The Case of the Fenced-In Woman

Chapter 14

Mason, Della Street and Paul Drake had lunch near the Hall of Justice at a small Italian restaurant where the proprietor had reserved a private dining room for them.

“I thought you said it was all circumstantial evidence, Perry,” Drake said.

“I thought it was,” Mason told him. “There’s something about this case that simply doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, we’ve done all we can,” Drake said.

Della Street said reassuringly, “You’re doing a wonderful job, Chief. After all, if they expect you to go it blind you’ve got to just play it by ear. You’ve taken the sting out of a good deal of their evidence.”

“But how am I going to take the sting out of Nadine Palmer’s evidence?” Mason asked.

“Do you think she’s telling the truth?”

“I don’t know.”

“Suppose you knew your clients were guilty. What would you do?” Drake asked. “You’d try to discredit Nadine Palmer, wouldn’t you?”

“It’s my duty to try and discredit her anyway,” Mason said. “After all, she’s given damaging testimony and it’s up to me to use a searching cross-examination in probing for some weak point in her story.

“There’s one thing I wish you’d do, Paul.”

“What?”

“Get Della Street’s fingerprints.”

“Get what?” Della asked.

“Get Della Street’s fingerprints,” Mason said, his eyes on Paul.

“Well, that’s easy,” Drake said, grinning. “Provided Della doesn’t raise any objection.”

“What in the world do you want my fingerprints for?” Della asked.

Mason grinned. “I just thought I’d use them in cross-examination.”

“Why?”

“Well, it might have a dramatic effect on the jury.”

“When do you want them?”

“Right after lunch,” Mason said. “Drake had better take you up to his office where no one will see him. Get her fingerprints, Paul, and mark the sheet of paper on which the fingerprints are made — use one of the standard sheets of fingerprint paper — and come to think of it, Paul, don’t use all of Della’s fingerprints. Take your secretary’s and alternate fingerprints; one of Della’s, one of your secretary’s. Start with Della’s little finger, take your secretary’s ring finger. Get Della’s middle finger, then your secretary’s index finger; then Della Street’s thumb.”

“What in the world are you planning?” Drake asked.

“I don’t know,” Mason said, “but the way I look at law an attorney has a right to cross-examine a witness in order to find out if that witness is telling the truth. If the witness isn’t, he doesn’t need to lay a trap simply by asking questions. He has a reasonable amount of leeway.”

Drake said, “I don’t like this, Perry. You could get into trouble, particularly when you start mixing fingerprints.”

Mason looked at him somberly. “Hell, I’m in trouble already, Paul. My clients are mixed in this thing up to their eyebrows and I don’t know just where to strike. Anything I do may be the wrong thing.”

“Well, this certainly looks wrong,” Drake said. “It’s no crime to take anyone’s fingerprints but once you start mixing up the fingerprints of two people to deceive someone, you... Suppose they catch you, Perry?”

“That’s the point,” Mason said. “I don’t want them to catch me.”

“Quit worrying about it, Paul,” Della Street said. “Let’s hurry through lunch and get going.”

Drake sighed. “The things a private detective has to go through when he’s working for Perry Mason,” he said lugubriously. “All of a sudden I’ve lost my appetite.”