answer any more questions until there’s been a little explaining.”

“All right,” Mason said. “Vera M. Martel was found dead in her automobile on a canyon road in the mountains. At first, the police thought it was a highway accident, then they didn’t like the looks of things and thought perhaps the car had been deliberately run over a cliff with a body in it. So they performed an autopsy and, so far, they’ve found petechial hemorrhages of the eyeball and a broken hyoid bone, which are all strongly indicative of manual strangulation.

“They also found some peculiar bits of sawdust in her shoes. Microscopic examination showed the sawdust didn’t come from ordinary lumber but from a very rare type of lumber, and the police think they have traced that rare type of lumber to the workshop of Carter Gilman.

“At the moment, Carter Gilman is in jail, being held for suspicion of first-degree murder, the police are at the Gilman residence at Vauxman Avenue and we’re trying to get something out of you that may help before the police get here.”

Elliott glanced from Mason to Drake, then moved over to a chair and sat down suddenly as though his knees had buckled.

“Want any more?” Mason asked.

Elliott seemed to be fighting to control himself. “Won’t you... please sit down?” he asked.

Mason nodded to Paul Drake and drew up a chair.

“Now,” Mason said, “time is short. Do you know Vera Martel, or did you know her during her lifetime?”

“Martel... Martel,” Elliott said. “Why, yes. I have heard someone mention the name but I can’t remember who. I think someone asked me if... No, I’m sorry, I can’t remember.”

“The police may use means to refresh your memory,” Mason told him.

“I... Tell me, Mr. Mason, do the police think this person was killed in Gilman’s workshop?”

“That’s what they think,” Mason said.

“And do they have any idea as to the exact time of death?”

“The police,” Mason told him, “aren’t confiding in me — and you don’t seem to be doing such a good job yourself.”

Elliott wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, said suddenly, “All right. I’ll come clean.”

“It might be advisable,” Mason said.

“Yesterday morning about eight thirty I got up,” Elliott said. “I can’t sleep much after seven o’clock. I’d been lying there in bed and trying to remain quiet because I knew both Glamis and her mother were late sleepers.”

“Go on,” Mason said.

“However, I could hear someone moving around downstairs and I got the aroma of coffee. It was the aroma of coffee that did it. I tried to fight back the desire for coffee but I couldn’t do it. I just had to have a cup of coffee. I knew that Glamis wasn’t up. I thought her stepsister, Muriell, was downstairs because I thought I’d heard her voice. I got up and started to dress.”

“All right,” Mason said, “go on. What happened?”

“I walked over to the window. It was a window that was on the corner just above the dining room. I looked out of the window — I guess it would be the west window — and was standing there just idly looking out at the yard and the driveway. That big garage building which holds the cars and has the two rooms, the workshop and the darkroom, is just beyond.”

“What were you doing?” Mason asked.

“As a matter of fact,” Elliott said, “I remember very plainly I was just buckling the belt on my trousers. I had just finished putting them on and was getting ready to shave.”

“And what happened?” Mason asked.

Elliott said, “I don’t know whether it means anything, but the door of the workshop opened and Glamis came running out of the workshop. Then, after she’d taken a couple of running steps, she caught herself, stopped, turned back, pulled the door shut and then ran for all she was worth around the house.”

“Around the house?” Mason asked.

“Well, I couldn’t see her all the way around the house, but I could see her running toward the side of the building— What I mean is, she didn’t come down the driveway and she didn’t go in the door to the screen porch which leads into the kitchen.”

“All right,” Mason said, “go on. What happened after that?”

“Now, let’s get this straight,” Elliott said. “I’m telling you this in strict confidence. I’m assuming that you’re not going to do anything that would hurt Glamis.”

“I’m trying to get at the truth at the moment,” Mason said.

“You’re representing Carter Gilman?”

“That’s right.”

“And you wouldn’t sell out Glamis in order to—?”

“For heaven’s sake!” Mason interrupted. “Be your age! You’re sitting here swapping words when the police are probably even now headed toward this apartment. Once you get in the clutches of the police you’ll talk and you’ll spill everything you know.”

“No, I won’t,” Elliott said. “They can’t make me talk if I don’t want to.”

Mason’s look was scornful. “They’ll have you in front of a grand jury and they’ll have you under oath. You’ll tell your story, my friend, and you’ll tell it right. If you lie, you’ll go to prison for perjury, and if you don’t lie, they’ll have it out of you down to every last detail. Now tell me the rest of it.”

Elliott said, “There was something about the way she acted, something... I just can’t describe it, Mr. Mason.”

“All right,” Mason said. “You gathered the impression that something was going on, is that right?”

“Very much so. I thought she... she seemed to be terribly frightened.”

“Go on,” Mason said.

“Well, I had been trying to keep rather quiet, then I realized that she was up and presumed it would be all right to come down for breakfast, so I went into the bathroom and started shaving.”

“Electric razor?”

“No, I used a safety razor and a ready-mix shaving cream.”

“Go on,” Mason said.

“Then I heard a peculiar creaking of boards up in the attic. That’s rather an old-fashioned house and—”

“Never mind describing the house,” Mason said, glancing impatiently at his wristwatch. “Tell me what happened. I’ve been in the house.”

“Well, I heard this peculiar creaking of boards and then the next thing I heard was the sound of voices in the corridor.”

“So what did you do?”

“I had lather all over my face,” Elliott said, “and I wasn’t very presentable. But I heard Glamis’ voice and so I opened the door a crack. I was going to ask her, ‘What about breakfast?’ ”

“And what did you see?”

“I saw Muriell standing by the open door on the attic steps and Glamis was there and... well, Glamis wasn’t in what you would call a presentable condition.”

“How was she dressed?” Mason asked.

“Well, she had on... I guess they were night things.”

“Don’t be so damned reticent,” the lawyer snapped. “How was she dressed?”

“Well, she had on a filmy something on top that you could see right through and it only came down just below her hips, and... I don’t know, I guess there were panties, but... well, I felt like a Peeping Tom standing there with the door open just a crack, and I didn’t know what the devil to do.”

“Was she facing you or away from you?”

“She was turned so she was about three quarters facing me but she wasn’t looking at me, she was looking at Muriell and she seemed angry and I heard her say something about the attic and Muriell said something about her father and I gently closed the door and certainly hoped they hadn’t seen me.”

“Then what?” Mason asked.

“Well, I... frankly, I was terribly embarrassed, Mr. Mason.”

“Don’t be prudish,” Mason said. “You’d been out with Glamis — you’d seen her in a bathing suit?”

“Certainly.”

“This costume was more revealing than a bathing suit?”

“Much more. I... well, it was the idea of the thing, as though I’d been peeking.”

“All right, what did you do?” Mason asked.

“I didn’t know what to do. I finished shaving and sat around there, waiting. The aroma of coffee wasn’t quite so strong and... well, I sat there and waited awhile for Glamis to call me.”

“And then what?”

“Then... oh, I guess it was an hour when Glamis came and tapped on my door.”

“She was fully dressed then?”

“No, she had on some sort of negligee. She was... well, she was presentable.”

“And what happened?”

“She asked me how I’d slept and chided me for being up and fully dressed and wanted to know why I hadn’t gone down and got some coffee and... well, we went downstairs and got some coffee and she said she’d already telephoned a service station a couple of blocks down the street and they’d promised to check my battery.”

“Did you stay for breakfast?”

“Yes.”

“Who cooked it?”

“Glamis. Why?”

“Where was Muriell?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see her.”

“Where was Nancy?”

“Asleep, I guess.”

“What did you have for breakfast?”

“Some sausage and some fried eggs.”

“How long did you stay there?”

“Not very long. The man from the service station came to the door and said he had put a temporary battery in the car and it was all ready to go, that they were putting my battery on a charging unit and I could have it any time that afternoon.”

“So what did you do?”

“Thanked Glamis and said I was afraid I’d been a lot of nuisance and drove away.”

“You went back and picked up your battery?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Late yesterday afternoon.”

“That was within two blocks of the house,” Mason said. “Did you go down to see Glamis?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I had some things I had to do and — well, I didn’t have a date with Glamis. I’d had a date with her the night before.”

“You date her rather regularly?”

“If it’s any of your business, yes.”

“How was the farewell when you left her at the Vauxman house? Cordial?”

“Cordial.”

“You kissed her?”

“Dammit, of course I kissed her!” Elliott said. “Hell, I’d been out with her half the night and I spent the rest of the night there in the house and Glamis is a sweet kid and I kissed her, and we’d been necking on the front porch before that, if it’s any of your damn business, and I don’t think it is.”

Mason said, “It happens that it’s very much my business. Your story is going to be scrutinized very carefully, and if that story is true there’s a pretty damn good chance the police will decide Vera Martel was blackmailing either Glamis or her mother, that Glamis met her out in the workshop in order to pay her some blackmail money, that there was a dispute, that Glamis choked her to death and ran into the house, that Carter Gilman saw Glamis running out of the workshop, went into the workshop, found Vera Martel’s body, knew what had happened, stuffed the body into the trunk of his car and drove the body out to where it was disposed of, that either Gilman or a confederate then got Vera Martel’s car, which was parked near the house, and drove it off the cliff.

“A great deal will depend on the time of death. If it turns out that death could have been around eight thirty to nine o’clock you can be pretty certain Glamis is going to be dragged in as one of the defendants and you’re going to be the star witness for the prosecution.”

“I am?” Elliott exclaimed.

“To convict Glamis of first-degree murder,” Mason said, watching the man closely.

Elliott said, “Don’t be silly, Mr. Mason. I’ve told you this. I’m not going to tell it to anybody else.”

“You just think you aren’t,” Mason said.

“But what... what do I do?”

“I don’t know what you do,” Mason said. “I’m not advising you. I’m representing Gilman, and if Glamis should be arrested I’ll probably be representing her. I’d like to know what the true facts are. For your information, Glamis has denied that she ever knew Vera Martel or knew anything about her.”

“What did she say about being out in the workshop yesterday morning?” Elliott asked.

“I didn’t ask her,” Mason said. And then added drily, “The police are probably asking her that now. If they aren’t, they certainly will after they’ve talked with you.”

“Can they force me to make a statement?”

“They can take you to Headquarters. If you don’t talk it’s going to look bad. If you do talk it’s going to look terrible. They can subpoena you and take you in front of a grand jury and you’ll have to talk.”

“I don’t have to talk,” Elliott said.

“Then you go to jail,” Mason said. “And if you lie, you go to prison for perjury.”

“And if I talk, Glamis is involved in a murder case?”

“Glamis,” Mason said, “is probably involved in the murder case right now. She had a chance to tell me the truth and she missed it. I don’t know what’s going to happen now.”

“Look here,” Elliott said, “suppose the police can’t find me.”

“They’ll find you,” Mason said.

“I’m not so certain they will.”

“All right,” Mason told him, “if you’re missing and the police can’t find you and the police learn that you were in that house early yesterday morning, and if the police find that Vera Martel was killed early yesterday morning, then you’re going to be the prime suspect.”

Elliott’s eyes began to blink rapidly. “Well?” he asked.

“Draw your own conclusions,” Mason said.

“Look here,” Elliott said, “how long have I got before the police start looking for me?”

“How do I know?” Mason asked. “They’re probably looking for you now.”

Elliott strode over to the door, said, “Very well, gentlemen, I’ve told you all I know and I have things to do.”

“Now look,” Mason told him, “if you’re planning—”

“You heard what I said, I have things to do. As far as I’m concerned, the interview is terminated.”

Mason glanced at Paul Drake, nodded and the two of them walked out into the corridor.

Elliott pulled the door shut behind them.

Mason beckoned to Paul Drake and led the way to the elevator.

They were silent until they had reached the sidewalk in front of the apartment house.

“Got your car here, Paul?” Mason asked.

“Uh-huh. You came in your car?”

“That’s right.”

“Want me to tag him?”

Mason shook his head.

“Why not?” Drake asked. “You know what’s going to happen. He’s going to get the hell out of there.”

“All right,” Mason said. “You remember what we told him. We told him we couldn’t give him any advice. We told him that if he skipped out he would become the number-one suspect in the case.”

“Yes,” Drake said, “you were highly ethical, but if I were in Hartley Elliott’s shoes and if I were in love with Glamis, I think I’d suddenly have some business that took me out of the country.”

“And you’d like to follow him to find out where he goes?”

“Well, it might help,” Drake said.

“Help whom?” Mason asked.

Drake thought that over for a moment, then grinned and said, “Okay, I get you, Perry. Do you want me to follow you to the office?”

“Keep me in sight all the way,” Mason said.