The Case of the Runaway

Chapter 10

Mason caught a late train to Los Angeles and entered his office at 10:50 A.M. to find Della Street regarding a letter with puzzled scrutiny.

“Now what?” Mason asked.

“Gosh, Chief, I didn’t hear you come in. How was the trip?”

“Okay. The D.A. in Fresno seems to be a nice chap, but he’s going to give us quite a fight. What’s causing the expression on your face, Della?”

“Was there one?”

“There certainly was,” Mason said, walking over to take the letter from her hand. “What is it?”

“It’s from the detective in Bakersfield. I had just glanced through it.”

“What does he want?”

“Money.”

Mason took the letter and read:

Dear Mr. Mason:I am writing this on my portable typewriter at San Bernardino . I have just learned by radio report that Edward Davenport of Paradise is dead, that his wife is accused of his murder and that you are representing her. I assume that you are also handling the affairs of the estate. I was doing work for Ed Davenport pursuant to his instructions when I learned of his death.I am not in a position to wait for an estate to be probated before getting my money, and because Mr. Davenport indicated the job I was working on was of considerable importance to him it may be something you as attorney for the estate and for Mrs. Davenport should know about.Since he is dead I can’t gain anything by being loyal to him and if the enclosed report is of value to you and his wife you might remember that I’m open to any employment in my profession in any way I can be of assistance.I take it my prompt co-operation should entitle me to a prompt remittance from you and I hope the enclosed report will be of value to you.I am enclosing herewith a bill for $225 covering salary and expense in connection with my employment by Mr. Davenport to cover unit thirteen of the Pacific Palisades Motor Court at San Bernardino.For your information I had met Mr. Davenport in connection with another business matter which I transacted for him some two years ago in connection with a mining deal. I have not seen him since but presume he had filed my name to be used in connection with any similar matter of employment which he might have.I shall be most happy to be of any further assistance.Very truly yours,Beckemeyer Detective Service.By Jason L. Beckemeyer. “Well,” Mason said, “we seem to clear up one phase of the mystery only to run onto another mystery. Why the devil did Davenport want to have a detective cover unit thirteen in that motel at San Bernardino?”

“Why did we?” Della Street asked.

“We did because of that telephone call, which, incidentally, must have been received some time after Davenport’s death. Let’s have a look at the detective’s report.”

She handed him the typewritten sheet.

Pursuant to instructions received over the telephone at approximately nine-fifteen on the evening of the eleventh from Edward Davenport who telephoned from Fresno, California, identified himself and arranged for the employment, I drove to San Bernardino on the evening of the twelfth to cover unit thirteen of the Pacific Palisades Motor Court.I arrived at San Bernardino at approximately 1:00 A.M. on the morning of the thirteenth. The Pacific Palisades Motor Court had a sign announcing that there were no vacancies. I parked my automobile in such a position that I could watch the entrance to unit thirteen and kept watch until approximately ten-thirty in the morning, during which time I was on the job personally making absolutely certain that anyone who entered or left unit thirteen would be under surveillance.At approximately ten-thirty on the morning of the thirteenth I noticed a maid enter the unit with a passkey, after first knocking. The maid had a portable unit containing bed linens, towels, etc., and had been previously engaged in making up units which had been vacated.I immediately left my automobile, approached unit thirteen, and knocked on the door which had been left ajar. The maid answered the knock and I pushed my way into the unit and stated that I wanted to talk with the maid who had just made up unit ten. Inasmuch as I had seen the same maid emerge from unit ten I knew she was the one I wanted.She seemed somewhat alarmed and wanted to know my business. I pretended that I was an officer without actually telling her I was, and asked her to describe the condition in which she had found unit ten, how many people had occupied it, whether there was anything that indicated that these people had been using drugs or were engaged in the drug traffic. The maid fell for this story and talked with me at some length. I was able during the conversation to size up unit thirteen. It had not been occupied during the night. By discreet inquiries I learned that the unit had been engaged by telephone the night before and that remittance had been transmitted by telegraph. The maid did not know the name of the person engaging the unit.Cautioning the maid that under no circumstances was she to mention my visit to anyone—either her employer, her fellow employees or any occupant of the premises—I returned to my automobile and kept unit thirteen under surveillance until six o’clock that evening. I had not been instructed as to what I should do in case the unit was unoccupied, as Mr. Davenport seemed certain it would be occupied on the evening of the twelfth. My instructions were to see who called on the party early on the morning of the thirteenth, and to be on the safe side I decided to go on duty at 1:00 A.M. During this time I convinced myself that no one had checked into the unit. I had provided myself with sandwiches and thermos containers of coffee so that I did not interrupt my surveillance for eating. A conveniently located service station enabled me to keep an almost continuous watch on the unit, and during brief periods when it was out of my observation I assured myself each time that no one had entered the premises.At about six o’clock on the evening of the thirteenth, while listening to a radio newscast, I learned that Ed Davenport had died the day before, that his widow was being held on suspicion of murder, and that Mr. Perry Mason was her lawyer.Under the circumstances and since the unit was unoccupied, I determined to try another angle. I went to the telegraph office and insisted that a telegram which I had sent to the Pacific Palisades Motor Court , sending money to reserve a unit, had not been delivered. The person in charge looked up the records, asked me if I was Mr. Stanton and I assured her that I was. The employee then brought a duplicate copy, showing me that a telegraphic remittance sent by Frank L. Stanton of Fresno had been duly delivered. I apologized and left.If I can be of further service I will hold myself in readiness. I am quite certain that the unit thirteen was unoccupied during the night of the twelfth and thirteenth. Information elicited from the maid was to the effect that if anyone had occupied the cabin during the first part of the evening of the twelfth, or, in fact, at any time after four o’clock in the afternoon, the necessary service work with towels, bedding, etc., would have waited until the maids came on duty at eight-thirty the next morning.Beckemeyer Detective Service.By Jason L. Beckemeyer. “Well.” Della Street said, “that checks in with Paul Drake’s information.”

Mason nodded, said, “Now why the devil would Ed Davenport have been so anxious to find out who occupied that unit, and why did he wire funds to reserve the cabin and then hire a detective to see who occupied the place?”

“It must have been someone that he wanted to trap in some way,” Della Street said. “Or someone whose loyalty he suspected.”

“But who?”

“Looks like another job for Paul Drake.”

“It sure does.”

“Mr. Beckemeyer seems anxious to co-operate,” she said.

“Most anxious,” Mason agreed.

“And in a hurry for his money.”

“He sounds hungry. Tell you what you do, Della, send him a check. That will put him under obligations to our side.”

“Do I say anything about his offer to be of service?”

“Tell him we may call on him—later.”

“Do you want to sign the letter?”

“No, you do it. Pretend you’re sending the remittance on your own responsibility. You sign the check on the special account.”

She nodded.

“What else is in the mail? Anything?”

“Nothing too important.”

“Ring Paul Drake,” Mason said. “Ask him to come down right away if he can.”

Mason busied himself at reading the mail until Drake’s code knock sounded on the door.

Della Street admitted the detective.

Mason said, “Take a look at this, Paul.” and handed him the report of the Beckemeyer Detective Service.

Paul Drake gave the matter frowning and careful consideration.

“Well?” Mason asked.

Drake said. “You can search me. Perry.”

Mason said, “It becomes very important to find out whether Ed Davenport was actually the one who wired the money to the Pacific Palisades Motor Court. Suppose you can find out, Paul?”

“Under the circumstances it may be a little difficult. There may be a little red tape. In view of the fact that Fresno has decided it has a murder case against Myrna Davenport the authorities won’t take kindly to anyone who is digging up information having to do with Davenport. Are you absolutely certain that Frank L. Stanton and Ed Davenport are one and the same?”

“I’m not absolutely certain,” Mason said. “But I’m morally certain. The description checks and the license number of the automobile checks, but we’d better get the registration and have an expert on handwriting make a report.”

“You stopped in at that motel in Fresno?”

“That’s right. Stanton checked in early in the evening. He had two heavy suitcases with him. Presumably they contained ore from a mine and he was working on some sort of a mining deal. He was very anxious to see that the suitcases remained in his possession. He took them into the motel with him. He had also purchased a brand new traveling bag and he unwrapped that in the motel.”

“What about the suitcases?”

Mason said, “If they were in his car or in the motel at Crampton the authorities haven’t said anything about them.”

“Think someone got away with them?”

“I don’t know. There’s some evidence Davenport was rolled while he was staying in Fresno. If that happened who ever did the job must have taken the suitcases. They may have had valuable ore samples.”

“How valuable?”

“That’s the point. Even rich ore would hardly be worth all that trouble.”

“Unless it was a job of salting a claim somewhere.”

“Could be,” Mason said. “The district attorney at Fresno, for your information, Paul, is a deadly, two-fisted fighter who isn’t going to be easy.

“I think he’s a square-shooter. I don’t think he’d want to prosecute Myrna Davenport if he didn’t think she was guilty. Her preliminary hearing is set for tomorrow.”

“Think he’ll show his hand?” Drake asked.

“He’ll show only enough of it to get her bound over,” Mason said. “He’s working hand in glove with the district attorney here and the idea is they’ll get Mrs. Davenport convicted of the murder of her husband up there. They may or may not get the death penalty. As soon as that case is finished they’ll take her down here and make a try for the death penalty in the case of Hortense Paxton. That’s going to be a cinch, particularly if they’re able to get a conviction of anything from manslaughter on up in the Fresno court.”

“You mean they’ll drag in both cases?”

“They may have some difficulty connecting up the two cases,” Mason said, “even under the liberal rules that are allowed these days for showing a general scheme. The D.A. in Fresno might drag in the Hortense Paxton poisoning under the theory that he was showing motivation for the death of Davenport. The Los Angeles authorities would have a hell of a time dragging the Davenport murder in as part of the Paxton case.

“That’s probably why they decided to try her first in Fresno on the murder of her husband. But let her get a conviction in either case and the minute she takes the stand in the other they can impeach her by showing she’s been convicted of a felony and letting the jury know what that felony was.”

“I get you.” Drake said.

“Therefore,” Mason said, “it becomes vitally important for us to get the facts and all the facts, and if possible to get them first.”

“That’s quite an order,” Drake told him. “The authorities up there have the inside track. They have all kinds of manpower. They have the authority. They know the ropes.”

“I know,” Mason said, “but they may not know the importance of getting all the information on Stanton and getting it correlated fast.

“Now here are certain things that are very definitely established. Ed Davenport had something on which he was working, something which was important. His wife probably didn’t know anything about it.

“Here’s the low-down on that San Bernardino job. While Della and I were up in Paradise the twelfth the telephone rang. It was a pay station from Bakersfield. Della Street answered the phone. A man came on the line and immediately said, ‘Pacific Palisades Motor Court at San Bernardino, unit thirteen and hung up.”

“That was absolutely all of the conversation?” Drake asked.

“Every word of it,” Mason said.

“Well,” Drake said. “It all ties in with the idea that that motel was to have been used for something rather important. Now why would Davenport have paid the rent on it and then kept it under surveillance? Particularly if he intended to occupy it himself.”

“His wife is quite certain that he didn’t intend to occupy it himself, that he was leaving Fresno and intended to drive straight home.”

“You can’t depend on what his wife tells you,” Drake said. “She’s an interested party—and she may be a guilty party.”

“There was one thing significant about the call to Paradise,” Mason said. “It didn’t occur to me at the time. I knew there was something strange about it but the significance didn’t dawn on me until later.”

“What’s that?”

“The man talking from Bakersfield didn’t ask if he was talking with Mabel Norge. As soon as Della Street said hello he gave the message.

“Now if it had been Ed Davenport who was calling he would have known that Della Street wasn’t Mabel Norge. He would either have detected a difference in the voices or he would have talked enough to have made certain. And, of course, we know now that Ed Davenport was dead when that call was made.

“Moreover,” Mason went on. “If it had been anyone delivering a message in accordance with instructions you would have thought that he would have taken some steps to have ascertained the identity of the party to whom he was talking.”

“But he didn’t?”

“That’s right, he didn’t.”

“Why?”

“There’s only one solution,” Mason said. “He didn’t know anything about the setup at Paradise. He didn’t know who Mabel Norge was. Her voice meant nothing to him, and her identity meant nothing to him. He simply called up, left a message, and hung up fast.”

Drake thought the matter over, then slowly nodded.

“And there’s one more thing,” Mason said, “we’re going to look up Sara Ansel all the way along the line.”

“Now you’re talking,” Drake agreed.

“Remember,” Mason told him, “that as it turned out Sara Ansel received some substantial benefit from the death of Hortense Paxton.”

“Rather indirect,” Drake said. “She couldn’t have been certain at all that Delano was going to change his will and cut her in.”

“She couldn’t have been certain according to any information we have at the present time,” Mason said, “but when we get more information we may find she had reason to know what would happen.”

“If she knows you’re investigating her she’s going to be a handful,” Drake warned.

“She’ll be a handful anyway,” Mason told him. “Get what information you can, Paul. Start men working in Fresno and keep them working. We’re going to trial tomorrow morning on the preliminary examination.”

“Aren’t you letting them rush things a bit?”

“I’m doing the rushing,” Mason said. “I want to ask some questions before the D.A. knows the answers.”

“Let’s hope the answers don’t crucify your client,” Drake said.

“That,” Mason told him, “is why I want you to get busy and keep busy. I don’t want to ask the questions that are going to elicit that type of answer.”