The Case of the Postponed Murder

Chapter 10

Mason discharged the taxicab a block from the Balkan Apartments and reconnoitred carefully. The two plain clothes men who had followed the taxicab drove on past without so much as a look in Mason’s direction. Mason walked the block to the apartment house and looked at the directory for the name of Hazel Tooms.

As he pressed the button opposite her name, a man came walking briskly down the street from the opposite direction, turned into the apartment house, and fished in his pocket for a latchkey.

The electric door release buzzed, and the man who had been looking for his latchkey pushed against the door and went on in. Mason followed him, passed him in the corridor, walked to the elevator, and went to the fifth floor. He found 521 near the end of the corridor and tapped gently on the panels of the door.

The young woman who opened the door was taller than average and was dressed in lounging pyjamas. She carried herself firmly erect. Her brownish hair had highlights. Her eyes, blue and cautious, surveyed Perry Mason in frank appraisal. There was neither nervousness nor fear in her manner. She seemed quite capable of taking care of herself in any emergency.

“I don’t know you,” she said.

“A situation which I wish to remedy at once,” Mason replied, lifting his hat and bowing.

She looked him over from head to foot, then stood to one side.

“Come in,” she said.

When Mason had entered the apartment, she closed the door, indicated a chair, and then, instead of seating herself, stood with her back to the door, her hands on the knob.

“All right,” she said. “What is it?”

Mason said, “My name is Mason. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Not a thing. If this is a mash, save your breath. I don’t go out with strangers.”

Mason said, “I’m doing a little investigating.”

“Oh,” she said.

“I have reason to believe,” Mason went on, “that you have some information in which I’d be interested.”

“What about?”

“About the Pennwent.”

“What about it?”

“When you saw it last and about Frank Marley’s Atina and when you saw it last.”

“A detective?” she asked.

“Not exactly,” Mason said.

“What’s your angle?”

“I’m representing someone who wants the facts.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Nothing.”

She left the door then and sat down across from Perry Mason. She crossed her legs and hugged one knee with the interlaced fingers of large, capable hands. “Pardon me for being cautious,” she said, “but you read so much stuff these days of men getting into women’s apartments, slugging them over the head, choking them, and playful little practices of that sort, and I was taking no chances.”

“Did I,” Mason asked, “look like one of those?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know what they look like.”

Mason laughed. Hazel Tooms smiled slightly.

“Well,” Mason said, “let’s get back to my question.”

“About the boats?”

“Yes.”

“What about them?”

“When did you see Frank Marley’s cruiser last?”

She smiled and said, “Really, Mr. Mason, I’d prefer to get back to my original question.”

“What’s that?”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Exactly what I told you the first time,” Mason said. “Nothing.”

“Then why should I answer?” she asked.

“Let’s look at it another way,” Mason suggested, with a slight twinkle in his eye. “Why shouldn’t you answer?”

She said, “Charity may begin at home, but it ends up in the poorhouse.”

Mason said, “All right. I’ll put my cards on the table.”

“Aces first, please,” she said.

“I’m a lawyer. I’m representing a Miss Mae Farr in connection with—”

“Oh, you’re Perry Mason.”

He nodded.

“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

“I didn’t think it would do any good.”

She looked at him, her brows puckered together, her head tilted slightly to one side. “Well,” she said at length, “so you’re Perry Mason.”

Mason said nothing.

“And interested in information you think I have. Is that information going to get me in trouble?”

“I don’t know,” Mason said.

“Listen,” she told him, “I don’t want to go on the witness stand.”

“You’re not on the witness stand now.”

“No, but you might put me there.”

“Again, I might not.”

“Would you promise not to?”

“No.”

She caressed her knee with the tips of her fingers, her eyes distant and preoccupied with a survey of the possibilities of the situation. Abruptly, she brought her eyes into hard, sharp focus on the lawyer’s face, then said, “All right, I’m going to take a chance. I’m strong on taking chances.”

Mason settled back in the chair and shifted his eyes slightly so that she could talk without being conscious of his gaze.

She said, “I can’t go on the witness stand because a smart lawyer would make me out a sorry figure. I’ve always loved the outdoors — tennis, riding, skiing, all sports. Especially, I like yachting. You don’t get invited on boat trips by cultivating the company of impecunious young men of regular habits and virtuous intentions.

“You’ve heard of gold diggers? Well, I guess I’m a yacht digger. Whenever there was a cruise over to Catalina, I met all the yachtsmen I could. Whenever they wanted my telephone number, I gave it to them. That’s all I give them, my telephone number, my company, and a lot of laughs.

“Lots of times yachtsmen want girls along who are good sports, know something about handling a boat, are willing to do a good share of the work, and can keep the gang laughing.

“I suppose I could have used the same amount of mental effort in some commercial activity and made money. I work like the devil thinking up wisecracks, games, stunts, and how to drink a lot without getting too awfully drunk. If you’ve never tried it, eating a lot of butter before the drinking starts is a swell stunt.”

“I have a recipe which beats that,” Mason said.

“You have?”

“Yes.”

“Be a good sport and give it to me. That butter stunt is the best I’ve ever found.”

Mason said, “Mine is more simple. I don’t drink much after the drinking starts.”

“Oh,” she said, her voice showing disappointment. “I thought you were really going to say something.”

Mason said, “Don’t let me interrupt you.”

“I won’t — not again. Well, Mr. Mason, here’s the lowdown. Penn Wentworth took a shine to me. He was on the make. When you say ‘no’ to Penn, he starts wrestling, and when he wrestles, he gets out of control. Personally, I don’t like to be manhandled. My eyes, my judgment of distance, and my timing are all pretty good. I just won a tennis championship the other day.

“Well, when the party got just so rough, I warned him. Warning didn’t do any good. He was past that point. So I slipped my shoe off, doubled up my leg, waited my chance, and shot my heel straight to the chin.”

“Connect?” Mason asked.

“Of course I connected.”

“What happened to Wentworth?”

She said, “I thought I’d killed him. I poured water on his face, rubbed his chest and ribs, and fed him brandy with a teaspoon. It seemed like an hour before he came around, and he was still punch drunk for another thirty minutes.”

“Then what?” Mason asked. “Did he come up for round two, or did he toss in the towel when the bell rang?”

She grinned and said, “He tossed in the towel, and it made the start of a swell friendship. I got so I cared a lot for him after that, and he respected me. We had one of those friendships that are so rare between a man and a woman, just perfect pals. He found out that I liked boats, and he liked to have me with him. Occasionally, he’d go off on a trip just by himself when he didn’t want anyone around to bother him and talk to him. He never cared about yachting as yachting but used the yacht simply for incidental pleasure — attending the cruises, staging parties, and things of that sort. That’s why he had all those gadgets on the Pennwent.

“This is the part you’re not going to believe. However, it happens to be the truth. When Wentworth would have a fit of the blues, he liked to go on a cruise. He’d leave the handling of the boat pretty much up to me. He’d let me do the cooking. Sometimes we’d take an entire cruise without saying a word except a few comments about what he wanted to eat and about handling the boat. That suited me right down to the ground. I love to head out into the ocean with my hands on the wheel. It gives me a thrill, a sense of power. I know the ocean is cruel and merciless. I know that you can’t make any mistakes with the ocean. I like to play that kind of a game.”

She hesitated a moment, studying Mason’s face, apparently waiting for some comment. He made none. She said, “Naturally, I got to know Frank Marley. He’s different from Penn. Frank never made a pass at me. If he ever does, he’ll have all the dice loaded against me. He waits and watches and thinks and schemes, and you never know what he’s thinking about from what he says.

“Penn was a good egg. A girl couldn’t trust herself around Penn Wentworth for five minutes. He’d try a line, and if that didn’t work, he’d try massage, and if that didn’t work, he’d get rough. But there was one thing about Penn. You always knew where he stood, and he was never a hypocrite. Any girl who went out with Penn Wentworth knew that Penn was — well, sticky. Once you got past that first round with him, he made a swell friend. Penn had a lot to him. He was shrewd and fair. He had a sense of humour, and he could be a very good companion when he didn’t have the blues. When he had the blues, he wanted you to leave him alone, and he’d leave you alone.

“Frank Marley was the exact opposite. I’ve been out with Frank a lot of times. I’ve handled his boat a lot. He’d be sitting or standing somewhere nearby all the time, smoking cigarettes and watching me with half closed eyes through the cigarette smoke. He was always a perfect gentleman, always quiet, always well behaved — and always waiting.”

She stopped to study Mason’s face curiously, then said, “Oh, go ahead and look at me. I’ll keep on talking just the same.”

“No,” Mason said. “I’m listening. I listen with my ears and look with my eyes. I can’t do two things at once and really concentrate on them. Right now, I’m listening to your voice.”

“Don’t you think you can tell more about a woman by watching her when she talks than by listening to what she says?”

“Not always,” Mason said. “A lawyer trains himself to listen. Witnesses have usually rehearsed their story pretty well — at least to the extent of making the mannerisms and gestures more or less mechanical, but they rehearse silently. People really should cultivate the art of talking to themselves. They’d learn a lot about voices if they did.”

She laughed and said, “You make me feel frightfully naked — sitting there with your head turned and your ears taking in every word.”

“I didn’t intend to. You have a very observing mind.”

“Think so?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks.”

“Well,” Mason said, “that’s that. We were talking about Frank Marley’s boat.”

“I was talking about the yachts and the men,” she said. “Late in the afternoon, Wentworth called and said he’d like to see me. I drove down and went aboard. He said that he had to be in San Diego the next day for an appointment with his wife. He told me that he had finally decided to give her an ultimatum: either she would give him a divorce on reasonable terms or he would sue Sid Eversel for alienation of affections. Then he suggested that I go with him and that we take the Pennwent to Ensenada. He’d drive to San Diego to meet his wife. Of course, I’d stay aboard; he didn’t want his wife to know I was with him.

“Well,” she said, “that suited me right down to the ground. I told Penn I’d have to go get some clothes and that there were some provisions we needed. He gave me some money and told me to stop on the way back and pick up the supplies at one of the all night markets. As soon as I returned, we’d sail.

“I drove back. The Pennwent was gone. I thought perhaps he’d taken it out for a trial spin. He’d never stood me up. Ours wasn’t that sort of a friendship. I knew he wanted me to sail the boat for him. I stuck around. I thought for a while I’d go over and see if anyone was aboard Frank Marley’s boat, then I saw that it, too, was gone.

“Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have waited very long, but I did want that trip to Ensenada, and I felt certain that anything that had taken Penn away would be a real emergency. I knew that he’d have left word if he’d had to pull out without me.

“There’s a message board up by the clubhouse, a place with a lot of little mailboxes where people can leave messages for the various yachts. I looked in Penn’s box. There wasn’t any message. I went back to the car and waited some more.”

“Just a minute,” Mason interrupted. “What time was all this?”

“I don’t know what time it was,” she said. “I remember it started to rain when I was buying the groceries. Does that mean anything?”

Mason nodded.

She said. “I don’t think it rained down at the Club for half or three quarters of an hour after that. The showers were drifting in from the mountains.

“Well, I dropped off to sleep, sitting there in the car and dozing. I’d been playing tennis all afternoon — a small tournament — amateur stuff. I’d won the medal for second place in the women’s division, and the girl who’d beat me had done every dirty trick in the cards. God, how I hated to lose to that woman.

“I guess I had the blues myself. Anyhow, the thought of that boat trip down to Ensenada soothed my mind. I kept waiting and dozing. Then I heard a boat coming in. I thought it was the Pennwent. I opened the door and started to get out of the car. Then I saw it was Frank Marley’s Atina. I figured he’d know where Penn was, but I wasn’t certain Marley was alone. You know yachting etiquette is a little different from other stuff. You wait to make certain the man’s alone or else you give him a chance to make the play.

“Well, first rattle out of the box, this girl showed on deck, running ashore with the lines. I could tell from the way the boat was handled that she was alone on it. Boy oh boy, I sure looked her over.”

“Jealous?” Mason asked.

She said, “It might add up to that. I figured if Frank Marley was generous enough in his softer moments to let a girl take his cruiser and just sail out on parties of her own — well, it was an interesting idea.”

“Did you recognize this girl?”

“Not then,” she said. “I’ve found out since that it was Mae Farr.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve seen photographs of her.”

“Who showed them to you?”

“That,” she said, “is something we won’t discuss right now. I haven’t that party’s permission.”

“Was it Frank Marley?” Mason asked.

“We won’t discuss it.”

“Then what?” Mason asked.

“I waited about half an hour after the girl had left,” Hazel Tooms said, “and then gave it up as a bad job. I figured something had happened and Penn had been called away without even having time to leave a message for me. I came home, climbed into a hot tub, and then went to bed.”

Mason said, “You jumped at this trip to Ensenada?”

“Yes.”

“You were going alone with Wentworth?”

“That’s what I said.”

“That,” Mason observed, “would be rather bad for the sake of appearances.”

“Well, what of it?” she asked defiantly.

“Exactly what I was getting at,” Mason said. “You don’t seem to care much for appearances.”

“I don’t give a damn for them.”

“You have your own car?”

“Such as it is, yes.”

“And you’re able to leave on a moment’s notice to go on trips?”

“What are you getting at?” she asked.

Mason smiled and said, “Perhaps it’s my habit of leading up to something through cross-examination. What I’m really trying to find out is what are your means of support?”

“Oh,” she said, “that. I guess a lawyer could put me in a funny position before a jury with a line of questions like that, couldn’t he?”

Mason nodded.

“Well,” she said, and hesitated.

“Go ahead,” Mason prompted.

“Do they inquire into that on the witness stand, Mr. Mason?”

“They could be asking questions in just about the way that I ask them.”

“I see. Then they’d force me to go into it in front of the jury, wouldn’t they?”

“Well,” Mason said, “it would be up to you.”

“I don’t want to be a witness,” she said.

“You still haven’t given me the answer to the question.”

She said, with flashing eyes, “I don’t think it’s any of your damn business,” and then after a moment added, with a twinkle, “incompetent, irrelevant, and immaterial to you, Mr. Perry Mason.”

He bowed and said, “The objection is well taken, Miss Tooms.”

She laughed at that. “You and I,” she announced, “could be friends. Listen, you said I had an observing mind. I’ve had to develop it. I’m crazy about tennis. I like all sports. A girl can’t work in an office and get very much time for outdoor recreation.”

“That,” Mason observed dryly, “is axiomatic.”

She said, “I might have an ex husband somewhere in the background who is paying a small amount of alimony.”

“Have you?” Mason asked.

“I thought you said the objection was well taken.”

“It was.”

“Then I don’t need to answer the question.”

He shook his head.

She said, “Things don’t look so good for Mae Farr, do they?”

“I would say that Hal Anders was in the toughest spot,” Mason observed.

“You know, she could have been working with him. He could have killed Wentworth right there in the harbour, and he could have taken Wentworth’s boat out and set it on the course for Ensenada. She could have tagged along in the cruiser, picked him up, put him ashore at some other dock, and then returned Marley’s boat.”

“What,” Mason asked, “gave you that idea?”

She laughed and said, “Just reading the papers and thinking things over. Naturally, as soon as I read the papers, I appreciated the significance of what I’d seen.”

“Did you tell anyone about it?”

She shook her head.

“Why not report to the police?” Mason asked.

“The police?” she said, and shrugged her shoulders.

“Well, why not?”

“Several reasons.”

“Such as?”

She said, “I don’t want to have to go on the witness stand.”

“And, therefore, decided that you’d say absolutely nothing to anyone about what you’d seen?”

She pinched the fold in the leg of her lounging pyjamas between her thumb and forefinger and slid her hand down the crease, then sighted along it with a critical eye as though to see if it was absolutely straight.

“Well?” Mason asked.

“Look here,” she said abruptly, “I’ve long ago come to the conclusion that a person can get what he wants out of life, if he wants it badly enough.”

“I have heard others advance the same idea,” Mason commented.

“Well, I’ve lived my life according to that theory. I get what I want, but it’s not particularly easy. You have to want what you want with every ounce of energy and vitality you possess.”

“And so?”

“And so I’ve learned to be absolutely cold blooded and selfish,” she said, meeting his eyes defiantly.

“Most successful people are selfish,” Mason said. “Most strong people are selfish. Here and there, you find the exception which proves the rule. I’m discussing generalities. If you’re selfish, don’t apologize for it.”

“I’m not apologizing.”

“Then,” Mason said, “I take it you’re leading up to something.”

“I am.”

“Then lead up to it.”

“All right. Look here. If I go to the police, I’ll have my name in the paper. I’ll have to go on the witness stand. They’ll have photographs of me. I think I’d photograph rather well — for newspaper purposes. That proposed trip to Ensenada would be magnified and distorted.”

“I thought you didn’t care for appearances,” Mason said.

“I don’t, but I do care for reputation.”

“So what?”

“So, Mr. Mason, if I go on the witness stand, I’m going to hurt your client. Your client shouldn’t want me to go on the witness stand. This man Anders shouldn’t want me to go on the witness stand. You shouldn’t want me to go on the witness stand. I don’t want to go on the witness stand.

“I would like to take a trip. I know someone who has a yacht. I won’t mention any names. That someone and I could start on a cruise to the South Seas. We’d have all kinds of bad luck. The engine would break down. We’d be blown off course, would make a landing at some isolated tropical island, would be out of fuel, would have to repair the mast and sails, and it would be weeks or months before we’d be heard of again.”

“Rather a dangerous way to avoid going on the witness stand, isn’t it?” Mason asked.

“I don’t think so. I’d love it.”

“What seems to be holding you back?” Mason inquired.

She said suddenly, “Oh, I see what you mean. You think it’s Frank Marley. No, it isn’t. Frank has to stay here. This person has a small auxiliary. Marley’s boat could never make a long ocean voyage. It would be foolishness to even try.”

“Well, I’ll put it another way,” Mason said. “What’s holding this other person back?”

“Money,” she said.

“Money?”

“Yes — or the lack of it, if you want to put it that way.”

“I see.”

“Mr. Mason,” she said eagerly, “it wouldn’t take very much money to do the trick, and — in case you have a conscience — you wouldn’t be paying me to stay off the witness stand. It would be simply a proposition of financing me on a little trip I’ve always wanted to take. A thousand dollars would cover the whole cost.”

Mason shook his head.

“Seven-fifty?” she said.

Again Mason shook his head.

“Look, Mr. Mason. I’ll do it for five. It would be quite a job because we’ll have to be gone for a long time, and this other party has certain obligations, but we could do it for five.”

Mason said, “No. It isn’t a matter of price.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a six letter word,” Mason said. “I’m not certain you’d understand.”

“Oh, please, Mr. Mason. You don’t know how much it means to me.”

Mason shook his head, got up from the chair, pushed his hands down deep into his trouser pockets and stood for a moment lost in thought. Then he started pacing the room, not the aimless pacing of mental preoccupation, but a slow, studied tour of inspection along the baseboard of the four walls of the room.

“What is it?” she asked, watching him with apprehensive eyes.

“Just thinking,” Mason said.

“You’re looking along the floor.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

Mason continued his slow progress around the room.

She walked over to stand at his side. “What is it, Mr. Mason?” she asked. Then, as he didn’t answer, she placed a pleading hand on his shoulder. “Look, Mr. Mason. It wouldn’t cost you a thing. Harold Anders is rich. He has lots of money and lots of land. I’m a poor girl. Gosh, what he’d have to pay me wouldn’t be a drop in the bucket compared to what he’d pay you for defending him.”

“I’m not his lawyer,” Mason said.

She paused suddenly, thinking that over, then after a moment said, “Oh.”

Mason finished his tour of inspection.

“Who is Mr. Anders’ lawyer?” she asked.

“I don’t know. He’s consulted someone up north, someone around North Mesa.”

“In North Mesa?”

“Probably in the county seat.”

“You don’t know his name?”

“No.”

She said, “Listen, Mr. Mason, will you do me a favour? As soon as you find out just who is representing him, will you give me a ring and let me know? You could do that much and — and it might amount to the same thing.”

Mason said, “Under the circumstances, you’d better read the newspapers and get your information from them.”

“All right, I will. Look here, Mr. Mason. I put my cards on the table with you because I had that proposition to make you. You won’t take advantage of me, will you?”

“How do you mean?”

“This trip to Ensenada and what I’ve told you about what I do — how I get my yachting trips?”

Mason said, “When you put your cards on the table, you can’t very well expect the other man not to know what you’re going to play.”

“You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

“I don’t know,” Mason said. “It would depend on what you did to me.”

“But I’m giving you a fair deal.”

Mason raised his voice. “All right, let’s hope so. In any event, I won’t pay five cents to suppress your testimony. I won’t let my client pay five cents.”

“You aren’t going to tell the police about what I saw?”

Mason said, “Don’t worry. I’m not working up a case against the district attorney.” He picked up his hat and moved toward the door. “Good-bye, Miss Tooms.”

She made a little grimace. “Oh, Mr. Mason, I had hoped you’d be reasonable.”

“And do what?”

“You know.”

Mason said, “People have different ideas about what’s reasonable. It depends somewhat on the viewpoint. Good night.”

She raised her eyes to his. “Don’t forget, Mr. Mason.”

“I won’t.”

It was as he started down the hall toward the elevator that she called to him. “And don’t forget I have an observing mind.”

The door closed gently but firmly.