The Case of the Golddigger’s Purse

14

Genevieve Faulkner lived in a small bungalow that was within half a dozen blocks of the place where Wilfred Dixon maintained his sumptuous bachelor residence.

Mason parked his car, ran up the steps and impatiently rang the bell.

The door was opened after a few moments by Genevieve Faulkner herself.

Mason said, “You’ll pardon me for disturbing you, Mrs. Faulkner, but there are one or two questions I must ask you.”

She smiled and shook her head.

Mason said, “I’m not fishing now, Mrs. Faulkner. I’m hunting.”

“Hunting?” she asked.

“For bear,” Mason said, “and I’m loaded for bear.”

“Oh! I’m sorry I can’t invite you in, Mr. Mason. Mr. Dixon says I’m not to talk to you.”

Mason said, “You paid Sally Madison two thousand dollars for a bullet. Why did you do that?”

“Who says I did that?”

“I can’t tell you that, but I’m stating it as a fact.”

“When am I supposed to have paid her that sum of money?”

“Last night.”

Mrs. Faulkner thought for a moment, then said to Mason, “Come in.”

Mason followed her into a tastefully furnished living room. She invited the lawyer to sit down, promptly picked up a telephone, dialed a number and said, “Can you come over here right away? Mr. Mason is here.” Then she dropped the receiver into place.

“Well?” Mason asked.

“Smoke?” she inquired.

“Thank you, I have my own.”

“A drink?”

“I’d like an answer to my question.”

“In a few minutes.”

She settled down in the chair opposite Mason, and the lawyer noticed the supple grace of her movements as she crossed her knees, calmly selected a cigarette from a humidor and struck a match.

“How long have you known Sally Madison?” Mason asked.

“Nice weather we’re having, isn’t it?”

“A little cool for this time of year,” Mason said.

“I thought so, but then on the whole it’s nice. You’re sure you don’t want a Scotch and soda?”

“No, thank you, I just want an answer to that one question, and I warn you, Mrs. Faulkner, that you aren’t playing around with blackmail any more. You’re mixed up in a murder case up to your ears and if you don’t tell me the truth here and now, I’m going really to turn on the heat.”

“There’s been quite a bit of rain. It’s really nice to see the hills as green as they are now. I suppose we’ll have rather a warm summer. The old timers seem to expect it.”

Mason said, “I’m a lawyer. You’re evidently relying for advice on Wilfred Dixon. Take a tip from me and don’t do it. Either tell me the truth or get a lawyer, someone who knows the ins and outs of law and the danger you’re running if you suppress facts in a murder case.”

“It was really unusually cold around the first of the year,” she said calmly. “Some of the people who have studied weather tell me that doesn’t mean anything, but that if it’s unusually cold around the middle of January it invariably means a cold summer. Personally I can’t see any sense to that. I...”

Brakes sounded as a car slid to a stop out in front of the house. Mrs. Faulkner smiled benignly at Mason, said, “Excuse me, please,” and crossed the room to open the door.

Wilfred Dixon came hurrying in.

“Really, Mr. Mason,” Dixon said, “I had hardly thought that you would stoop to this.”

“Stoop to what?” Mason asked.

“After I told you that I didn’t care to have you interview my client.”

“To hell with you,” Mason told him. “You’re not a lawyer. You’re a self-styled business counselor or investment broker or whatever you want to call yourself. But this woman is mixed up to her ears in a murder case. She isn’t any client of yours as far as murder is concerned and you have no right to practice law. You go sticking your neck out and I’ll push it back.”

Dixon seemed completely nonplussed at Mason’s belligerence.

“Now then,” Mason went on, “Mrs. Faulkner bribed my client, Sally Madison, to get into the office of Faulkner and Carson and extract a bullet from a fish tank. Last night she gave Sally Madison two thousand dollars in cash for that bullet. I want to know why.”

Dixon said, “Really, Mr. Mason, these statements of yours are most reckless.”

“Play around with fire,” Mason told him, “and you’re going to get your fingers burned.”

“But, Mr. Mason, surely you aren’t making these accusations on the unsupported word of your client.”

“I’m not making any accusations,” Mason said. “I’m stating facts and I’m giving you just about ten seconds to come clean.”

“But, Mr. Mason, your statement is absolutely unfounded. It’s utterly ridiculous.”

Mason said, “There’s the telephone. Want me to call Lieutenant Tragg and let him ask the questions?”

Wilfred Dixon met his eyes calmly. “Please do, Mr. Mason,” he said.

There was a moment of silence.

Mason said at length, “I’ve given this woman some advice. I’m going to give you the same advice. You’re mixed up in a murder case. See a lawyer. See a good one, and see him immediately. Then, decide whether you’re going to tell the truth or whether you want me to call Lieutenant Tragg.”

Dixon indicated the telephone. “As you have so aptly remarked, Mr. Mason, there’s the telephone. I can assure you that you’re at liberty to use it. You talk about calling Lieutenant Tragg. I think we would be very glad to have you call him.”

Mason said, “You can’t monkey with the facts in a murder case. If you paid Sally Madison two thousand dollars for that bullet, that fact is going to come out. I’ll drag it out if I have to spend a million dollars for detective fees.”

“A million dollars is a lot of money,” Dixon said calmly. “You were speaking of telephoning Mr. Tragg, Mr. Mason, or I believe Lieutenant Tragg is the title. If he’s connected with the police I think it would be a good thing to call him. You see, we have nothing to conceal. I’m not, of course, certain about you.”

Mason hesitated.

There was just a glint of triumph in Wilfred Dixon’s eyes. “You see, Mr. Mason, I play a little poker myself.”

Without a word, Mason got up, crossed to the telephone, dialed Operator, said, “Give me police headquarters,” then he asked for Homicide and inquired, “is Lieutenant Tragg in? Perry Mason speaking.”

After a few seconds, Tragg’s voice sounded on the wire. “Hello, Mason. I’m glad you called. I wanted to talk with you about your client, Sally Madison. She seems to have adopted an unfortunate position. There are certain minor discrepancies in a written statement which she gave us, and when we asked her to explain those, she assumed a very truculent attitude and said, ‘See my lawyer.’ ”

“I have nothing to add to that,” Mason said.

There was genuine regret in Tragg’s voice. “I’m really sorry, Mason.”

“I can imagine you are, Tragg. I’m out at the residence of Genevieve Faulkner. She’s Faulkner’s first wife.”

“Yes, yes. I had intended to interview her as soon as I could get around to it. I’m somewhat sorry you beat me to it, Mason. Finding out anything?”

Mason said, “I think you’d better question her at some length about whether or not she saw Sally Madison last night.”

“Well, well,” Tragg said, his voice showing surprise. “Does Sally Madison claim that she saw Mrs. Faulkner?”

“Any statements my client may have made to me are, of course, confidential,” Mason said. “This is just a tip I’m giving you.”

“Thank you very much, Counselor, I’ll get in touch with her.”

“At once, I would suggest,” Mason said.

“At my earliest convenience,” Tragg amended. “Good-by, Mason.”

“Good-by,” Mason said, and hung up. He turned to Wilfred Dixon and said, “That’s the way I play poker.”

Dixon beamed at him. “Very well done, Mason, very well done, indeed. But, of course, as you pointed out to Lieutenant Tragg, you can hardly repeat to him any statements that your client made to you, and as I understand it, your client has already stated she received the two thousand dollars that was in her purse from Harrington Faulkner. It would be rather unfortunate if she should be forced to change her statement.”

“How did you know she had made such a statement?” Mason asked.

Dixon’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, I get around a bit, Mason. After all, you know, while I am not a lawyer, I have to represent the interests of my client — her business interests, you know.”

Mason said, “Don’t ever underestimate Tragg. Tragg will get a written statement out of you and you’ll swear to it. And sooner or later, the true facts are going to come out.”

“We’d be only too glad to have them come out,” Dixon said. “You see, Mr. Mason, as it happens, Genevieve makes no moves without my advice, none whatever. I tell her what to do, but I don’t bother her with details. She knows very little about the firm of Faulkner & Carson. She leaves that to me. She wouldn’t have even seen this client of yours without me. I’m quite certain that this Lieutenant Tragg, whoever he is, will be only too glad to accept our statement, particularly in view of the fact that you are in no position even to suggest that the two thousand dollars held by your client was received from anyone other than Harrington Faulkner. And if you’ll let me give you a little advice, Mr. Mason, it is that you should never put too much confidence in the word of a young woman of Miss Madison’s type. I think if you’ll investigate her past reputation you’ll find that she’s had considerable experience. A young woman who has from time to time been something of an opportunist. I won’t say a blackmailer, Mr. Mason, but an opportunist.”

“You seem to know a good deal about her,” Mason said dryly.

“I do,” Dixon told him. “I’m afraid, Mr. Mason, that to try and extricate herself and her friend from a very dangerous situation, she has given you some false information.”

Mason got to his feet. “All right,” he said, “I’ve told you.”

“You certainly have, Mr. Mason. Unfortunately for you, as I have pointed out, you are in no position to make any direct accusation, and even if you were, Mrs. Faulkner’s denial, supported by my corroborating statement, would effectually disprove the charges of this Sally Madison.”

Mason said, “I don’t give a damn what her past has been. I think she’s on the square now, and I think she’s genuinely in love with Tom Gridley.”

“I’m satisfied she is.”

“And,” Mason said, “when she told me she got the two thousand dollars from Genevieve Faulkner, her statement had the ring of truth.”

Dixon shook his head. “It’s impossible, Mr. Mason. It couldn’t have been done without my knowledge, and I assure you that it wasn’t done.”

Mason stood looking at the muscular figure of the chunky man, who met his eyes with such childlike candor. “Dixon,” he said, “I’m a bad man to monkey with.”

“I’m certain you are, Mr. Mason.”

“If you and Genevieve Faulkner are lying about this, I’m likely to find it out sooner or later.”

“But, Mr. Mason, why should we lie about it? What possible motive would we have? And why on earth should we want to pay two thousand dollars for — what did you say it was, a bullet?”

“A bullet,” Mason said.

Dixon shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry for Miss Madison. I really am, Mason.”

Mason asked abruptly, “And just how does it happen you know so much about her?”

“Mr. Faulkner bought an interest in a pet shop,” Dixon said. “He used funds of the corporation. Naturally, I investigated the purchase, and, in investigating the purchase, I investigated the personnel.”

“After he’d made the purchase?” Mason inquired.

“Well, during the time negotiations were pending. After all, Mr. Mason, my client is interested in the corporation and I like to know what’s going on — and I have my own way of knowing every move that’s made.”

Mason thought that over. “Oh, yes,” he said, “Alberta Stanley, the stenographer — I begin to see a lot now.”

Dixon hastily cleared his throat.

“Thanks for telling me,” Mason said.

Dixon looked up, met the lawyer’s eyes. “Not at all, Mason, not at all. It was a pleasure to be of assistance to you — but you can’t pin that two thousand dollars on us. We didn’t pay it and we won’t be lied about. Good day.”

Mason started for the door. Mrs. Faulkner and Wilfred Dixon stood watching him in silence. With his hand on the doorknob, Mason turned. “Dixon,” he said, “you’re a damn good poker player.”

“Thank you.”

Mason said grimly, “You’re smart enough to know that I can’t make any definite accusation that the two thousand dollars came from Mrs. Faulkner. I’m a good enough sport to admit that I made a bluff and you called it.”

A frosty smile twitched at the corners of Dixon’s mouth.

Mason said, “And I think it’s only fair that you should know where I’m going now.”

Dixon raised his eyebrows. “Where?” he asked.

“Out after another stack of chips,” Mason said, and pulled the door shut behind him.