The Case of the Mischievous Doll

Chapter Five

Drake parked his car in front of the Parkhurst Apartments. Paul Drake and the lawyer cautiously emerged.

“See anyone watching the building or spotting a car, Paul?” Mason asked.

“Not yet,” Drake said, his trained eyes moving swiftly from side to side. “Do you know what kind of a car she drives, Perry?”

“No, I don’t,” Mason said. “She’s been a working girl. Probably it’ll be a medium-priced model four or five years old.”

“Lot of those here,” Drake said. “Probably second cars that the wife uses in going shopping while the head of the house takes the good car to work.”

“Rather charitable for a bachelor this morning, aren’t you?” Mason asked.

“Romantic as hell,” Drake said, his eyes still restlessly searching. “It must have been something in that bicarbonate of soda I had last night. It couldn’t have been anything in the hamburger... Okay, Perry, the place is clean down here. Not even anyone in a parked car.”

“Okay, let’s go up,” Mason said.

“Better lay our plans,” Drake said. “Suppose this guy in the corridor tries to duck out of sight when we go up there.”

“We go pull him out of hiding and see what makes him tick,” Mason said.

“If he’s a police officer you’ll have trouble.”

“If he isn’t, he’ll have trouble,” Mason said grimly. “In any event he’ll have some explanations to make. Come on, Paul, let’s go.”

They went up in the elevator, got out at the ninth floor and Mason said to Paul, “You take the left, I’ll take the right, Paul. Cover the entire corridor.”

The two men walked down the corridor to the end, then turned, retraced their steps and met again in front of the elevator.

“Anything at your end?” Drake asked.

Mason shook his head.

“Mine’s clear.”

“All right, let’s go talk with her... Now remember, Paul, any of this business about the estate is entirely extracurricular. At this time, we aren’t going to bring that up. We’ll look the situation over. So far I’m retained only for one specific purpose.”

“And what is that?” Drake asked.

Mason grinned. “Just to keep her from being a fall guy for something she didn’t do. Okay, Paul, here we go.”

They advanced to the door of 907.

Mason pressed his finger against the mother-of-pearl button, and chimes sounded on the inside of the apartment.

There was complete silence from the interior.

Mason said, “She certainly should be here.” He pressed the button again, listened to the chimes, then knocked on the door.

Drake said, “I can hear something inside, Perry, a dragging sound.”

Mason pressed his ear to the door.

“Sounds like something being moved across the floor,” he said, and banged peremptorily on the door.

From inside the apartment something fell with a thud that jarred the floor, then a woman screamed and the scream was interrupted as though someone had pressed a hand across her lips.

Mason flung himself against the door. The latch clicked, and the door opened a scant three inches to the end of a brass chain safety lock.

From the interior of the apartment a door banged shut.

“Let’s go,” Mason said, and slammed his shoulder against the door.

Wood creaked in protest, the chain snapped taut but the door still held.

“Come on,” Mason shouted, at Drake, “all together — both of us now. Let’s GO!”

The two men hit the door simultaneously. The screws pulled from the safety lock, and the door slammed wide open, banged against a doorstop, then shivered on its hinges.

Mason and Drake stood for a split second in the doorway looking at the scene of confusion which met their eyes.

The apartment consisted of a living-room, a bedroom, bath and kitchen. The door to the bedroom stood open so that it was possible to see the drawers which had been pulled from the bureau, the chest of drawers, and the contents dumped helter-skelter over the floor.

In the living-room a man lay sprawled on his back, motionless, in a grotesque sprawl, his mouth sagged open.

Sounds came from behind the closed door which evidently led to the kitchen.

Mason pushed past Paul Drake, ran to hurl himself against the kitchen door.

The door gave an inch or two, then closed itself as Mason backed away for another lunge at the door.

“Come on, Paul,” the lawyer shouted, “get this door open!”

Both men flung their weight against the door. Again the door opened an inch or two and again closed.

“Somebody’s braced against the door on the other side,” Drake said. “Watch out! They may start shooting through the panels.”

“Never mind,” Mason said, “there’s a woman in danger on the other side of that door. Smash it down.”

Drake grabbed him and pulled him to one side. “Don’t be a fool, Perry. I’ve seen too many of these things. We’ve trapped a killer in the kitchen. Telephone for the police. Use your head, and above all don’t stand in front of those panels. When the killer knows he’s trapped, there’ll be a fusillade of bullets coming through there.”

Mason stood contemplating the door, said, “All right, Paul. Telephone the police. I’ll take a look at this man and see how long he’s been dead.”

The lawyer moved a step or two, then suddenly and unexpectedly hurled himself again at the kitchen door.

Once more the door yielded slightly, then pushed back shut.

Mason said, “Wait a minute, Paul. There’s no one holding this door shut. It’s a chair or something propped against it and cushioned on some rubber so it— Come on, give me a hand here.”

“Just a minute,” Drake said. “I’ve got the police.”

The detective gave the address and number of the apartment, announced a dead man was on the floor, that the murderer or murderers were in the kitchen; that evidently they had the young woman who rented the apartment held as a hostage.

Drake hung up the phone.

Mason picked up a chair, swung it around in a circle and crashed it against the panels of the kitchen door.

The door panels splintered. Mason kicked some of the splinters away with his heel, looked inside the kitchen and said, “A big kitchen table against the door and mattresses jammed between the wall and the table.”

“They’re in the kitchen, I tell you,” Drake said. “Get away — the police will be here within a matter of seconds.”

Mason swung the chair again, crashed another panel in the door, ripped out the panel with his bare hands, looked through the wrecked door into the kitchen, then suddenly turned and sprinted for the corridor.

“What’s the matter?” Drake asked.

“There’s a back door,” Mason said. “It’s open.”

The lawyer reached the corridor, rounded a turn, went down an L in the corridor, came to an open door and entered the kitchen. Drake was a few steps behind him.

“Well,” Drake said, “we certainly fell for that one. It felt just as though someone was holding that door. You can see what happened. They took two mattresses, put one between the table and the door, the other between the table and the electric stove. It would give just an inch or two but not enough to get the door open. It felt as if someone was holding it from the inside.”

Drake ran back to the telephone, again called police, said, “Get your dispatcher to alert the cars coming in on that murder and kidnapping charge that at least one man and a woman — the woman probably being a hostage — have just made their escape from the apartment house. They may have reached the street but they can’t have gone far. The radio car should be on the alert.”

Drake hung up the phone, then went over to where Mason was kneeling by the motionless figure on the floor.

“This guy’s still alive,” the lawyer said.

Drake felt for the man’s pulse. “Faint and thready,” he said, “but it’s there. Guess we’d better phone for an ambulance. Oh-oh, look here.”

The detective indicated a small red stain on the front of the man’s shirt.

He opened the shirt, pulled down the undershirt and disclosed a small puncture in the skin.

“What the deuce?” Drake asked.

“The hole made by a twenty-two calibre bullet,” Mason said. “Let’s be careful not to touch anything, Paul. Get on that phone and tell police that this man is still alive. Let’s see if we can get an ambulance to rush him to the hospital.”

Again Drake went to the phone and put through the call. Then the lawyer and the detective stood for a few moments in the doorway.

“Where did those mattresses come from?” Drake asked.

“Apparently off the twin beds in the bedroom,” Mason said. “They were taken to the kitchen. Evidently the idea was they would barricade themselves and shoot it out, and then they found they could close off the kitchen door and give themselves a chance to slip out into the corridor and down the stairs.”

“You think there were two?”

“There were two mattresses,” Mason said. “Evidently from the way the bedclothes are arranged, someone simply took hold of the ends of the mattresses and dragged them across the room. There probably wasn’t time to make two trips, so there must have been at least two people or perhaps three people, because one of them must have been holding the girl — and that accounts for the scream we heard which was stifled.”

“They had to work fast from the time we first rang the chimes,” Drake said. “Of course we could hear the sound of people moving. It must have been—”

“It was probably all of fifteen seconds,” Mason said. “A lot could have been done in fifteen seconds. If that girl had only screamed earlier, we’d have been smashing our way in instead of standing there at the door like a couple of nitwits.”

“And the girl?” Drake asked.

“My client, Dorrie Ambler,” Mason said.

“You wouldn’t think they could have gone far,” Drake protested. “They—”

A voice from the doorway said, “What’s going on here?”

Mason turned to the uniformed officer. “Evidently there’s been a shooting, a kidnapping and burglary. We trapped the people in the kitchen but they barricaded the kitchen door and got out through the service door.”

The officer moved over to the man on the floor, said, “Looks to me as though he’ll be another DOA.”

“We have an ambulance coming,” Mason said.

“So I’ve been advised. You have any description of the people who were in on this caper?”

Mason shook his head, said, “I notified the police to have the dispatcher—”

“I know, I know,” the officer said. “We’ve got four radio cars converging on the district and they’re stopping everyone coming out of the apartment house. But it’s probably too late to do anything.

“Here’s the ambulance now,” he said, as they heard the sound of the siren.

The officer said, “Okay, you fellows have done everything you can here. Now let’s get back out in the corridor where we don’t leave any more fingerprints than necessary. Let’s try and keep all the evidence from being obliterated.”

Mason and Drake waited in the corridor until stretcher-bearers had taken the man from the room, until more police had arrived, and then finally Lt. Tragg of Homicide.

“Well, well, well!” Tragg said. “This is an unusual experience. Usually you’re on the other side of the fence, Perry. I understand now, you’ve asked for police co-operation.”

“I sure did,” Mason told him. “I could now use a little of that police efficiency which has proven so embarrassing in times past.”

“What can you tell us about the case?” Tragg asked.

“Nothing very much, I’m afraid,” Mason said. “The occupant of this apartment consulted me in connection with a matter that I’m not at liberty to disclose at the moment, but she had reason to believe her personal safety might be jeopardized when she called me this morning.”

“What time?”

“About twenty minutes past ten.”

“How do you fix the time?”

“By other matters and by recollection.”

“What other matters?”

“A court hearing in which I was interested, and which I was having covered.”

“Playing it just a little bit cozy, aren’t you, Perry?” Tragg asked.

“I’m trying to do what’s best for my client,” Mason said. “I’m aware of the fact that communications made to the police quite frequently result in newspaper publicity and I’m not at all certain that my client would care to have any publicity concerning those matters. However, she did telephone me this morning and told me that she would like to have me come here at once, that she felt her apartment was being placed under surveillance by people who might have plans for her which she didn’t like.”

“And you and Paul Drake here constituted yourselves a bodyguard and came storming out to the scene,” Tragg said. “Why didn’t you telephone the police?”

“I don’t think she wanted the police notified.”

“What makes you think so?”

“She could have called them very easily and very handily if she had.”

Tragg said, “There’s a garage which goes with this building and we’re going down and take a look in it. I think you and Drake had better come along with us. I don’t like to leave you out of my sight.”

“What about the stuff in there?” Mason asked, indicating the apartment.

“All that can wait,” Tragg said. “Things are being guarded and whatever clues are there will be preserved, but I want to take a look at the garage and see what we find.”

“You won’t find anything,” Mason said.

“What makes you think so?”

“Well, I feel that you probably won’t find anything.”

“You think the young woman was kidnapped in her car?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you do think she was kidnapped.”

“I certainly think she was abducted against her will.”

“Well, let’s take a look,” Tragg said. “I have some news for you, Perry.”

“What?”

“The apartments in this building have private garages that are rented with the apartments. Our boys looked in the private garage that goes with this apartment and guess what they found?”

“Not the body of Miss Ambler?” Mason said.

“No, no, no,” Tragg interposed hastily. “I didn’t want to alarm you, Perry. I was trying to break it to you gently, however. We found something we’ve been looking for for a few days now.”

“What?”

“We’ve been looking for a hit-and-run automobile, a light-colored Cadillac, licence number WHW 694 that had been stolen from San Francisco on the fifth of September and was involved in a hit-and-run accident here on the sixth of September.”

“You mean that car was in the garage?”

“That’s right. Stolen automobile, slight dent in the fender, broken left headlight lens — a perfect match for a jagged bit of broken headlight that was picked up at the scene of the accident. I’d like to have you take a look.”

“Then she was right,” Mason said.

“Who was right?”

“My client.”

“In what?”

“I don’t think I can give you all the details at the moment, Tragg, but I may say that the presence of this automobile ties in with the reason she came to see me in the first place.”

“Very, very nice,” Tragg said. “Now, if you want to help your client and help the police find her before something very serious happens to her, you can tell me a little bit more about just what it was she was worried about.”

“All right, I’ll tell you this much,” Mason said. “She had the distinct feeling that an attempt was going to be made to tie her in with that— Well, she felt it would be with something that happened on the sixth of September. She didn’t know for sure what it was.”

“And you took it on yourself to find out?”

“I did a little investigating.”

“And learned about the hit-and-run?”

“Yes.”

“And you knew the car that was involved in the hit-and-run was in this garage?”

“I certainly did not,” Mason said, “and for your information I haven’t been an accessory after the fact on any hit-and-run, I haven’t been covering up any crime, and that car was put in the garage a few minutes ago as a part of this thing we’re investigating.”

An officer came up in the elevator, handed Tragg a folded piece of paper.

Tragg opened it, read the message, folded the paper again, put it in his pocket, glanced at Perry Mason and said, “Well, you can see what it feels like on the other side now, Perry.”

“What do you mean?”

“The man who was removed in the ambulance was dead on arrival, so now we have a homicide.”

“Let’s hope we don’t have two of them,” Mason said.

Tragg led the way to the elevator, down to the basement floor, out into a parking place in the rear where there were rows of numbered garages.

“This way,” Tragg said, leading the way across the parking place to the garage which bore the figure 907 above it.

Tragg took a key from his pocket, unlocked a padlock, said, “Now, I’m going to have to ask you to keep your hands in your pockets, not to touch a thing. I just want you to take a look, that’s all.”

Mason pushed his hands in his pockets. After a moment Drake followed suit.

Tragg switched on a light.

“There’s the car,” he said.

Mason looked at the big light-colored automobile.

“What about it?” he said.

Tragg said, “Take a look at that right-hand fender, Perry. Stand over this way a little bit — a little farther — right here. See it? See that spider web and the flies in it? That spider web goes from the emblem on the car to the edge of the little tool bench in the garage, and notice the flies that are in it. That spider web has been there for some time.”

Tragg, watching Mason’s face, said, “I’ve been in this business, Perry, long enough to know that you can’t trust a woman when she’s telling a story, particularly if she’s had an opportunity to rehearse that story.

“If Dorrie Ambler is your client, she may or may not have been abducted. There was a murdered man on the floor of her apartment. She may or may not have been responsible for that, but there’s an automobile in her garage and she sure as hell is responsible for that automobile. That’s a stolen automobile in the first place, and in the second place it was involved in a hit-and-run.

“Now then, Perry, I’m going to ask you just how much do you know about Dorrie Ambler?”

Mason was thoughtfully silent for a moment, then said, “Not too much.”

“Everything based on what she’s told you?”

“Everything based on what she’s told me,” Mason said.

“All right,” Tragg said. “I’m not going to tell anybody that I showed you that spider web. We’re going to have it sprayed and photographed. It’ll be a big point in the district attorney’s case whenever the case comes up.

“I’ve shown you that on my own responsibility. I want to make a trade with you. That’s information that’s vital to your client. I think you have some information that’s vital to me.”

Tragg ushered Mason and the detective from the garage, locked the door behind them.

“How about it, Perry?” he asked.

Mason said, “Tragg, I’d like to co-operate with you but I’m going to have to think things over a bit and I’m going to have to do some checking on certain information.”

“And after you’ve checked on it you’ll give us everything you can?”

“Everything I feel that I can conscientiously give you and which will be to the advantage of my client, I will.”

“All right,” Tragg said, “if that’s the best you can do, that’s what we’ll have to take.”

“And,” Mason said, “I’d like to ask one thing of you.”

“What?”

“As soon as you get in touch with my client, will you let me know?”

“When we get in touch with your client, Mason, we’ll be questioning her in regard to a murder and a hit-and-run and we’ll tell her she has an opportunity to consult counsel if she desires, but we’re going to do everything in the world to make her talk. You know that.”

“Yes,” Mason said, “I know that.”