The Case of the Moth-Eaten Mink

Chapter 15

Mason was checking out of the jail when the man at the desk said, “There’s a telephone call for you, Mr. Mason. Do you want to take it?”

“Probably not,” Mason said.

“It’s from someone here in the jail.”

Mason said, “You have a couple of thousand people here. I suppose about fifteen hundred of them want to see me, hoping that I’ll find some way of getting them out. Can’t you get a name for that call?”

“It’s a woman,” the man said. “She’s over in the women’s ward. She says her name is Dayton.”

Mason frowned for a moment, then said, “Give me that phone.”

“Hello,” Mason said into the phone. “Who is it?”

“Dixie Dayton.”

“Which one?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve already talked with one young woman who said she was Dixie Dayton and who...”

“Oh, Mr. Mason! That was a trap that had been laid for you, after they kidnaped me. I’ve seen you at Morris’s restaurant and you’ve seen me — not to notice me, perhaps, but you’ll remember me when you see me. You and Miss Street walked right past me when — when I tried to run away and got hit by...”

“Where are you now?”

“In the women’s detention ward.”

“How long have you been there?”

“Since about nine o’clock this morning.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to talk with you about — about what happened.”

“Why didn’t you call me earlier?”

“They wouldn’t let me. They were taking me around different places and putting me in a police show box with other prisoners for someone to identify.”

“I’ll be over,” Mason said.

He hung up the telephone, said, “Thank you,” to the man on duty at the desk, took the elevator, walked across to the women’s detention ward, and said, “You know me. I’m an attorney. I want to see Dixie Dayton. Do I need a pass?”

The matron smiled and said, “It’s all fixed up for you, Mr. Mason. I knew she wanted to see you, and when I heard you were in the building I had them send up a pass. It’s all here. You may go right in.”

“My, but you folks are co-operative,” Mason said.

“We try to be.”

Mason started to say something, then changed his mind, and went on in to where a woman, who had been waiting impatiently, jumped up with eager anticipation.

“Oh, Mr. Mason, I’m so glad to see you! So glad!”

Mason sized her up. “It took you long enough to get in touch with me.”

“I did it just as soon as they’d let me.”

“I’m not talking about after you were picked up. What were you doing all last night?”

“Oh, Mr. Mason, it was terrible. Morris and I were kidnaped at the point of a gun there in the Keymont Hotel.”

“Who did it?”

“I don’t know who they were, but George Fayette was back of it.”

“And Fayette is dead,” Mason said, “so he can’t deny it.”

“Don’t you believe me?” she asked, suddenly piqued at his manner.

Mason said, “I never disbelieve a client, but whenever I’m listening to a client’s story, I’m constantly wondering how a jury is going to react to that same story... I just finished talking with Morris Alburg. No one’s going to believe his story.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Everything.”

She said, “Well, you won’t believe mine, either. Your own witness identified me.”

“What witness?” Mason asked sharply.

“The one who works for the Drake Detective Agency, the one you hired to shadow the woman who was in the room with you.”

“She identified you?”

“That’s right.”

“Now, get this,” Mason said, “because it’s important. Was she brought to your cell to make the identification, or did she pick you out of a line-up, or—?”

“She picked me out of a line-up.”

Mason frowned, said, “I’ve talked with Morris Alburg. He’s given me the overall picture. Tell me what happened after you and Morris were separated.”

“I was taken to an apartment in...”

“I know, the Bonsai Apartments.”

“Well, that’s what I thought it was. That was the name on the towels, but I don’t think it was the Bonsai Apartments.”

“Why?”

“Because — well, when I was taken to the Bonsai Apartments by the police... it wasn’t the same.”

“Then what?” Mason said.

“They treated me rather well. They had some coffee and ham and eggs sent up, and they gave me freedom to move around the apartment, except that the drapes were all drawn across the windows and I was told not to touch them unless I wanted to get hurt.”

“I know,” Mason said. “They left you alone. You went to the bathroom. You found towels. They had the name ‘Bonsai Hotel Apartments’ on them. You took one to use as evidence.”

“No, I didn’t take one. I was afraid they’d count the towels and find one missing, but I did remember the name.”

“Go on,” Mason said, “then what?”

“Then along about daylight this morning they took me out of the back entrance, down a freight elevator, and into an alley. They made me get down on the floorboards of a car, and...”

“I know,” Mason said, “you had a chance to escape. They were going to take you for a ride and kill you, but they got careless—”

She started shaking her head.

“No?” Mason asked.

“No.”

“Well, suppose you tell me what did happen.”

She said, “They drove me to the airport. They told me that they were sorry, that they’d made a terrible mistake in my case, that they had found out I was all right and on the up-and-up, that I had better leave town, however, because the police were looking for me.”

“Who was doing all this?” Mason asked.

“Two people whom I had never seen before.”

“Men?”

“Yes.”

“Did they try to molest you in any way?”

“No, they were perfect gentlemen.”

“You were held prisoner in the apartment?”

“That’s right.”

“Then they took you out and told you there’d been a mistake made?”

“Well, something of that sort. They said that I was all right, and they were going to let me go, and...”

“And what’s the rest of it?” Mason asked.

“They gave me a ticket to Mexico City, told me there was a plane leaving in fifteen minutes, and I’d better get aboard.”

“What did you do?”

“It sounded like a perfectly swell idea to me. I wanted to get just as far away as I could, and Mexico City seemed like a wonderful place to go.”

“Did they say anything about Morris, or did you ask them anything about Morris?”

“They told me they’d let Morris go, too, and he was going to join me in Mexico City. They told me to go to the Hotel Reforma and that Morris would either be there when I arrived, or would be on the next plane, or that he might possibly make this plane.”

“Did you ask for any explanations?”

“Mr. Mason,” she said, “I’d been held a prisoner. I didn’t think I was ever going to come out of it alive. The plane was leaving in fifteen minutes. I had a chance to get away from those people. I thought they might change their minds. Five minutes earlier I had been satisfied I wouldn’t be alive for more than a matter of hours... What would you have done?”

Mason said, “I’d have gone into the air terminal and climbed aboard the plane to Mexico City.”

“That’s exactly what I tried to do.”

“What stopped you?”

“A plain-clothes man.”

“Where was he?”

“Waiting by the gate.”

“And what did he do?”

“Took me into custody. Took me down to the jail. They asked a lot of questions.”

“What did you tell them?”

“Not too much. I was trying to protect — well, you know who.” She hesitated.

Mason started to say something.

“No names, please,” she said.

“Someone you’re fond of?”

“Yes.”

“All right,” Mason said. “What did you tell the police?”

“I told them about what had happened.”

“All about the Bonsai Hotel Apartments?”

“Yes.”

“They took you there?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know the number of the apartment you were in?”

“Not the number, but I could pick out the location. I knew that we got off at the fourteenth floor, and we were in the first apartment on the right.”

“Go on, what happened?”

“The elevator didn’t seem to be exactly the same, and — well, the first apartment on the right was occupied by an elderly couple who had been there for ten years. They seemed to be people who are entirely trustworthy and they swore they hadn’t been out all evening, that they had watched the television, then gone to bed about ten o’clock.”

“The officers ask you about that gun?”

“What one?”

“The one in Seattle.”

She hastily put her finger to her lips, her eyes filled with panic. She said, “A gun in Seattle? Really, Mr. Mason, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“What are you charged with?” Mason asked.

She said, “I think it’s — well, I’m not exactly charged yet, but I think I’m being held on suspicion of murder of George Fayette, being an accessory or something. They think that Morris and I did the job together.”

“Did they tell you anything about what evidence they had against you, try to break down your story, tell you that you had been seen here, there or some other different place?”

She shook her head. “Not a bit of that, no.”

“And they haven’t asked you about that...”

Her finger once more came to her lips. She looked apprehensively around the walls of the room and said, “Mr. Mason, please!”

“All right,” Mason said.

“Mr. Mason, are you going to represent me?”

“Probably.”

“And you think everything will be all right?”

“That,” Mason told her, “will depend on whether or not the jury believes your story.”

“Well,” she asked, “won’t the jury believe me?”

“Hell, no,” Mason said. “Not that story.”