The Case of the Lazy Lover

17

It was shortly before noon. Drake tapped his code knock on the panels of Mason’s exit door.

Della Street opened the door.

Drake came in, followed by a thin man in the late fifties.

“You remember Bert Humphreys,” Drake said. “He worked on that Melrose murder case for you, Perry.”

Mason nodded, said, “Hello, Humphreys.”

Humphreys nodded, the swift, competent nod of a man who has important information to impart and wants to get on with it.

“Sit down,” Drake said to Humphreys, “and tell ’em your story.” Drake turned to Mason and said parenthetically, “As soon as I got your call this morning saying to get a man up to Overbrook’s place to look for the tracks of a car in soft soil, I telephoned Humphreys. Humphreys was working on the case at Springfield. He jumped in his car and beat it up there. He had at least an hour’s start on the officers. He managed to get a complete diagram of everything that was up there before the officers arrived. They were sore as hell at finding him there, but there was nothing they could do about it.”

“Go ahead,” Mason said to Humphreys. “What was it? What did you find?”

Humphreys took a sheet of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, said, “I made a map. But, before I show you the map, Mr. Mason, I’d better tell you generally what happened. I got up to Overbrook’s place and told him I’d come to investigate the car tracks. He thought I was from the sheriff’s office and he spilled the whole thing to me.”

“What did he say?”

“Well, it seemed that the more Overbrook thought things over about Fleetwood, the more uneasy he became. He felt certain from the way his dog had been barking that there had been noises before Fleetwood came walking up the road. And Overbrook came to the conclusion they might have been noises made by a car and by people talking when Fleetwood got out. So Overbrook, who’s something of a hunter and tracker, started back-tracking Fleetwood.”

“He could find Fleetwood’s tracks?”

“Yes. Not right near the house, but reasonably close to it. You see, it had been raining hard Saturday and the ground was soft, and it’s kept on drizzling more or less ever since, so the ground has stayed pretty soft. That gave Overbrook excellent tracking conditions.”

“What did he do?”

“He back-tracked Fleetwood without any great amount of trouble, and came to a place where an automobile had been parked. Overbrook started to look the tracks over, and then he saw some things that made him do a lot of thinking. So he didn’t even stop. He kept right on going.”

“You’re certain of that?”

“Hell, yes. You can see his tracks plain as day. He walked right up to the spot where this car had been parked, turned in toward the place where the front of the car had been, then swung out in a turn and kept right on walking until he came to a farm road that was on hard soil. Then he walked back to his house, picked up a tractor and trailer, loaded the trailer with scrap lumber that he’d had hanging around ever since he tore down the chicken house, drove the tractor and trailer back to the place on the farm road where he’d come in, took the boards one at a time, and made a little boardwalk running alongside his tracks and right out to the place where the tracks of the automobile were located. He was particularly careful in laying the boards. He’d lay one or two boards, then walk back along the boardwalk to get more boards, come out and lay them, and walk back along the boardwalk again. In that way, he preserved every track there was in the ground. You can see the whole story there just as plain as day. He’s a good, careful man and I guess he made a lot better job of preserving those tracks than the officers would have done if he’d left it to them. The way things are now, even with the officers milling around there, you can still see the tracks — or you could when I left. They were getting ready to use some plaster of Paris then.”

“Then what?”

“After Overbrook fixed the boards, he drove to the post office and telephoned the sheriff. He told the sheriff what he’d found and what he’d done, and the sheriff telephoned Tragg. They told Overbrook to go back and guard the place until detectives showed up.

“Well, I came out there and started looking around. Overbrook thought I was from the sheriff’s office. He yelled at me to go around by the house and drive out on the farm road. I did that, and he showed me the boardwalk he’d built leading out to where the car had been parked, and told me what he’d found. I sketched the whole business, and had just finished my sketch when the sheriff and Lieutenant Tragg showed up. They were a little peeved about the whole thing, but thanks to the way Overbrook had laid the boards down, I hadn’t messed things up any at all, and they couldn’t make any real beef. Of course, they kicked me off the place and probably would have taken my sketch away from me if they’d known I had it. But Overbrook didn’t say anything about it until after I’d got started. By that time, I guess the officers had troubles of their own. They were making sketches of their own and taking photographs.”

“Let’s take a look at the sketch,” Mason said.

Humphreys spread the sketch on Mason’s desk.

“Now here,” he said, “you have everything. Here’s the place where the machine turned off the road.”

“Any question about it being the right machine?” Mason asked.

“Apparently not. Where the car was standing the ground was pretty soft, but where the car turned off the road, you could see the tracks of all four tires just as plain as day. Mrs. Allred’s car had new tires on the wheels, and there were three different makes of tires. Because the car was making a turn, there’s a place where the tracks of each one of the tires is distinctly outlined, just as though they’d been inked and then driven over a piece of paper. You can see every detail of the tread just as plain as day.

“I’d previously sketched the treads of each one of the tires of Mrs. Allred’s car after the police located it down there at the bottom of the cliff. It’s Mrs. Allred’s car all right, or else it’s a car that was equipped with absolutely identical tires.”

Mason nodded. “I just wanted to clear that point up.”

“Well, here you are,” Humphreys said, indicating the diagram. “The road runs right along the edge of the tillable ground. On this side is a fence and alfalfa. On this side it’s all open land and unfenced. Where the car turned off, the ground is soft. You can see tracks just as plain as you could in fresh snow. Now look at this sketch. Here’s where the car turned off the road. It went up here and stopped. You can see where Fleetwood got out of the car. Here are his tracks where he got out of the door on the left side. You see, he walked right around toward the front of the car and across the headlights. His tracks show that he turned slightly when he got to this point almost directly in front of the headlights. He stood there for a second. First his footprints are in this direction. That’s where he stood when he called out to Mrs. Allred when she jumped out of the luggage compartment of the automobile.”

“You can see her tracks?”

“Here they are on this diagram. She jumped out of the luggage compartment. That’s right where the luggage compartment would be located. Right there. She hit the ground and started running. You can see she was going just as fast as she could leg it, straight for this road. There’s a graveled surface on the road so we can’t pick up her tracks any more after she got to the road. But she couldn’t have gone very far. She must have stood there waiting. It was right about that time, the way I get Fleetwood’s story from listening to what the officers said before they kicked me off the job, that Fleetwood called to her that her husband was out like a light and everything was all right.”

Mason nodded.

“Now then, you can see her tracks just as plain as day. She went down to the road, walked down the road some distance — no one knows just how far, probably never went out of earshot or out of sight of the car. She was thinking things over. She turned around and came back. Here are her tracks where she came back, and you can see them heading just as straight as a string for the place where the car had been left. She was headed right toward the left-hand door on the car — the driver’s seat.”

“Then what happened?” Mason asked.

“Then she got in the car and drove it away.”

“How do you know she did?”

“Figure it out for yourself,” Humphreys said. “I’ve studied the tracks carefully. This diagram shows you just what happened. She got out of the car, ran down to the road. She came back and got in the car. Fleetwood got out of the car and walked along to Overbrook’s house. Those are the only tracks. The car was in soft ground. No one could have got in that car or left the car without leaving tracks. If Fleetwood had returned to the car, he’d have left tracks.”

“And Overbrook’s tracks?” Mason asked.

“They were made this morning. You can follow them clearly, a steady, unbroken line of tracks. He walked down from his house, just as I’ve shown his tracks here. He started to cut across the tracks made by the automobile, then thought better of it when he appreciated their importance, made a swing, and walked back to the farm road. Then he went and got his tractor and put the boards down.”

“You don’t think a person could have got to the car or left the car by carefully picking the ground, and...”

“Not a chance,” Humphreys said. “The ground is so soft that you can even see the tracks made by Overbrook’s dog when he was putting the boards down. I’ve just made a lot of little dots to show where those dog tracks are. I didn’t sketch each individual track. But the point I’m making is that the ground is so soft that even the dog left very plain, deeply indented tracks.”

“And there’s no question but what these are Fleetwood’s tracks?”

“None whatever. You can see them getting out of the automobile, walking around the car. There’s where he stood when he looked back at Mrs. Allred. There’s where he stood when he swung around and threw the gun away. There’s where he resumed walking and you can follow the tracks right up to within eight or ten feet of the roadway to Overbrook’s house.”

Mason studied the diagram thoughtfully. “You’re sure you’ve got everything on here?”

“Absolutely everything.”

Mason said, “If this evidence is true, it’s important as hell.”

“It’s true. The thing is right there on the ground. No person could have entered that automobile or left it without leaving tracks.”

“Isn’t there some way a person could have approached that automobile without leaving tracks?” Mason asked.

Humphreys shook his head doggedly.

“Not by finding some way over hard ground?”

“There wasn’t any.”

“Or by... Wait a minute,” Mason said. “How about a rope? Are there overhanging tree limbs, or...”

“There aren’t any trees for a hundred feet. Then there are some big spreading oaks. But those trees are so far away they couldn’t possibly enter into the picture. No, Mr. Mason, you can take my word for it. I looked the situation over carefully. A person couldn’t possibly have entered that car or left it without leaving tracks, and the tracks I have on this map are every single track that is there on the ground. When the car drove up and stopped, there were at least two people in it. One of them was the woman who was evidently in the baggage compartment, and the other was a man who was either in the driver’s seat or who got out of the car on the left-hand side where a driver would naturally alight. That man walked around the car, stood in front of the headlights and moved his feet in the position that would indicate, first, he was looking toward the back of the car, second, that he was throwing a gun away. Then he kept right on walking in a beeline for Overbrook’s house. The woman came back, got in the car, and took the car away. That’s the only way the car could have been taken away. That woman came back, got in the driver’s seat and drove it away. The tracks tell the whole story. Whoever else was in that car when it was parked there, stayed in the car.

“You can see where the car was backed. The ground was a little soft here, and there was just a little skidding when the car backed around. Then it was driven back to the gravel surfaced road.”

Mason studied the diagram, drumming with the tips of his fingers on the edge of the desk.

“Well,” Drake said, “I guess that does it, Perry.”

Mason nodded.

“Of course,” Mason said after a moment, “I don’t suppose it’s possible to check these tracks as to a means of identity. In other words, a woman was in the luggage compartment. This woman got out, walked to the road, turned back and returned to the car and drove it away. The tracks don’t identify Mrs. Allred, merely some woman.”

“Fleetwood’s story identifies Mrs. Allred,” Drake said.

“And Fleetwood has lied at every turn of the road so far,” Mason pointed out.

“But on this angle he had corroboration,” Humphreys said.

Mason said, “I don’t trust that Bernice Archer, Paul. She might have been the one who was locked in the luggage compartment.”

“Not a chance,” Drake said. “Remember that Bernice Archer was in town Monday night. She got that call from the service station out by Springfield. She had a girl friend spending the night with her. They sat up and talked until about one or two in the morning and then slept together. There was only the one bed. I’ve checked Bernice Archer up one side and down the other. She was in her apartment all night Monday. Remember that Mrs. Allred stopped at that service station around seven o’clock and the attendant remembers her, remembers the car, and remembers Fleetwood. Then the car went over the grade sometime around eleven o’clock. It could have been sometime around half past ten, probably about half an hour before the clock on the dashboard stopped and Allred’s watch stopped.”

“The police don’t figure the car was driven over the grade at eleven o’clock when those clocks were stopped?”

“No, they figured Mrs. Allred set the clock and Allred’s watch ahead so as to give herself an alibi.”

Mason got up from his chair and started pacing the floor.

“You’ve got to take this evidence into consideration when you go before a jury,” Drake said, tapping the paper.

“I know I have.”

“This evidence,” Drake went on, “is the controlling factor in the entire case. Whatever story your client tells, Perry, has to coincide with the evidence of these tracks.”

“Her story doesn’t coincide with it, Paul.”

“It’ll have to, by the time she gets on the witness stand.”

Mason said, “If she’s telling the truth, Fleetwood must have picked up some other woman, put her in the luggage compartment, had her get out, run away, return and drive the car away. If she’s lying, then she’s trying to protect someone. The question is — who?”

“Patricia,” Drake said.

“Could be. But how could Patricia have been in the luggage compartment of her mother’s car? Do we know where she was on Monday night, Paul?”

“Apparently not.”

“Find out.”

“I’ll try.”

“Those tracks, Mr. Mason,” Humphreys said. “If you can find any way of figuring how that woman could get out of that automobile after she returned, you’re a better man than I am. She’d have had to have been an angel and had wings. The story is right there in the ground. She got back in the car and drove the car away.”

“And Fleetwood was there at the car only that one time?”

“That’s right. You can see his tracks leaving the automobile. He never returned to that car.”

“Unless perhaps Overbrook is lying about the time the boards were put there,” Mason said, “and...”

“No chance of that,” Humphreys said. “I talked with Overbrook’s neighbor. He saw him putting the boards down there this morning. Overbrook told him he was protecting some tracks that the sheriff might be interested in. The neighbor stood and watched him put the boards down, then drove on in to the post office. Overbrook came in just a few minutes later to telephone the sheriff.”

“You’ve sure as hell got to adopt Fleetwood’s story,” Drake said. “When he finally told the truth, he made a good job of it.”