The Case of the Mischievous Doll

Chapter Nine

As Perry Mason entered the office the next morning, Della Street said, “Good morning, Chief. I presume you’ve seen the papers.”

“Actually I haven’t,” Mason said.

“Well, you certainly made the front page.”

“The Ambler case?” Mason asked.

“According to the newspapers it’s the Minden case. You can’t expect a newspaper to waste headlines on an unknown when there’s a voluptuous young heiress in the picture.”

“And she’s in the picture?” Mason asked.

“Oh, definitely. Cheesecake and all.”

“She considered the occasion one for cheesecake?” Mason asked.

“Probably not, but the newspapers have a file on her, and she’s posed for lots of cheesecake pictures. She has pretty legs — or hadn’t you noticed?”

“I’d noticed,” Mason confessed, picking up the newspaper which Della Street handed him, and standing at the corner of his desk, glancing at the headlines. He made a step toward his swivel chair, then remained standing, fascinated by what he was reading.

The telephone rang.

Della Street said, “Yes, Gertie.” Then, “Just a minute. I’m sure he’ll want to talk.”

“Lieutenant Tragg,” she said.

Mason put down the paper, moved over and picked up the telephone. “Hello, Lieutenant,” Mason said. “I guess that your office was not only bugged but the bug must have been connected to one of the broadcasting studios.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk with you about,” Tragg said. “I had to make a report, and the news got out from the report, not from me.”

“You mean the release came from your superiors?”

“I’m not in a position to amplify that statement,” Tragg said. “I’ll say that the publicity came from the report and not from me.”

“I see,” Mason said.

“That is,” Tragg amended, “the initial publicity. But after it appeared that the papers had the story, your client filled in the details.”

“My client?” Mason asked.

“Minerva Minden.”

“I’ve tried to tell you she’s not my client. My client is Dorrie Ambler, who was abducted from the Parkhurst Apartments... What have you found out about her, Lieutenant?”

“Precisely nothing, as far as I’m concerned,” Tragg said. “I understand informally that the FBI is working on the case, although they haven’t entered it officially as yet. You know how they are. Their purpose in life is to collect information, not to give it out.”

“That would seem to be a logical attitude,” Mason said. “I’m a little surprised at Minerva Minden. I thought perhaps she would prefer to have the story kept under wraps, but it’s all here in the paper, all the details and ramifications, including the fact that this may reopen the entire question of her inheritance.”

“You’d think she wouldn’t want that broadcast,” Tragg said, “but she’s not particularly averse to newspaper notoriety.”

“I’ve noticed,” Mason said.

“Well, I just wanted to call you up and explain.”

“Thanks for calling,” Mason told him. “I’m tremendously concerned about Dorrie Ambler.”

“I think you have a right to be,” Tragg told him. “We’re doing everything we can, I know that. No matter whether it’s an abduction or a murder and flight, we want to find her.”

“Will you let me know as soon as anything turns up?” Mason asked.

Tragg’s voice was cautious. “Well, I’ll either let you know or see that she has an opportunity to do so.”

“Thanks,” Mason said. “And thanks again for calling.”

“Okay,” Tragg told him. “I just wanted you to know.”

The lawyer cradled the telephone, returned to the newspaper.

“Well,” he said at length, “it’s certainly all in here — not only what she told them but some pretty shrewd surmises.”

“What effect will that have,” Della asked, “on the matter Dorrie Ambler wanted to have you work on?”

“She wanted to be sure she wasn’t a Patsy,” Mason said. “She wanted to have it appear that...”

“Yes?” Della Street prompted, as the lawyer suddenly stopped midsentence.

“You know,” Mason said, “I keep trying to tell myself that it needn’t have been an abduction — that this thing could have all been planned.”

“Including the murder?”

“Not including the murder,” Mason said. “We don’t know what caused that murder, but we have a premise to start with. Our client was rather an intelligent young woman, and rather daring. She was quite willing to resort to unconventional methods in order to get one thing.”

“And that one thing?” Della Street asked.

“Newspaper publicity,” Mason said. “She wanted to have the story of the look-alikes blazoned in the press. She said she wanted it because she didn’t want to be set up as a Patsy in some crime that she hadn’t committed.”

Della Street nodded.

“Now of course,” Mason said, “that may not have been the real reason. The real reason may have been that she wanted to publicize her resemblance to Minerva Minden and then let the newspaper reporters get the bright idea they were related and have her case all built up in the newspapers.”

“And that would have helped her case in court?” Della asked.

“Not only would it have been of help to her case in court,” Mason said, “but it would put her in a prime position to make a compromise with Minerva Minden.”

Della Street nodded.

“But,” Mason said, “thanks to the quick thinking on the part of Minerva Minden, the scheme for newspaper publicity in connection with the airport episode fizzled out. So, under those circumstances, what would an alert young woman do?”

“Try to think of some other scheme for getting her name in the papers,” Della Street said.

Mason tapped the paper on the desk with the back of his hand.

“Well, I’ll be darned,” Della Street said. “You think she arranged the whole business? The abduction, the—”

“There are certainly some things that indicate it,” Mason said. “I keep hoping that’s the solution. It would have been difficult if not impossible for a man or two men to have taken an unwilling woman out of that apartment house. The police were on the scene within a matter of minutes. The way the elevator was placed they didn’t dare use the elevator. They would have had to use the stairs. Unless they had another apartment, they could hardly have taken her from the building.”

Della’s eyes were sympathetic. “You keep trying to convince yourself it was all part of a scheme,” she said, “and I find myself trying to help you — even when I don’t believe it.”

Mason said, “It’s quite a problem getting a woman to leave the house against her will.”

“They could have held a gun on her, or a knife at her back,” Della Street said.

“They could have,” Mason said, “but remember that just about the time they reached the street the police cars were converging on the place.”

“Would they have noticed her at that stage of the game?” Della Street asked.

“You’re darned right they would,” Mason said. “They are trained in that sort of thing. You’d be astounded to see what these officers can pick out of thin air. They’ve trained themselves to be alert. They have a sixth sense. They notice anything that is just a little bit out of the ordinary. At times it seems they’re telepathic.

“If three people were walking down the sidewalk or into the parking lot — two men with an unwilling woman in between them — they’d have noticed it.”

“You think there were two men?”

“I think the mattresses were dragged from the bedroom into the kitchen after Paul Drake and I rang the doorbell,” Mason said. “I don’t think one person would have had time to take two trips. I think there were two mattresses and therefore two persons dragging mattresses.

“Moreover, the problem of getting the girl out of the apartment house would have been almost insurmountable for one person. Remember that he had not only to get her out of the apartment house but he had to get her into a car and make a getaway. I keep thinking things will work out all right, that Dorrie knew what she was doing and that it was all part of a plan — all except the murder. The murder fouled things all up. That forced a change in plans — but Dorrie’s all right — somewhere.”

Knuckles tapped a code signal on the door of the private office and at Mason’s nod Della Street opened the door to let Paul Drake in.

“What’s new, Paul?” Mason asked.

“Quite a write-up in the papers,” Drake said.

“Wasn’t it?”

“The only thing it lacked was to have your picture alongside the cheesecake. The photograph they used of you was very sombre and dignified.”

“They pulled it out of the newspaper’s morgue,” Mason said. “They had to use what was available... What’s new, Paul?”

Drake said, “It’s possible, Perry, that your hunch about the apartment in the building could be an explanation.”

Mason’s face etched into hard lines. “How come, Paul?”

“The day before the abduction a man who gave his name as William Camas inquired about vacancies. He was told there was one on the eighth floor, Apartment 805. He looked at it and said he wanted his wife to look at it, that he thought it would be all right. He put up a hundred dollars for what he termed an option for three days, with the understanding that at the end of three days he’d either sign a lease or forfeit the hundred dollars.”

“And moved in?” Mason asked.

“Well, nobody knows for certain. The manager gave him the key to the apartment.”

“And what’s the condition of the apartment now? What does it indicate?” Mason asked. “Any fingerprints? Any—”

“Don’t be silly,” Drake said. “You thought of it and the police thought of it. The police started asking questions, found out about Camas and got a passkey to the apartment — and that’s all anyone knows. The street comes to a dead end at that point. If the police found out anything, they’re not passing out the information.”

“But they did check the apartment?”

“With a fine-toothed comb,” Drake said.

“And do you know if they talked with Camas?”

“No one knows if they talked with Camas.”

“You couldn’t find him?”

“Not a trace,” Drake said. “He gave a Seattle address. I’ve got my man checking it. My best guess is the address is phoney.”

The telephone rang. Della Street picked up the receiver, said, “Hello,” then motioned to Drake. “For you, Paul.”

Drake picked up the telephone, said, “Drake speaking,” listened for a few minutes, said, “You’re sure?... Okay, keep digging.”

Drake hung up, turned to Perry Mason and said, “That’s right. The address was a phoney.”

Mason said, “Hang it, Paul, that scuttles my last hope. I was banking on the theory they couldn’t have got her out of that apartment against her will.”

“I know,” Drake said sympathetically. “I know how you feel, but facts are facts. I have to give you the facts. That’s my job.”

“Damn it,” Mason said, “we’ve got to do something, Paul. Wherever she is, she’s counting on us for help.”

“Take it easy, Perry. A whole army of law enforcement people are working on the case. There’s nothing more we could do except get in their way.”

“You’re sure they’re working on it?”

“Hell, yes. My man in Seattle found the Camas address was a phoney. He was third in line. The Seattle police had been working on it, the Seattle FBI had been working on it.”

Mason said, “That girl is in danger.”

“Not now she isn’t,” Drake said. “I don’t want to be heartless about it, but if anything’s going to happen to her it’s happened already. If she’s dead, she’s dead. If she isn’t dead, it’s because she’s being held for some particular purpose, ransom or blackmail or something of that sort. There’s just nothing you can do, Perry, except wait it out.”

Mason sighed. “I have always been accustomed to controlling events, within reason. I hate like hell to find myself in a position where events are controlling me.”

“Well, they are now,” Drake said. “There’s nothing we can do except wait. I’m going back to the office, Perry, and I’ll keep in touch.”

“What about your men?” Mason asked. “Would it help to put more men out?”

“I’m calling them in,” Drake said. “My men would simply run up an excessive bill for you to pay and they would get in the way of the law enforcement agencies that are working on the case. Let’s just give them a free hand.”

Mason was silent for several seconds, then said, “Okay, Paul.”

Drake glanced at Della Street, then left the office.

Mason started dictating.

Halfway through the second letter the lawyer gave up, started pacing the office. “I can’t do it, Della. I can’t get my mind off— See if you can get Lieutenant Tragg on the phone.”

She nodded sympathetically, went to the telephone and a few moments later nodded to Mason. “He’s on the line, Chief.”

Mason said, “Hello, Lieutenant. Perry Mason talking, and I’m worried about what’s happening in the case of Dorrie Ambler. I’m just not satisfied with the way things are going.”

“Who is?” Tragg countered.

“Have you found out anything?”

“We’ve found out a lot,” Tragg said, “and we’re trying to evaluate it, Perry.”

“Can you tell me what it is?”

“Not all of it, no.”

“What about this Apartment 805?”

“What do you know about that?”

“I’m asking you what you know.”

“And I’m not in a position to tell you everything I know... Look here, Perry. You aren’t trying to slip a fast one over on us, are you?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“This isn’t some elaborate scheme that you’ve thought up to serve as a smoke screen?”

“A smoke screen for what?” Mason asked.

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Tragg said.

“You’re barking up the wrong tree, running off on a false scent, chasing a red herring and— Well, damn it, that’s what I was afraid of, that you’d think this was some scheme or other I’d hatched up and would go at the whole business half-heartedly. I tell you, that girl is in danger.”

“You’re worried over the fact you didn’t protect her from that danger?” Tragg asked.

“Yes.”

“All right, I can help you put your mind at rest on that point,” Tragg said. “Your client wasn’t a victim but an accomplice. She went from Apartment 907 down the stairs to Apartment 805. She remained there until after the heat was off. Then she left there willingly and under her own power.”

“What gives you that idea?”

“An eyewitness.”

Mason was silent for some seconds.

“Well?” Tragg asked.

Mason said, “Frankly, Lieutenant, you’ve relieved me a lot.”

“In what way?”

“I have been aware of the possibility that this might be some part of an elaborate scheme.”

“Not one that you thought up?”

“No, one that was intended to fool me as well as the police.”

“Well, frankly, Perry, that’s a theory that is being given more and more consideration by the investigators. And of course that leaves us with an unexplained murder on our hands. As you are probably aware, we don’t like unexplained murders.

“Now, there’s a very good possibility this whole deal was hatched up simply in order to account for the presence of a corpse in the apartment of your client. If it should turn out that’s the case, we wouldn’t like it.”

“And I wouldn’t like it,” Mason said.

“All right,” Tragg told him, “I’ll put it right up to you, Perry. Is there some reason for you to believe — any good, legitimate reason — that your client may have been laying the foundation for a play of this sort?”

Mason said, “I’ll be fair with you, Tragg. There is just enough reason so that I have given the subject some consideration.

“If that girl has been abducted and is in danger, I can’t just sit back and wait. If, on the other hand, this is part of an elaborate scheme to account for a murder, I’m not only going to wash my hands of her but I’d do anything I could to help solve the case and find out exactly what did happen. Of course I’d have to protect the confidence of my client because she was my client for a while.”

“I understand,” Tragg said, “but she wasn’t your client as far as any murder case was concerned.”

“That’s right. She wasn’t — and I’ll tell you something else. She isn’t going to be.”

“Well,” Tragg said, “I’ll tell you this much. I think you can wash your hands of the case. When she left that apartment, she simply went downstairs and into Apartment 805. We know that later on that evening a woman who has an apartment on the sixth floor saw your client riding down in the elevator. The woman noticed her because despite the fact it was night Dorrie was wearing dark glasses and didn’t want to be recognized. This woman had the idea Dorrie was going to some surreptitious trysting place and— My own private opinion, Mason, is that the witness may be just a little frustrated and a little envious.

“Anyway, she saw Miss Ambler in the elevator. She knows Dorrie Ambler and has chatted with her. Dorrie was fond of this woman’s dog, and the dog was fond of Dorrie. It’s a strange dog. He isn’t vicious but he wants to be left alone. He growls if people move to pet him.

“Now, this woman witness saw that Dorrie Ambler for some reason didn’t want to be recognized. Dorrie moved to the front of the elevator and kept her back to the woman and the dog, but the dog wanted her to pet him; he nuzzled her leg and wagged his tail. Well, after a minute Dorrie put her hand down and the dog licked her fingers. Then the elevator came to a stop and Dorrie hurried out.”

“The woman was walking her dog, and the dog stopped when they got to the strip of lawn just outside the door, but the woman saw a man waiting in a car at the curb and Dorrie almost ran to the car, jumped in and was whisked away.”

“Fingerprints?” Mason asked.

“None,” Tragg said. “That’s a strange thing. Both Apartments 907 and 805 have evidently been scrubbed clean as a whistle. There isn’t a print in them except the prints of Marvin Billings. He left his prints all over Apartment 907.”

“Did he have keys?” Mason asked.

“I shouldn’t tell you this,” Tragg said, “but I know how you feel. There wasn’t a single thing in Billings’ pockets. No keys, no coins, no cigarettes, no pencil, nothing. He’d been stripped clean as a whistle.”

Mason smiled. “Well, Lieutenant,” he said, “you make me feel a lot better, even if it looks as if I have been victimized. You’ve lifted a great big load off my shoulders.”

“All right, Perry,” Tragg said. “I just want to warn you of one thing, that if this is a scheme that you’re in on, you’re going to get hurt. We don’t like to have citizens arrange synthetic abductions and we don’t like murder. And I can probably tell you without violating any confidence that Hamilton Burger, our district attorney, is firmly convinced that this is a hocus-pocus that has been thought up by you to confuse the issues so that when your client is finally apprehended he’ll have a hard time convicting her of murder — and knowing Hamilton Burger as we both do, we know that this has made him all the more determined to expose the scheme and convict the plotters — all of them.”

“I can readily understand that,” Mason said. “Thanks for the tip, Lieutenant. I’ll keep my nose clean.”

“And your eyes open,” Tragg warned.

“I will for a fact,” Mason said as he hung up.

The lawyer turned to Della Street. “Well, Della, I guess we can get on with the mail now. I guess our erstwhile client was a pretty clever little girl and quite a schemer... You listened in on Tragg’s conversation?”

Della Street nodded, said suddenly and savagely, “I hope they catch her and convict her.”

Then after a moment she added, “But if Dorrie Ambler had only played it straight and let you present her claim to the estate, she could have shared in several million dollars. Now she’s got herself into a murder case.”

Mason said, “That’s something I don’t have to worry about. After she’s arrested, she can get a copybook, sit down and write ‘honesty is the best policy’ five hundred times.”

“It’ll be too late then,” Della Street pointed out.

Mason arose and started pacing the floor. “If it weren’t for two things,” he said at length, “I’d question the accuracy of Tragg’s conclusions.”

Della Street, knowing the lawyer wanted an excuse to think out loud, said, “What things, Chief?”

“First,” Mason said, “we know that our client has been scheming up bizarre situations to attract publicity. We know she wanted to do something to make the newspapers publicize the resemblance between her and Minerva Minden.”

“And the second thing?” Della asked.

“The dog,” Mason said. “Dogs don’t make mistakes. Therefore our client was alive, well, and navigating under her own power long after the supposed abduction.

“I guess, Della, we’re going to have to accept the fact that Miss Dorrie Ambler decided to use me as a pawn in one of her elaborate schemes and then something happened that knocked her little schemes into a cocked hat.”

“What?” Della Street asked.

“Murder,” Mason said. “Billings was a detective with an unsavory reputation. Those on the inside who knew the game, knew he’d blackmail a client if the opportunity presented itself.”

“And so?” Della asked.

“So,” Mason said, “realizing now Dorrie was merely trying to inveigle me into her scheme, knowing that she overreached herself, that she was perfectly free to call me long after her supposed abduction and didn’t do so, I can wash my hands of her. I’m certainly glad you didn’t walk into the trap of accepting that retainer, Della. As matters now stand, we did one piece of work for her and owe her nothing... Now, thanks to a little dog, I can quit worrying. Let’s get back to that pile of mail.”