The Case of the Postponed Murder

Chapter 9

It lacked ten minutes until five o’clock when Paul Drake entered Mason’s office with news. “Marley,” he said, “left here and went directly to the Balkan Apartments on Windstrom Avenue. He kept buzzing the apartment of Hazel Tooms until he decided he was drawing a blank. Then he started out toward the harbour on Figueroa Street. My operatives are tailing him. Does this Tooms girl mean anything to you?”

“Not so far,” Mason said. “Look her up. See who she is. See if she’s a nurse.”

“Okay. Here’s something else. The police have found the murder gun.”

“They’re certain?”

“Yes. The bullets tally exactly.”

“Where did they find it?”

“That’s the funny thing,” Drake said. “They found it right where Anders says he threw the gun.”

“What do you mean?”

“Get this,” Drake said. “The highway is banked way up at that particular place, probably eight or ten feet above the level of the surrounding country. There’s a deep drainage ditch on each side of the highway.”

“I know,” Mason said. “Just how did they find the gun and just where did they find it?”

“Anders stood on that highway and threw it as hard as he could throw it,” Drake said. “The gun evidently hit the high tension post on the side of the road and dropped back into the ditch. It started to rain a short time later, and quite a bit of water gathered in the drainage ditch. During wet weather, water stands in there two or three feet deep. The water went down this afternoon, and some smart photographer who had been sent out to photograph your footprints happened to notice it lying there in the water.

“It’s a thirty-eight calibre Colt, police positive. Police rushed a test bullet through it, and compared it with the fatal bullet. They were both fired by the same gun.”

Mason said, “What does Anders have to say to that?”

“I don’t know,” Drake said. “It doesn’t make very much difference what he does have to say to it. It puts him in an awful spot.”

“Numbers on the gun?” Mason asked.

“I guess so. Remember, Perry, this is last minute news, hot off the wire. My friend on the newspaper handed it to me as a flash.”

“Well,” Mason said, “I guess they’ll turn Mae Farr loose now. I filed habeas corpus on her.”

“They’ll want to hold her as a witness,” Drake said.

“They will and they won’t. She cuts, both ways. Once they can pin the kill on Anders, it’s up to him to show the circumstances which would justify or extenuate his actions. That means it’s up to him to keep Mae Farr where he can put his finger on her. She’s more important to the defence than to the prosecution.

“Listen, Paul, get busy on that Tooms girl, find out all you can about her. Keep men on Marley and see if you can scare up anything more on Eversel. How about Mrs. Wentworth? I presume the police have been checking on her?”

“I guess so. She went up to the D.A.’s office shortly after noon, was in there for about an hour. As I get it, she took it right on the chin, said that it was a shame that it had to happen, that naturally she regretted it, that she and Wentworth were estranged, that she wasn’t going to pretend they were good friends any longer, that differences over property affairs had become very bitter, that naturally his death came as a shock to her.

“My newspaper friend slipped me a bunch of photographs. Among them is a swell one of Juanita Wentworth just leaving her automobile in front of the courthouse.”

“Why leaving the automobile?” Mason asked.

Drake said, “These newspaper photographers are instructed to get lots of leg in the pictures. You can’t very well pose a widow that way. It’s in poor taste. So they got a ‘candid camera’ shot just as she was getting out of the automobile.”

“I see,” Mason said, and then added, after a moment, “How about her story, Paul? Did the D.A.’s office ask her for more particulars, or did they just hit the high spots?”

“I don’t know just what,” — Della Street slipped through the door from the outer office. Drake broke off to glance up at her for a moment, then finished quickly — “what they talked about, Perry.”

Della said, “Mae Farr’s in the office.”

Mason jerked his head toward the door. “Beat it, Paul,” he said. “I want to get the lowdown on some stuff. Anything she tells me is privileged unless a third party like yourself overhears it. Then it is no longer privileged communication and we might all be in a spot later on. Keep working on things and dig up all the information you can.”

“I will,” Drake said, “and you’d better work fast with Mae Farr, Perry.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning that she’s outside now, but I have a hunch she won’t stay out long.”

“Why Paul?”

“Just the way things are looking,” Drake said. “I’m on my way, Perry.”

“So long,” Mason said, and nodded to Della Street.

Della went out and brought Mae Farr into the office. She crossed over to Perry Mason, her head held high, a defiant smile on her lips. “Hello,” she said. “Are we speaking or aren’t we?”

“Why not?” Mason asked. “Sit down and have a cigarette.”

“Do you want me?” Della asked.

Mason shook his head. “And see that we’re not disturbed, Della.”

“I’m closing up the office now,” she said, and walked swiftly through the door to the outer offices.

“Why,” Mason asked Mae Farr, “shouldn’t we be speaking?”

“I’m afraid I got you in something of a spot.”

“That’s nothing. I’m accustomed to spots. What did you tell the police?”

“Not a thing.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Exactly what I said. I told them nothing.”

“Did they read Anders’ statement to you?”

“They told me about what he’d said first — with a lot of variations of their own, and then they let me see their signed statement, which differed quite a bit from what they’d said it was.”

“And you told them absolutely nothing?”

“Not a thing. I said that I was a working girl with my reputation to think of, and I didn’t care to make any statement whatever.”

“What did they say to that?”

“They said that I’d get in more deeply than ever by adopting that sort of an attitude. I told them that was fine. They’ve given me a subpoena to appear before a grand jury. They say I’ll have to talk then. Will I?”

“Probably,” Mason said. “If you didn’t kill him, you’d better talk.”

“I didn’t kill him.”

“Did Anders kill him?”

“I can’t believe he did, but if he didn’t, who did?”

Mason said, “Let’s go back to last night. You started back to town with me. Then you went on ahead. Now then, what did you do after that?”

“Kept right on going to town,” she said.

“To your apartment?”

“Yes.”

“Then what?”

“Then this morning detectives from the Homicide Squad came and got me out of bed, and held me for questioning.”

Mason said, “You didn’t, by any chance, turn around after you left me and double back to the Yacht Club, did you?”

“Good heavens, no! Why?”

“Someone tried to tell me you did.”

“Who?”

“A man by the name of Marley Do you know him?”

“Oh, Frank,” she said scornfully, and then, after a moment, “What does he know about me?”

“Don’t you know him?”

“Yes. I mean, what does he know about me being down at the Yacht Club?”

“He says you were. He says you were the one who took his cruiser out.”

“Nonsense,” she said. “He was out himself, and he’s trying to cover up.”

“What makes you say he was out in the boat?”

“Because he has one of those devious minds that never approaches anything directly. He works around in a circle. If you want to know where he’s going, you never look in the direction in which he’s headed.”

“I see,” Mason said with a smile.

“He’s clever,” she added hastily. “Don’t overlook that.”

“You know him fairly well?”

“Yes.”

“Seen a good deal of him?”

“Too much,” she said.

“You don’t like him?”

“I hate the ground he walks on.”

Mason said, “Let’s get things straight, Mae. How well did you know Penn Wentworth?”

“Too damn well.”

“His wife?”

“I’ve never met her.”

“Was Frank Marley playing around with Wentworth’s wife?”

“I wouldn’t know,” she said.

“Would you have any ideas on the subject?”

“If Juanita Wentworth left the door open, Frank Marley would walk in,” she said.

“Why,” Mason asked, “do you hate him? Did he ever make a pass at you?”

“Lord, yes — and never got even halfway to first base.”

“Is that why you dislike him?”

“No.” She met his eyes steadily and said, “I may as well be frank with you. I don’t object to men making passes at me. I like it if they go about it in the right way. I don’t like it if they whine about it or try to appeal to my sympathies. I don’t like Frank Marley because of his dishonesty — no, not his dishonesty either. I don’t object to a man cutting corners if he is clever about it. I’ve known men who weren’t exactly honest. Some of them have fascinated me. What I don’t like about Frank is his sneaky, underhanded intrigue. You just can’t tell about him. He’ll be suave and friendly and reach around you as though to put a friendly arm around your waist, and there’ll be a knife in his hand. He’ll stick it in to the hilt, and never change expression. He never raises his voice, never bats an eyelash, never gets flustered. And he’s dangerous.”

Mason said, “Let’s talk about you for a while.”

“What about me?”

“Quite a lot of things,” Mason said, “for instance, about what happened on the Pennwent.”

“Well, what about it?”

Mason said, “When you told me about that, your boyfriend was with you.”

“Well?” she asked.

“Did you,” Mason asked, “sort of expurgate the account because he was there?”

She stared steadily at him and said, “No. It would take more than Hal Anders to make me lie. Look here, Mr. Mason, I’m going to tell you something about myself. I pay my own way as I go through the world, and I want the privilege of living my own life. I left North Mesa because I couldn’t do just that. I have my own code, my own creed, and my own ideas. I try to be true to them, all of them. I hate hypocrisy. I like fair play. I want to live my own life in my own way, and I’m willing to let other people live their lives in their way.”

“How about Anders?”

“Anders wanted me to marry him. I thought for a while I was going to. I changed my mind. I hate weak men.”

“What’s wrong with Anders?”

“What isn’t wrong with him,” she said bitterly, and then added, after a moment, “Oh, he’s all right, but he needs a lot of fixing. He can’t get along without having someone pat him on the back and tell him he’s doing all right, that he’s a wonderful young man, and all that stuff.

“Look at what happened in this case. You told him what to do. You told him particularly to go to his hotel and stay there until he heard from you. Did he do it? He did not. He never even got as far as the hotel. He had to have someone else give him advice. That’s the trouble with him. He’s never learned to stand on his own two feet and take things as they come.”

Mason said, “I’m not certain but what you judge him too harshly.”

“Maybe I do,” she admitted.

“Don’t you think perhaps he’s tried to advise you, tried to interfere with your life, and you resented that, but that you really care a lot for him and are trying all the harder to fan your resentment into flame because the fuel doesn’t want to burn?”

She smiled and said, “You may be right at that. I’ve always resented him because he was so darn good. Everyone pointed him out as a model young man. He didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, didn’t gamble, worked hard, was nice to old ladies, kept his lodge dues paid, his hair cut and his nails clean. He read all the best books, listened to the best music, raised the best stock, and got the best prices.

“Everything he ever does, is carefully worked out and programmed — and it’s always on the advice of someone else. The horticultural commissioner tells him about how to handle his land. His lawyer tells him about his contracts. His banker tells him about how to handle his finances. That’s what makes me so darn tired of him. He’s always attentive, always learning, always right, but he’s always right because he’s taken the advice of someone who knew. He has good judgment. He usually knows which is the best advice and he acts on it.”

“Don’t we all live our lives that way?” Mason asked. “At any rate, to a greater or lesser extent?”

“I don’t,” she said simply, and then added, with feeling, “and I don’t want to.”

“You resented his coming to the city to look you up?”

“Yes, I did. It was very decent of him to offer to pay the amount of that cheque, but I’m perfectly capable of living my own life. If I get into something, I want to get out of it through my own efforts. If I can’t, I want to stay there. I don’t want to have Hal Anders rushing into the city to lift me up out of the gutter, brush the mud off my clothes, smile sweetly down at me, and say, ‘Won’t you come home now, Mae, marry me, settle down, and live happily ever after?’”

“He still wants you to marry him?”

“Of course. He’s rather single minded when he gets an idea in his head.”

“You don’t intend to?”

“I do not. I suppose I’m an ingrate. I know I’m in a jam. I suppose he’ll come to my rescue with money and moral support, and I should be grateful and fall in his arms when it’s all over. Well, just for your personal, private information, Mr. Perry Mason, I’m not going to do anything of the sort.”

“All right,” Mason said. “Let’s talk about what happened on the yacht.”

“I’ve told you what happened.”

“You said Wentworth was wearing his underclothes.”

“He was.”

“When the body was found, it was fully clothed.”

“I can’t help that,” she said. “When he was shot, he was wearing his underwear, and that’s all.”

“How did it start?”

“Oh, he said he had to take a cruise that night and asked me if I’d excuse him while he changed his clothes and put on his overalls. He said he had some work to do on the motors. He went to the after cabin to change. He’d left the door open. I didn’t know it. I strolled back towards the engine room. I could look right in the cabin where he was changing. I guess that gave him ideas. He started working on me instead of the engines.”

“How loudly did you scream?”

“I didn’t know I screamed,” she said. “Hal says I did. I think he’s cockeyed. I think I did a little cussing, some kicking, and a little scratching and biting. If I screamed, I was screaming at Penn and not for help. I got myself aboard that yacht, and I could get myself off of it. I never was one to yell much for help.”

“Were you nervous, hysterical?”

“Me?” she asked in surprise.

“Yes.”

“Good Lord, no! I was being crowded into a corner,” she said, “and I was getting pretty tired. I didn’t know how much longer I was going to hold out. Look, Mr. Mason, I’ve fought men off before, and I’ll probably do it again.”

“Do you,” Mason asked, “inspire men to violence?”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “A lot of men try caveman tactics because a lot of girls fall for them. I don’t. The minute a man starts pushing me around, I want to hit him with anything I can get my hands on. I think I have more trouble that way than most girls because I’m inclined to be independent, and men resent that. A lot of girls make a habit of saying ‘no’ in such a way they make the man like it. When I say ‘no,’ I say ‘NO.’ I don’t give a hang whether he likes it or doesn’t like it.”

“When did you see Frank Marley last?”

“Sunday, a week ago.”

“Where?”

“We went on a cruise — a bunch of us.”

“Was Wentworth along?”

“Yes.”

“On the Pennwent?”

“No,” she said, “on Marley’s cruiser, the Atina. We took a quick run over to Catalina.”

“Can you run that boat?”

“Yes. I brought it back all the way. I wish I could like Marley as well as I do his boat. It’s a honey.”

“What about you and Wentworth?”

She said, “We met some time ago. I did some work for him. I saw he was taking quite an interest in me. He asked me to go on a cruise. You know what those cruises are apt to be. I told him straight from the shoulder. He said it was okay by him. All he wanted was my company. I went. Okay, he was going to open up a bookmaking office. It was against the law, but he claimed he had it squared with the officers. He wanted me to be in the place to class it up and sort of check on Marley. He knew that Marley’s line didn’t go across with me, and he was a little suspicious of Frank. Frank was handling most of the money end of the business. Penn thought it would be a good idea to have someone around who could check up on him.

“To tell you the truth, I don’t think Frank liked the idea. If you started prodding around in Frank’s accounts, I think you’d find something rotten. I told Penn that.”

“What did Penn say?” Mason asked.

“Not very much. He told me I was wrong, but I could see he was turning what I’d said over in his mind.”

“And the clothes?” Mason asked.

She said, “I get mad every time I think about that. It was a straight business proposition from first to last. Wentworth wasn’t to pay for those clothes unless something happened and I didn’t go to work. I was to go to work and pay the bill out of my salary in instalments. The whole thing was explained to the credit manager at the time the account was opened. I tell you it was a business proposition.”

“But you didn’t pay for the clothes?”

“No, of course not. I never went to work. There was a shake up in city politics. The men they thought they could control were transferred around to other districts. They didn’t give up the idea entirely but marked time trying to establish new contacts.

“Well, that was the understanding we had when he put the proposition up to me. I was out of work. I wasn’t to draw any regular salary until the place opened. I was to spend a good deal of time with Penn, meeting his friends and getting to know who they were. Penn was to send my sister a small cheque every three weeks and to pay my living expenses. I was to have enough clothes to make a good impression. In a way, I was to be the official hostess on his yachting parties.

“I didn’t need anyone to tell me what it looked like. It looked like the devil. I didn’t need anyone to tell me that in the back of Penn’s mind was the idea that I’d become dependent on him, get under his control, and become his mistress. I didn’t care what was in his mind. I knew what was in my mind. I didn’t sail under any false colours. I told him so right at the start. He knew the way I felt. He thought he could make me change. All right, it was a fair deal and no favours.”

“But your family?” Mason asked.

“There the shoe pinched. I was out of work and couldn’t get any satisfactory job. I figured this would open up into something that would pay. I also knew darn well that there was a chance the place might be raided and I’d find myself dragged into court. I didn’t think they’d do anything to me, but I didn’t know. I knew it would hurt Mother terribly if she thought I was mixed up in a business like that. I didn’t want to lie to them, so I just quit writing. But I also knew Sylvia needed some help with finances, so I arranged to have Penn send her some money until my regular salary began. By that time, I expected to have money to send her. Now then, that’s the story.”

Mason said, “It’s a good story if it’s true.”

Her eyes darkened.

“Don’t get excited,” Mason said. “I’m talking particularly about what happened after you left me. A witness will claim that you took Frank Marley’s cruiser out for a spin.”

“That I did?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Sometime after we made our trip to the Yacht Club.”

“I did not.”

“The witness says you did.”

“The witness lies. What in the name of reason would I want with Frank Marley’s boat?”

Mason said, “If Hal Anders had gone back to the Pennwent, instead of going to his hotel, and had taken it out to sea and started it heading down the coast in the direction of Ensenada, you could have taken Marley’s cruiser and gone out to pick him up. The Atina was at least twice as fast as the Pennwent.”

“That’s absurd. Hal went directly to North Mesa so he could consult his old family lawyer.”

“He went to North Mesa all right,” Mason said. “I’m not so certain about the direct part of it.”

“Well, I’ve told you the truth.”

Mason got up, reached for his hat, and said, “Okay, we’ll let it go at that.”

“What do you want me to do?” she asked.

Mason said, “Go back to your apartment, act just as though nothing had happened. Newspaper reporters will call on you. People will ask questions. Photographers will want pictures. Give them all the pictures they want. Remember, newspapermen are working for a living. They’re sent out to get stories, pictures, and interviews, if they come back with something good, the boss pats them on the back. If they come back without anything, the boss snarls at them. So give them something to come back with. Let them pose you any way they want to, give them all the pictures they want, and tell them that you’re not discussing the case.”

“I get you,” she said.

“As far as the newspaper reporters are concerned,” Mason said, “tell them all about your romance with Hal Anders.”

“It wasn’t any romance.”

“That’s what I want you to tell them. Tell them just about the way you’ve told it to me.”

“About his being weak and always asking for advice—”

“No, not that,” Mason interrupted. “The part about how he’s such a model young man who never makes any mistakes and how you got tired of it all. You wanted to come to the city and see life for yourself. And tell them all about Wentworth’s proposition that you should go to work for him, only don’t let on that you knew it was a bookmaking business. Simply say that it was a downtown office he intended to open up, and he wouldn’t tell you very much about what it was only that it was to handle some of his investments. But about the things that happened last night, keep mum. You’d like to talk, but your attorney has told you to say absolutely nothing.”

“In other words,” she said, “I’m to give them something they can turn into copy, is that it?”

“That’s right.”

“Okay, I’ll do that little thing.”

“How about it?” Mason asked. “Are you nervous and upset?”

She shook her head and smiled. “It’s all part of the game,” she said; “Sometimes you’re on top and things are easy. Sometimes you’re on the bottom. There’s no need to let it worry you.”

Abruptly, she thrust out her hand, smiled up into his face, and said, “Good night, Mr. Mason.”

Mason stood for a moment holding her hand, looking down into her eyes. “Did they,” he asked, “try to browbeat you, try to make you nervous?”

“Did they?” She laughed. “All of them yelled questions at me and asked me to re-enact what happened at the time of the shooting, and then when that failed, accused me of having been his mistress and lying to Hal about it because I wanted to marry Hal in order to be on financial easy street. I guess they tried everything, Mr. Mason.”

Mason grinned and said, “I guess they did. Okay, on your way. Think you can remember all I’ve told you?”

“Sure,” she said.

She flashed him a quick smile from the door, then Mason could hear her heels click... clack... click... clacking down the corridor toward the elevator.

Mason put on his hat, went out to the other office, and said, “All right, Della. I’m going out into the highways and byways. Get yourself some dinner and stick around the telephone.”

She reached up to take possession of his right hand, caressing it with hers. “You’ll be careful, Chief?” she asked.

Smiling down at her, he once more shook his head.

She laughed and said, “I could have saved my breath, but keep your eyes peeled, and if there’s anything I can do, let me know.”

“Okay, Della, but I want you to keep out of circulation for a little while. I don’t want to have them drag you into the case. They’ve subpoenaed Mae Farr to appear before the grand jury. They’ll probably subpoena me.”

“And me?” she asked.

Mason nodded.

“What’ll we tell them?”

Mason said, “We won’t commit any perjury. We won’t play into their hands. And we won’t betray the interests of our clients. We’ll generally adopt the position that just about everything that happened was a privileged communication, confidential, and not the subject of a grand jury investigation. That’ll raise a lot of technical points. Oh, we’ll come out all right, Della.”

“I suppose you want me to say nothing.”

“Be like the clam,” Mason said.

“At high tide?”

“What’s the difference?” he asked.

“You gather clams at low tide.”

“Right,” Mason said. “Be like a clam at high tide.”

As the door closed behind him, the telephone rang. Della picked up the receiver and answered.

“Hello, beautiful,” said Paul Drake. “Let me speak to the boss.”

“He’s just stepped out,” said Della, “and I think he is looking for action.”

“Oh, oh,” said Paul. “I was waiting for him to give me a ring after Mae Farr left. The D.A. has sent the story out. The papers aren’t mentioning names right now because they’re afraid, but the D.A.’s office is mentioning names. They state that they’re prepared to prove Mason was out last night looking for that gun, that he’s going to be subpoenaed to appear before the grand jury, and that in the meantime he’s being kept under the closest surveillance. He—”

Della said, “Gosh! Let me try to catch him at the elevator, Paul.”

She slammed down the receiver, dashed out of the door, raced down the corridor to the elevators, and frantically jabbed at the button.

When one of the elevators stopped, she said breathlessly to the operator, “Listen, Sam, rush me down to the ground floor, will you, please? I have to get there right away.”

The elevator operator grinned, nodded, and disregarding the curious stares of the other passengers as well as various stop signals along the way, dropped the cage swiftly to the lower corridor.

Della pushed people to one side, running toward the street exit. She was just in time to see Mason enter a taxi cab fifty feet down the Street. She called to him, but he couldn’t hear her. The taxicab swung out into traffic. Two men in plain clothes, sitting in an automobile parked in front of a fireplug, eased their car into motion and in behind the taxicab.

Della looked quickly up and down the street, could find no cab in sight. A red traffic signal held up traffic coming her way while the cab containing Mason and the car with the two officers turned to the right at the next intersection and were swallowed up in traffic.

Della Street turned and went slowly back to the office.