The Case of the Glamorous Ghost

Chapter number 10

Perry Mason surveyed the crowded courtroom, taking mental inventory of the situation.

Behind him and slightly to one side sat his client, officially described as Eleanor Corbin, alias Eleanor Hepner.

In the front row of the courtroom was her father, Homer Corbin, a quietly dressed, well-groomed individual whose very appearance lent an air of respectability to the defendant’s case.

But Homer Corbin was in the wholesale jewelry business. The decedent, Douglas Hepner, had been a freelance Government informer who made it his business to track down illicit shipments of jewels and turn that information over to the Government. Did the district attorney know that?

If Homer Corbin should take the stand to testify to the good character of his daughter, or to testify to any event leading up to the crime, Mason could visualize Hamilton Burger, the district attorney, asking:

“And did you know, Mr. Corbin, that the decedent, Douglas Hepner, was engaged in this business of detecting smuggled shipments of jewelry, reporting those shipments to the Customs authorities, and receiving a twenty-percent reward therefor; that that was the way he made his living?”

Hamilton Burger would slightly incline his head as if anxious to miss no syllable of the answer, then he would say:

“And I believe, Mr. Corbin, that you first met the decedent on a ship returning from Europe?”

Then the district attorney would step back a few paces, smile at the harassed witness and say almost casually:

“I believe, Mr. Corbin, that you are in the wholesale jewelry business and that your trip to Europe was a business trip, was it not?”

The insinuation would be there, implanted in the minds of the jury. None of those questions would be objectionable from a legal standpoint. They would merely sketch the background of the witness, his possible bias, his occupation, his knowledge of the decedent, but the cumulative impact would be deadly.

Seated beside her father was Olga Jordan, a thin-mouthed, clever woman, who somehow managed to give the impression of putting on a false front. Not only was it the manner in which she tried to disguise the thin line of her lips with heavy lipstick, but it was something about her manner itself, the alert, intent way with which she regarded everything that took place as though searching for an opportunity to turn every event to her own personal advantage.

Beside his wife, Bill Jordan, a sunburned playboy, was not likely to create a good impression with the jury. He was too young to have retired, too bronzed by sun-swept hours on the golf course to appeal to a jury of men and women who had worked and worked hard during their entire lifetime.

Those were the only people on whom Mason could count to counteract whatever case the district attorney was about to present, and try as he might Mason had no inkling of the ace that the district attorney had in the hole.

The testimony given before the grand jury and on which the indictment had been based showed that the defendant, Eleanor Corbin, had been friendly with Douglas Hepner, that she had left her home with Douglas Hepner, that she had sent a telegram from Yuma stating that they were married, that two weeks later the body of Douglas Hepner had been found, that he had been shot in the back of the head with a .38 caliber bullet, that the defendant owned a .38 caliber revolver, that the defendant had stated to Ethel Belan she considered Douglas Hepner her boy friend and that Suzanne Granger had insinuated herself into the picture; that the defendant had stated that she would kill Douglas Hepner if he tried to throw her overboard, that at the time the defendant made that statement she had in her possession and exhibited a .38 caliber revolver, that the defendant was then living with Ethel Belan who had an apartment adjoining that of Suzanne Granger, a young woman who had attracted the attention of Douglas Hepner and who was going out with him.

This created a web of circumstantial evidence which had been sufficient to bring about an indictment at the hands of a friendly grand jury. It would hardly be sufficient to warrant a conviction before a trial jury. Therefore Mason knew that Hamilton Burger undoubtedly had some evidence which would, in his mind, be determinative, but neither Perry Mason nor the Drake Detective Agency had been able to find out what that evidence was.

And so Perry Mason found himself for once in his life entering upon a trial of a case where he knew that he would inevitably be confronted with evidence which would be disastrous to the defendant, where he had been unable to learn from the defendant the true story of what had happened, where he must rely entirely on his powers of observation and cross-examination, where he would have to get the facts of the case from the mouths of hostile witnesses.

Hamilton Burger, the district attorney, flushed and triumphant in the face of apparent victory, made an opening statement to the jury. After outlining a few preliminary facts by way of background, he said:

“We expect to show you, ladies and gentlemen, that the defendant in this case, actuated by jealousy, armed herself with a .38 caliber revolver; that she made financial arrangements with Ethel Belan to share apartment 360 so that she could spy upon Suzanne Granger who lived in apartment 358; that the purpose of so doing was to catch the man who she claimed was her husband, Douglas Hepner, the decedent, in a compromising position with Suzanne Granger; that she threatened that if she couldn’t have Douglas Hepner no one else would ever have him.

“And so, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we find Douglas Hepner, the decedent, dead, with a bullet from the defendant’s gun in his brain, and the defendant making elaborate preparations to have it appear she was mentally irresponsible, that she had amnesia, what we might term a synthetic amnesia, carefully cultivated to shield her from being forced to answer embarrassing questions, an amnesia which psychiatrists will testify is completely simulated.”

“Just a moment, Your Honor,” Mason said. “I dislike to interrupt the district attorney’s opening statement, but the defense will challenge the testimony of any psychiatrist who attempts to qualify as a mind reader. The science of psychiatry is not so far advanced that any man can tell with certainty...”

Hamilton Burger interrupted with affable good nature. “This is conceded, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. I withdraw any statement I made about the psychiatrist. We’ll put the psychiatrists on the stand. We’ll qualify them. We’ll let them testify. We’ll let counsel for the defense object and we’ll let the Court rule on the admissibility of the evidence. But for the present time I withdraw any reference I have made to any psychiatric testimony.

“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is in a general way the picture that we expect to develop before you. Since some of the evidence may be controversial, and since we want to expedite matters, I won’t go into all of the details at this time.”

And, using Perry Mason’s interruption as an excuse to keep his case outlined in broad generalities, Hamilton Burger thanked the jurors and sat down.

Mason turned to Paul Drake. “Notice, Paul, that he said the bullet in the head of Douglas Hepner had been fired from the defendant’s gun.”

“Did he say that?” Drake whispered.

Mason nodded. “He slipped it in almost casually.”

Judge Moran said, “Does the defendant wish to make any statement at this time?”

“No, Your Honor,” Mason said. “We will reserve our opening statement until later. Perhaps we may dispense with it entirely. I think the jurors understand fully that it is incumbent upon the prosecution to prove the guilt of the defendant beyond all reasonable doubt, and if the prosecution fails to do this we will rely upon that failure and will put on no evidence at all.”

“Is that an opening statement?” Hamilton Burger asked.

“No,” Mason said, “it is a statement to the Court.”

“You mean you aren’t going to put on any evidence for the defense?”

“Not unless you put on sufficient evidence to raise an issue. The law presumes the defendant innocent.”

Judge Moran said, “That will do, gentlemen. I don’t want any colloquy between counsel. Please address your remarks to the Court. Mr. Prosecutor, the defendant has waived an opening statement at this time. Put on your first witness.”

Hamilton Burger bowed and smiled. Nothing could affect his glowing good humor.

“My first witness,” he said, “is Raymond Orla.”

Raymond Orla took the oath and disclosed that he was a deputy coroner, that he had been called to Sierra Vista Park when the body of Douglas Hepner had been discovered at about 9:15 P.M. on the night of August seventeenth. He had taken charge of proceedings there at the scene and had had photographs taken. He identified various photographs as showing the position of the body and the location where it had been found. He had made an examination of the body, had not moved it until after photographs had been taken; then the body had been taken to the coroner’s laboratory where the clothes had been removed and an autopsy had been performed. Photographs had been taken of the body during the several stages of the autopsy and he had these photographs.

Hamilton Burger announced that the photographs of the autopsy would be subject to inspection by counsel but he thought they were too gruesome to be submitted to the jury who presumably were not as accustomed as counsel to seeing photographs of a body during a post-mortem examination.

Orla testified that there was a bullet hole in the back of the head of the decedent, that aside from a few bruises there were no other injuries or marks of violence, that the autopsy surgeon had recovered the bullet from the head.

“That’s all,” Hamilton Burger said suavely. “I don’t know whether counsel has any desire to cross-examine.”

“Oh, just one or two questions,” Mason said breezily. “What happened to the clothes the decedent was wearing?”

“They were folded and placed in a locker at the coroner’s office. They are still there.”

“And those clothes are subject to inspection by counsel for the defense at any time,” Hamilton Burger interposed. “I’ll instruct the witness to arrange for such an inspection at any hour of the day or night.”

And the district attorney even made a little bow as though acknowledging applause for his fairness.

“What about the personal possessions? What things were in the man’s pockets?” Mason inquired of the witness, ignoring the district attorney’s interpolation.

“I have a list,” Orla said.

He whipped a notebook from his pocket. “The following articles were in the possession of the decedent: One notebook, a driving license, one fountain pen, one leather key container containing four keys, one handkerchief, one dollar and ninety-six cents in small change, one silver cigarette case, six cigarettes.”

“And that’s all?” Mason asked.

“Yes, sir. That’s all.”

“Where are those articles?”

“At the coroner’s office.”

“I want them introduced in evidence,” Mason said.

“Come, come,” Hamilton Burger said. “These articles are purely incidental. They have no bearing on the case.”

“How do you know they don’t have any bearing on the case?” Mason said.

“Well, if you want them introduced in evidence, go ahead and introduce them as part of your case. They’re not part of mine.”

“Your Honor,” Mason said, “I would like to have these articles introduced in evidence. I feel that they may be significant, particularly the notebook.”

“The notebook was entirely blank,” Orla said.

“You mean there was nothing in it?”

“Absolutely nothing. The pages were entirely blank. The notebook was a leather notebook which contained a compartment for a driving license and a filler which was detachable. Evidently an old filler had been taken out shortly prior to the death of the decedent and a new filler put in. There was not so much as the scratch of a pen on the new filler.”

“What about the driving license?” Mason asked.

“It was in the notebook, in a transparent cellophane window compartment designed for such purpose.”

“If the Court please,” Mason said, “I would like to have these articles introduced. I am perfectly willing to stipulate that they may be considered a part of my case, but I would like to have them introduced now.”

Hamilton Burger said, “Your Honor, I feel that the People should be permitted to go ahead and put on its case. The defense can then put on its case. I don’t think we should have the cases put on piecemeal.”

“Under those circumstances,” Mason said, “as part of my cross-examination I am going to insist that these articles be introduced in evidence.”

“You can’t do that as a part of cross-examination.”

“I can ask this witness to bring the articles into court,” Mason said.

“Come, come,” Judge Moran said. “I don’t see any point to be gained in becoming technical over these articles. They were in the possession of the decedent, Mr. Witness?”

“That’s right. Yes, sir.”

“They were in his pockets?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you personally removed them from his pockets?”

“I did. Yes, sir.”

“Those articles may be placed in the custody of the Court and marked ‘Defendant’s Exhibits for Identification.’ At this time the articles will be marked for identification only and defense counsel can cross-examine the witness on any of those articles that he wishes. Later on, if defendant wishes, those articles may be received in evidence.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Mason said. “And the defense would like a set of the photographs showing the autopsy of the decedent.”

“I have a set of photographs for defense counsel,” Hamilton Burger said, presenting a whole sheaf of 8 × 10 glossy photographs with a courtesy so elaborate that it was again obviously designed to impress the jury with his complete fairness.

“Thank you,” Mason said. “No further questions.”

Dr. Julius Oberon was called as a witness. He gave his qualifications as a forensic pathologist and coroner’s physician. He stated that he had performed the autopsy on the body of the decedent, that he had recovered a .38 caliber bullet from the head of the decedent, that the discharge of the bullet into the man’s head had resulted in almost instant death. He pointed out the location of the wound of entrance, described generally the damage to the brain, stated that there were no other injuries which could have caused death, and that in his opinion the victim on which he performed the autopsy had been dead for approximately twenty-four to thirty-six hours. He could not fix the time of death any closer than that.

“And what did you do with this bullet after you removed it from the head of the decedent?” Hamilton Burger asked.

“I turned it over to a ballistics expert.”

“You may cross-examine,” Hamilton Burger said.

Mason glanced at the doctor, who was settling himself firmly in the witness chair as though bracing himself to resist a verbal attack.

“You say death was virtually instantaneous, Doctor?”

“Yes, sir.”

“On what do you base that opinion?”

“The nature of the wound, the damage to the brain.”

“That wound would have produced complete, instantaneous unconsciousness?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But not necessarily death?”

“What do you mean?”

“Aren’t you familiar, Doctor, with cases where there is extensive hemorrhage from a head wound, in other words, haven’t you had many cases in your own experience where the brain tissue has been damaged and there has been extensive hemorrhage?”

“Yes, indeed. I have seen cases of massive hemorrhage.”

“What causes such cases, Doctor?”

“Why, the blood in the body drains out through the damaged blood vessels.”

“It is pumped out by the heart, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So that in those cases, while the person may be completely unconscious, there is nevertheless life for some considerable period of time, a life which manifests itself through the activity of the heart pumping blood into the blood vessels?”

“Yes, sir, that is right.”

“Was that the case in this instance, Doctor?”

“Definitely not. There was very little bleeding.”

“Did you notice any blood clot on the ground near the head of the decedent?”

“Yes, sir. There was some external bleeding, not much.”

“And some internal?”

“Yes, sir, but the bleeding was not extensive.”

“And predicating your opinion on that lack of bleeding you decided that death was virtually instantaneous, is that right?”

“Not on the lack of bleeding alone, but on the position of the wound and the extent of the brain damage.”

“You have seen similar wounds with equally extensive damage where there had been considerable hemorrhage and where the decedent had therefore lived for some time although completely unconscious?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now then, Doctor, did you take into consideration the possibility that the decedent might have been killed at some other place and the body transported to the place where it was found?”

“I did. Yes, sir.”

“Did you negate such a possibility?”

“In my own mind, yes.”

“May I ask for your process of reasoning, Doctor?”

“The nature and extent of the wound, the damage to the brain, the nature of the hemorrhage, the position of the blood clot, the absence of vertical blood smears, the position of the body — things of that sort.”

Mason said, “It is then your opinion, Doctor, that someone stood behind the decedent, shot him in the back of the head with a .38 caliber revolver, and that death was instantaneous, or virtually instantaneous?”

“That is correct, except as to one matter.”

“What is that?”

“The decedent may have been seated at the time of his death. I am inclined to think he was. From the position in which the body was found I am inclined to think the decedent was seated on the grass with his legs doubled to the right, his left hand resting on the ground. In that case, since the course of the bullet wound was not downward, the person who shot him was also seated on the ground somewhat behind him. Or was so stooped or crouched that the gun was on a level with the back of the decedent’s head.”

“Thank you,” Mason said. “That is all, Doctor.”

“No further questions on redirect,” Hamilton Burger said. “I now wish to call Merton C. Bosler to the stand.”

Mason, watching Hamilton Burger, saw the district attorney glance at the clock as though carefully timing the course of events.

Merton C. Bosler qualified himself as a ballistics expert. He had, he said, been present at the time the autopsy was performed, he had seen Dr. Oberon remove the fatal bullet from the skull of the decedent, he had seen Dr. Oberon mark that bullet. The bullet had then been turned over to him as a ballistics expert.

In fifteen minutes, led by Hamilton Burger’s skillful questioning, Merton C. Bosler proved conclusively that the bullet he produced was correctly identified and that it had been discharged through the barrel of a .38 caliber Smith & Wesson revolver. The bullet and a series of enlarged photographs were received in evidence. The jurors in turn examined the fatal bullet gravely as though by so doing they were able to determine the issues in the case.

“Now then,” Hamilton Burger continued, “did you make any search of the vicinity where the body was found for the purpose of determining whether any weapon was lying nearby?”

“I assisted in such a search.”

“Did you find such a weapon nearby?”

“Not at the time.”

“Now then,” Hamilton Burger said triumphantly, “did you subsequently make a search using any mechanical or electronic device?”

“I did. Yes, sir.”

“What device?”

“I used what is known as a mine detector.”

“And what is that?”

“That is an electronic device so designed that when it is moved over the surface of the ground it will give a peculiar squeal when it is moved over a metallic object.”

“And what did you find?”

“Well, we found several metallic objects which were not significant. We found an old rusted penknife. We found the metallic lever key which had been used to open a can of sardines with the tin top of the sardine can still around it, and...”

“Yes, yes,” Hamilton Burger interrupted. “Never mind these insignificant objects. What else, if anything, did you find that you consider a significant object?”

“We found a .38 caliber Smith & Wesson revolver with one discharged shell. The number of the revolver was C-48809.”

“Indeed,” Hamilton Burger said triumphantly. “And did you make any ballistics tests with that weapon?”

“I did. Yes, sir.”

“Did you fire test bullets through that weapon?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what was the result of that test?”

“The result was that the two sets of individual characteristics — those on the fatal bullet and those on the one fired in the laboratory — exactly matched.”

“Did you photograph that matching?”

“I did.”

“Will you produce that photograph, please?”

The witness produced a big 8 × 10 photograph. It was placed in evidence and carefully explained to the jury.

“Where did you find this weapon?”

“The weapon was buried about eight inches beneath the ground. It had been thrust into a hole which had evidently been made by some burrowing animal and then the hole had been plugged up with dirt. Over the surface of the ground dry leaves and twigs had been scattered so that it was virtually impossible to notice any disturbance of the ground.”

“But you located this with a mine detector, and then did what?”

“Then we carefully examined the ground, carefully moved away the dry leaves and twigs and were then able to observe the place where earth had been pushed into the hole. We removed this earth and found the weapon in the hole.”

“And where was this with relation to the place where the body of the decedent was discovered?”

“Fifty-six feet in a northeasterly direction.”

“Someone was with you at the time?”

“Oh yes, sir. There were several people.”

“Among them was a surveyor?”

“Yes, sir.”

“A man who drove a stake at the place where the weapon was discovered and oriented it with the place where the body had been found?”

“That is right. Yes, sir.”

“Do you know that surveyor’s name?”

“Yes, sir. It was Stephen Escalante.”

“Now then, Mr. Bosler, did you subsequently make any examination of the records of firearm purchases on file in this county?”

“I did. Yes, sir.”

“And did you find any record of a Smith & Wesson revolver, number C-48809, having been sold in this county?”

“I did. Yes, sir.”

“And according to the records, who purchased that weapon?”

“Eleanor Corbin.”

“The defendant in this action?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And her signature appears upon that record?”

“It does. Yes, sir.”

“That is a public record in this county, made such by law?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You have a photostatic copy of that record?”

“I do. Yes, sir.”

Hamilton Burger was exceedingly unctuous.

“Your Honor, it is approaching the hour for the evening adjournment. I will ask to have this photostatic copy of the record introduced at this time. I have not as yet shown that the signature on this firearms sale registration is the signature of the defendant, Eleanor Corbin, but I expect to produce evidence tomorrow morning, that is, evidence of a handwriting expert, showing that the signature is that of the defendant. However, I believe that the evidence is sufficient in view of the nature of this record to have this photostatic copy introduced in evidence at this time.”

“No objection,” Mason said, smilingly unconcerned, and giving no sign that this testimony had not been fully anticipated by the defendant. “We will stipulate that this page of the firearms register book may go into evidence, that is, the photostatic copy may, and in order to save the district attorney trouble we will stipulate that the signature appearing on there is actually the signature of the defendant in this case.”

Burger showed surprise. “You’ll stipulate to that?” he asked.

“Why certainly,” Mason said, smiling affably.

“Very well,” Judge Moran ruled. “The photostatic copy will be received in evidence with its appropriate numbers, Mr. Clerk, and court will adjourn until ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”

As the crowd started shuffling from the courtroom, Della Street and Paul Drake headed through the rail toward Perry Mason.

Mason turned to Eleanor. “Was that your gun?” he asked.

“That is my gun.”

“And how did it get there, where it was found?”

“Mr. Mason, I give you my word of honor, I cross my heart and hope to die, I have absolutely no recollection. I carried that gun for personal protection. There had been so many instances of women being molested and... well, I didn’t live exactly a quiet life and quite often I had to carry jewelry from my father’s place of business to my home. The police themselves suggested that I should carry that gun. It’s one of those weapons with a two-inch barrel that is designed to fit in a pocket or in a woman’s purse.”

“And when you left home on this so-called honeymoon of yours you had that gun with you?”

“Yes, I carried it with me. I may as well admit it now. I’m trapped.”

“And you didn’t have it with you when you were apprehended by the police?”

“Quite obviously, Mr. Mason,” she said, smiling slightly, “I didn’t have it with me. I had very little with me. I believe my garments were described in the press as ‘a fluttering diaphanous covering.’ ”

“Dammit,” Mason said angrily, “don’t joke about it. That gun is going to convict you of murder. You left home with Douglas Hepner. He was murdered and he was murdered with your gun.”

“But it was two weeks after I’d left home with him. A lot can happen in two weeks.”

“It doesn’t make any difference what else happened,” Mason said angrily. “He was killed on the sixteenth and he was killed with your gun, within a hundred yards of the place where you were seen running around practically naked in the moonlight.”

“You’re angry with me, aren’t you?”

“I just wish you’d tell me what happened,” Mason said, “so I’d have a chance to save you from the death penalty or from life imprisonment. If you shot him you could at least give me an opportunity to plead self-defense or justifiable homicide or...”

“I’m afraid,” she said, “you forget that the bullet was squarely in the back of the man’s head. That would seem to negate any theory of self-defense.”

A policewoman beckoned for the defendant.

Mason, still angry, said, “I hope you’ll do something to recover your memory before ten o’clock tomorrow morning, because if you don’t...” He broke off as he saw a newspaper reporter coming toward him.

The newspaper reporter pushed forward. “Mr. Mason, I wonder if you’d care to make any statement?”

Mason smiled genially. “No statement at the present time,” he said, “other than that the defendant is absolutely innocent.”

“Is it true that she has no recollection of what happened on the night of the murder?”

“Amnesia,” Mason said, “is a subject for the experts. I am not an expert. You might ask one of the psychiatrists about retrograde amnesia from mental shock. That’s all I can tell you at the present time.”

“Your defense will include amnesia?”

“My defense,” Mason said, smiling, “is not being announced at the present time for reasons which should be quite obvious. However, you may quote me as stating that before the case is finished Hamilton Burger is going to be greatly surprised.”

And, smiling confidently, Mason picked up the papers from the table in front of him, put them in the brief case and snapped the brief case shut.

Mason cupped his hand around Della Street’s elbow, nodded to Paul Drake, said in a low voice, “Let’s get out of here where we can talk,” and led the way across the courtroom through the court reporter’s room, down the corridor and into a witness room.

Mason kicked the door shut, said, “Well, there it is out in the open.”

“What can you do against a combination like that?” Drake asked.

Mason shrugged his shoulders.

Drake said, “You can see now why Burger was so anxious to get to trial. Good Lord, Perry, you can’t beat a case like that.”

Mason pushed back his coat, put his thumbs in the armholes of his vest, started pacing the floor. “I wish that girl would tell me the truth,” he said.

“She isn’t telling you the truth because she can’t,” Drake said. “She killed him. There isn’t one chance in a million that she didn’t kill him.”

“Chief,” Della Street said, “isn’t there some way of combating this question of the ownership of the gun? Of course, it’s her gun. It was registered to her. But suppose somebody stole it.”

“That, of course,” Mason said, “is the only defense we have, but you’re overlooking the trap that Hamilton Burger is setting for me.”

“What’s that?”

“He wants me to work some line of cross-examination that will bring out that very point,” Mason said. “Then he’s going to bring his star witness to the stand.”

“Who’s that?”

“Ethel Belan.”

“What will she swear to?”

“Heaven knows,” Mason said, “but probably it will be to the effect that she saw Eleanor Corbin with that gun in her possession within a few hours of the time of the murder. Lord knows what she’s going to testify to, but it’s something devastating, you can bet your bottom dollar on that. Otherwise Burger would never have put her up at an expensive hotel, given her a bodyguard, kept her in isolation, away from everyone who might tip us off to what her story was going to be.”

“That’s so,” Drake agreed morosely. “How about making a deal with the D.A., Perry?”

“On what?”

“Copping a plea of guilty, taking life imprisonment and saving your client from the death penalty. After all, with her looks and a little luck she’ll get out with some of her life left to live.”

Mason shook his head. “I can’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Because she won’t tell me that she actually killed the guy. I can’t put an innocent woman up against the horror of life imprisonment on a deal of that sort.

“Figure what it means, Paul. She’s young. She’s attractive. She’s got a good figure. She likes to show it. She has been free as the air. She travels around to Europe and South America. She eats in the best restaurants. She has been on top of the world.

“Now put her in the drab confines of a prison life, take away all initiative, all glamour, all variety. It’s condemning her to a monotonous procession of days, one day just like another. Lights out at a certain time each night. Up at a certain time each morning. Drab, tasteless breakfast according to a regular schedule. Time slips through her fingers and goes down the drain. She lives on prison grub. It’s a diet that will keep her nourished but it consists of starches in place of proteins. She gets fat. Her tissues become water-logged. She loses her figure. She lets her shoulders sag in a dejected droop. And then after fifteen or perhaps twenty years she gets out. What’s she going to do? She’s no longer attractive to men. She’s no longer filled with that devil-may-care spontaneity which now gives her her charm. Her life has gone. She has the stigma of prison surrounding her. She...”

“She’d ten thousand times rather walk into the execution chamber,” Della Street said, “and so would I.”

“There we are,” Mason said.

“Well, we have to do something,” Drake said. “We can’t sit back and take this lying down.”

“Of course we’re going to do something,” Mason flared. “I’m just trying to get things organized in my own mind. We’ve got to find out something about this case that the prosecution doesn’t know. We’ve got to find it out fast and then we’ve got to prove what actually did happen.”

“What actually did happen,” Drake said, “is that your client killed Hepner. She got jealous because he started two-timing her and she shot him. Why the hell can’t she be normal? Why can’t she get on the witness stand, cross her legs, show the jury a lot of cheesecake and tell about that night when Douglas taunted her with the fact that he had betrayed her virtue and wasn’t going to do anything about it, how she thought she could scare him into marrying her if she took the gun from her purse, intending just to frighten him, and then he taunted her some more and all of a sudden everything went black. And then the next thing she remembers is his body inert and silent in death. And so she lost her mind and went tearing around in the moonlight, putting on the dance of the seven veils.”

“It’s a goofy defense,” Della Street said, “but at least it’s a defense, and with her figure and her charm she could get by with it — at least enough so that some of the old goats on the jury would be hypnotized by her nylon stockings and hold out for acquittal. They’d finally compromise on manslaughter.”

“You overlook the fact,” Mason said, “that a lawyer is an officer of the court. He represents justice. He represents right. I’m not supposed to use my brains and try to stand between a guilty defendant and the law of the land. I’m supposed to see that my clients are protected, that their interests are protected.

“Now then, Paul, let’s look at this thing from a logical standpoint. Let’s not let ourselves get stampeded and let’s not let ourselves get hypnotized. What have you got in your pockets?”

“Me? My pockets?” Drake asked.

Mason nodded.

“A bunch of junk,” Drake said.

“Take it out,” Mason said. “Put it on the table.”

Drake looked at him in surprise.

“Go ahead,” Mason said.

Silently Drake started pulling things out of his pockets.

“Well, I’ll be darned,” Della Street said, watching the collection pile up on the table. “And then you men talk about the stuff that goes in a woman’s purse!”

Drake put down pencil, fountain pen, notebook, knife, cigarette case, lighter, keychain, handkerchiefs, wallet, small change, driving license, a couple of opened letters, an airplane time schedule, a package of chewing gum.

Mason surveyed the collection thoughtfully.

“All right,” Drake said, “what have I proved?”

“That,” Mason told him, “is something that I wish I knew, but you sure have proven something.”

“I don’t get it,” Drake said.

“Contrast what you have in your pockets, which is probably an average collection of the stuff carried by a busy man, and think of the things which the coroner said were in the pockets of Douglas Hepner.”

“Well, of course,” Drake said, “I...”

“Let’s look at it this way. Hepner smoked. He had his cigarettes in a cigarette case. Where were his matches? Where was his knife? Nearly every man carries a penknife of some sort. He had a small amount of chicken feed in his pocket but no bills. He had a driving license but no membership cards in anything. No clubs, no addresses, nothing of that sort.”

Drake frowned thoughtfully for a moment. “By gosh,” he said, “when you come right down to it, Perry, that was a very meager assortment of junk.”

“Of course it was,” Mason said. “Where did Hepner live?”

“Now there,” Drake said, “is something that bothers the hell out of the police. Ostensibly he lived at the Dixiecrat Apartments. He had an apartment there but it wasn’t really lived in. There was maid service and the maid said there would be days at a time, sometimes a couple of weeks at a stretch, when the beds wouldn’t have been slept in, when linen wouldn’t have been used in the bathroom. There was never any food in the icebox. He didn’t send out his laundry from there, and...”

Mason snapped his fingers.

“What?” Drake asked.

“That’s it,” Mason said. “The laundry! Come on, Paul!”

“Where?”

“Over to the coroner’s office,” Mason said. “We were invited to inspect the clothes that the decedent was wearing when the body was found. Let’s check for a laundry mark. It’s a cinch Hepner didn’t do his own laundry.”

“Okay,” Drake said. “We may have something there, but... oh shucks, Perry, if there’d been a laundry mark on those clothes the police would have checked it long before this.”

“How do we know they haven’t?” Mason said.

“Well, if they have you’ll learn about it in due time.”

“I want to learn about things before they’re thrown at me in court,” Mason said. “Just suppose that that client of mine is telling the truth. Suppose she can’t remember what happened. Suppose that she’s being railroaded on a murder charge and can’t...”

“The chances of that are just about one in fifty million,” Drake said. “The D.A. has had her examined by psychiatrists. They’re satisfied she’s faking. The minute she gets on the witness stand and claims that she can’t remember what happened, the D.A. is going to start throwing a cross-examination at her that will leave her wilted like a hot lettuce leaf. Then he’s going to throw on a battery of psychiatrists and just about prove that she’s lying.”

“All right,” Mason said, “if she’s lying, I can’t let her get on the witness stand and put herself in that position, but I have to prove to myself that she is lying. Do you have any ultraviolet light in your office, Paul?”

“Yes, I’ve got a little hand lamp that plugs into an AC current and has two types of filter — a long-length violet and...”

“Get it,” Mason said. “Bring it along. Lots of laundries these days are using fluorescent ink as a laundry mark. That may give us a clue. What about those keys? There were four keys on the key container. Did the police ever find out what locks they fitted?”

“One of them was to that apartment in the Dixiecrat apartment house. I don’t know about the others.”

“Okay,” Mason said. “Take along a block of wax, Paul. While I’m keeping the attention of the authorities focused on something else, make a wax impression of every one of the keys on that key container.”

“Are you supposed to have those?” Drake asked dubiously.

“Any law against it?” Mason asked.

“Hell, I don’t know, Perry. You know the law.”

“Then do what I tell you to. I want an impression of those keys. We’ve got work to do. We’re beginning to find out what we’re up against now, and we can gamble that tomorrow Hamilton Burger is going to throw a mountain at us. He’ll bury us under an avalanche.”

“Ethel Belan?” Drake asked.

Mason nodded. “It’s a safe bet that her testimony is really going to throw a harpoon into us.

“Burger has timed this whole thing. Tonight he’ll have us worrying about the gun, frantically trying to dig up evidence that will make the jury think it was stolen.

“Then when we’re all ready to stake our case on that he’ll have Ethel Belan jerk the rug out from under us.

“Then Hamilton Burger is going to smile sweetly and say, 'The prosecution rests,’ and toss the case into my lap.

“If I put Eleanor on the witness stand they’re going to tear her to pieces. If I don’t, she’s going to get convicted. Either way it goes we’re hooked. Come on, let’s go.”