The Case of the Runaway

Chapter 4

It was two forty-five in the morning when Perry Mason and Della Street walked into the San Francisco Airport.

“You go up first,” Mason said, indicating the mezzanine. “Look around. If they’re up there beckon to me. If anyone seems to be shadowing them, don’t beckon but come downstairs and report. Just take a good look around.”

“How can I tell if anyone is shadowing them?”

“If someone is sitting up there reading a paper or a magazine, apparently completely engrossed in something else, let me know. Let’s not walk into any traps.”

Della Street climbed the stairs, and after a few moments came down to say, “There’s a man sitting there reading a paper, Chief.”

“And the two women are up there?”

“They’re up there, apparently sound asleep. Both of them with their heads back and their eyes closed.”

Mason said, “Della, there’s a three-five plane to Los Angeles. Get four tickets. We can just about make it. I’ll go up and get the women. If they’re being shadowed we can’t help it.”

Mason climbed the stairs. The man who was engrossed in the newspaper casually turned a page, folded it and went on with his reading.

Mason walked partway around the mezzanine, came back, stretched, yawned, settled himself down beside Sara Ansel, who was gently snoring. Myrna Davenport’s head was resting against Sara Ansel’s shoulder. She was sleeping peacefully.

Mason touched Sara Ansel’s arm.

She fidgeted uneasily.

Mason looked over at the man who was reading the newspaper, then touched her again.

Sara Ansel wakened with a start.

“I beg your pardon,” Mason said casually, putting a cigarette in his mouth. “Do you have a match?”

She started to glower, then recognized him and said, “Why, I… I—”

“And may I offer you a cigarette?” Mason asked.

The man with the paper still seemed completely engrossed in his reading.

Myrna Davenport was awakened by the voices.

“Why, how do you do?” she said. “I—”

Mason frowned her into silence. “Do one of you ladies have a match?”

Myrna Davenport produced a lighter.

Mason lit his cigarette. “Thank you very much,” he said. He stretched, yawned, settled back in the chair and said in a low voice to Sara Ansel, “There’s a three-five plane for Los Angeles. Della Street, my secretary, is getting tickets. She’ll meet you at the gate with tickets and gate passes. She’ll hand them to you unobtrusively. Get on that plane. We’ll talk there.”

Mason again yawned, looked at his watch, walked over to the balcony, looked down and received a signal from Della Street that the tickets were all okay.

The lawyer walked casually around to the far side of the balcony, again looked at his wrist watch, settled down in a chair, leaned back and smoked contemplatively while he watched Sara Ansel and Myrna Davenport descend the stairs.

The man who had been reading the newspaper got up, walked to the railing around the mezzanine and casually raised his right hand. Then he returned to his chair.

Mason arose, walked across to the stairs and went down to the main floor, moving slowly, yet timing himself carefully. He reached the gate where the three-five plane was loading two minutes before the time of departure.

Della Street was waiting with a plane ticket and gate pass.

“The two women aboard?” Mason asked.

She nodded.

“Let’s go,” Mason told her.

They boarded the plane and were able to secure seats directly behind Sara Ansel and Myrna Davenport.

Sara Ansel turned to say something to Mason but he almost imperceptibly shook his head and settled back against the seat.

They fastened safety belts. The motors throbbed into life and the big plane taxied slowly down the long runway, wheeled into position and waited while the motors were gunned into life one at a time. Then the four motors simultaneously roared into a cadence of power. The big plane swept down the runway and into the air. A few moments later the lights of San Francisco showed beneath as the plane made a long, banking circle, then swung out on its course.

Sara Ansel turned and said angrily, “It certainly took you long enough to get there!”

“Up in that country,” Mason told her, “they roll up the sidewalks at nine o’clock. We had quite a time.”

“What’s the idea? Having us running around like a couple of criminals.”

“You have your suitcases?”

“No.”

“Where are they?”

“We shipped them by air express. We didn’t know what you wanted.”

“That’s fine,” Mason said. “If you aren’t encumbered with baggage you can move around a lot more easily. Now tell me what happened. We’d better change seats. Della, you sit over with Mrs. Davenport. Mrs. Ansel, you come back here with me.”

They changed seats without seeming to attract attention from any of the other passengers, most of whom had settled back, trying to get some sleep.

“Put your mouth close to my ear,” Mason said. “Talk low and tell me what happened.”

“Do you want the highlights,” she asked, “or—?”

“Give me the highlights first,” Mason said, “then I’ll ask questions to get the details I want.”

“Well,” she said, “it seems that Ed Davenport left his office in Paradise Sunday noon. He telephoned Myrna that he was driving down, that he would stop overnight along the road.

“He probably stayed that night at Fresno. Then he started out and got as far as this little town of Crampton, which is about thirty or forty miles from Fresno, and there he became ill. I guess actually he became ill before he got there, but when he got to Crampton he didn’t have the strength to go on.”

“What sort of an illness?” Mason asked.

“Now there, of course, you can’t tell for sure. I’m coming to that in a minute. He was a heavy drinker. He had high blood pressure and he had no business drinking, but he’d evidently been drinking and he’d eaten something that disagreed with him. Anyway he became terribly ill. He stopped at this motel at Crampton and asked if there was a doctor in town. The landlady told him there were three and gave him the names. He telephoned one of them, a Dr. Renault. Dr. Renault came out right away and decided that Ed was seriously ill. That was between eight and nine o’clock in the morning.

“Now I have an idea that Ed had stayed in Fresno the night before and had been on something of a bat, probably with some woman. Personally I wouldn’t doubt but what she’d slipped him some knockout drops. In any event, he’d been rolled.”

“How do you know that?” Mason asked.

“I’m coming to that.” she said, “but first I want to tell you about what happened. After Dr. Renault got there Ed had quite a sinking spell. Dr. Renault called and told us we’d better get up there at once, that Ed was very seriously ill. He was so ill that the doctor didn’t even want to try moving him to a hospital. The nearest one was at Fresno. He said he was trying to get a nurse, but there was a shortage of nurses and he thought it would be a good plan for Myrna to come up at once and she could help with the nursing.”

“Go on,” Mason said.

“After seeing you, we took a plane to Fresno, then rented a Drive-Ur-Self car and went down to the motel at Crampton.

“Ed was seriously ill all right. I gathered he’d been vomiting and was in pretty much a state of collapse. The doctor talked with us and left word for us to call if there was any change. He said he’d be back within an hour.

“We remained with Ed for a while, then he dropped off to sleep. He seemed to be resting easier, but he was a pretty sick man all right.

“While he was sleeping, I went to my cabin. Myrna stayed with Ed. Then after I’d cleaned up I went back and took over.

“Almost at once Ed had some sort of a spell. He started to choke and gag and gasped for air.

“I ran out and phoned for the doctor and he came almost at once. He said it was serious and sent me to phone to a drugstore for some medicine.

“Myrna was in the shower, but she said she’d throw on a robe and rush over. By the time she got there it was too late. Ed had passed away.

“Then the doctor showed that Ed must have told him something that aroused his suspicions. He glowered at us, locked up the cabin where Ed’s body was and told us that we’d have to wait for the sheriff, the coroner and the district attorney. He said that there were circumstances connected with what had happened so that he couldn’t sign a death certificate and that an autopsy would have to be performed. He even intimated that he thought Ed had been murdered.”

“So what did you do?”

“Well,” she said, “I didn’t pay very much attention to all that. As soon as I could decently get away I went across the street to a telephone booth at a service station and called you. Then I came back and tried to comfort Myrna. She wasn’t overcome by grief. They were headed for a divorce—had been, that is. Ed had ceased to mean anything to her emotionally. But the whole thing was something of a jolt and I wanted to comfort her. It had been a shocking experience for the poor girl.”

“Go on,” Mason said.

“Well, the doctor locked up the cabin. He said he was ‘sealing up the place’ and took us to our cabin and questioned us and then he went to call the coroner.

“I guess it was over an hour when finally the coroner came, accompanied by the deputy district attorney and a representative of the sheriff’s office. They made quite a thing out of questioning the doctor and asking questions about knockout drops. The doctor gave them the key to the cabin. The deputy sheriff opened the door, went in there and found that Ed must have regained consciousness, climbed out of the window and driven away.”

Mason gave alow whistle.

“That’s right,” she said, “and the officials certainly were angry about it. It seems they’d had some trouble with this Dr. Renault before. This time they were really burned up.”

“What did Dr. Renault say?”

“Dr. Renault stuck by his guns. He said that Ed had been dead, that he knew he was dead. He even intimated that we must have disposed of the body in some way so that an autopsy couldn’t be performed. He let it be pretty plain that he thought we were afraid to have an autopsy.”

“Go on,” Mason said as she stopped. “Tell me the rest of it.”

“Well, of course. Dr. Renault kept insisting that the body had been moved, but finally the deputy sheriff, talking around with some of the people in the other cabins, found someone who had seen Ed climb out of the window, get into a car and drive away.”

“The deuce!” Mason exclaimed.

“That’s right. He must have got quite a bit better. The man said Ed was wearing pajamas, that he slid out of the back window. Some car was parked right behind the cabin. Ed stepped on the starter and drove away. Whatever car it was Ed must have stolen it because his car was still there.”

“He was in his pajamas?”

“That’s what the man said. He naturally wondered why. Then he thought perhaps someone was trying to escape a raid or something and—”

“He was close enough to recognize the man he saw,” Mason asked, “to identity him from photographs or—?”

“Oh, heavens no. He was a hundred feet away. He just saw the figure of a man, and he’s quite certain the figure was wearing pajamas. He said they were dotted with red. And those were Ed’s pajamas all right.

“Well, then we tried to get you on the telephone but by that time you had left for Paradise and we didn’t know how to reach you. We left word at the San Francisco Airport in case you stopped there but evidently you missed the message. So we waited until we thought you’d be in Paradise and called the number of Ed’s phone and you answered.”

“Now wait a minute,” Mason said, “tell me one other thing. How do you know Ed had been rolled?”

“Oh yes, I was coming to that. The money that was in his clothes was an even forty-five dollars and he had paid for the cabin in the motel with a fifty-dollar bill that had been worn smooth. Ed was a heavy drinker. He knew that he was apt to be rolled and he always carried a fifty-dollar bill under the leather lining in the sole of his right shoe so that if anyone rolled him he’d have get-by money to get home on.

“There wasn’t even so much as a nickel in change in his pockets—just that forty-five dollars. That was the change he’d been given after paying five dollars for the cabin.”

“But why did he get out of the window?” Mason asked. “And how could he have done that if he was as sick as the doctor claimed?”

“Frankly,” she said, “I don’t think that doctor is willing to tell what really happened. You know when a man dies a doctor gives a shot of some powerful stimulant directly into the heart. I think Dr. Renault did that with Ed and then didn’t wait long enough to see if it took effect. He was too anxious to get out and question us. Something Ed must have said at the last must have convinced the doctor that Ed was blaming his sickness on Myrna in some way.

“Of course the doctor thinks we hid the body and disposed of it, that it even might have been Myrna who got in through the window, put on pajamas and climbed out again.

“If you ask me I think this doctor saw Ed’s heart had stopped and gave him this injection of adrenaline or whatever it is and then went out.

“Ed regained consciousness and that powerful stimulant gave him strength enough to get up and go to the door. When he found it was locked from the outside he got in a panic, crawled out through the window, jumped in the first car he found and drove away.

“It’s absurd to think a frail little thing like Myrna could have moved the body. Anyway why would we be afraid of an autopsy? He’d been taken sick long before we got there.”

“Where are his things?” Mason asked. “His clothes, his baggage.”

“The sheriff’s office took charge of everything. The deputy sheriff was still making an official investigation when we left. He had the key to the place and the place was locked up. We drove to Fresno and called you from there. You told us to get to San Francisco, which we did. We’d previously told the deputy sheriff where he could send Ed’s belongings when they got done with them.”

“Where do you suppose Ed Davenport is?”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“He certainly can’t be driving around in his pajamas, with no money, no driving license—”

“They’ll do funny things when they’ve been drinking,” she said. “Myrna tells me she’s seen Ed just go as crazy as anything when he’s coming out of one of those drinking spells.”

“He’ll be picked up somewhere,” Mason insisted.

“Of course he will. The sheriff’s office put out an alarm to the State Highway Patrol. They’re alerted to be looking for a man in pajamas driving a car. He isn’t safe to be on the road.”

“Does the doctor think he’ll collapse or—?”

“The doctor,” Mrs. Ansel said firmly, “thinks he’s dead.”

“And Ed Davenport made some statement to the doctor that caused him to become suspicious about Myrna?”

“Evidently he did. The doctor asked Myrna about the candy.”

“What candy?”

“Well, Myrna tells me Ed had these drinking fits. Ordinarily he doesn’t care for candy, but he found out that when the craving for alcohol comes on him, if he’ll eat a lot of candy sometimes he can get over the awful craving for liquor.

“Now, as nearly as I can figure things out, before he got to Fresno he felt this craving for liquor coming on and he started eating candy. He carried his candy in his bag just in case of having that craving overtake him.”

“What sort of candy?” Mason asked.

“Chocolates—the kind that have liquid in the centers—liquid and cherries. Myrna says he’d eat a few of those, and then sometimes the craving for liquor would leave him. But after he once started drinking he’d drink until his system got saturated with alcohol.”

Mason said, “All right, I’m going to make a suggestion. There are some seats up in the front of the plane. Miss Street and I are going up there. When we get to Los Angeles I want you and Mrs. Davenport to get off the plane before we do. I want you to take a taxicab out to your home.”

“Why? Why not go in the limousine and then take a taxi?”

Mason shook his head. “I don’t want you to follow the same route that is taken by the limousine. I want you to take a taxicab.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Mason told her, “I want to see if you’re being followed.”

“But why should we be followed?”

“Because you may have been traced to San Francisco, and because the sheriff’s office at Fresno may have decided to keep an eye on you.”

“But why should they? What business is it of theirs? Why, that’s absurd! After all, if Ed Davenport went on a binge and some cutie slipped him knockout drops they can’t hold Myrna responsible.”

“There may be some other angles,” Mason said. “From what you tell me the man is in very poor health. From what Dr. Renault says he must have been in a state of shock, a state of shock which caused the doctor to believe the man was dead. Now then, let’s suppose Ed Davenport started driving around in his pajamas. He was very apt to collapse and die, or he might have become involved in an accident. If he gets injured, with his resistance down to such a low ebb, the injuries may prove fatal.”

“Well, I still don’t see how they expect to hold us responsible for his climbing out of that window. That was the doctor’s fault. Ed was in this state of shock or exhaustion or whatever it was, and that fool doctor shot that adrenaline or something right into his heart. That’s dynamite. They only do that to dead people when there’s no hope. It’s a last desperate gamble. You’d think the fool would have had sense enough to be sure before he left the room.”

Mason nodded thoughtfully.

“Of course,” she went on, “it made a pretty kettle of fish. And you up there in Paradise thinking Ed was dead. Just think what would have happened if he’d headed back to Paradise and found you going through his things. Crazy as he was he might have done anything! We were terribly afraid you might get into trouble up there.”

“I did,” Mason said.

“What was it?”

“Nothing particularly serious,” Mason said. “I’ll tell you both about it when I see what happens after we get to the airport at Los Angeles. In the meantime quit worrying and try and comfort Mrs. Davenport.”

“Oh, she’s all right now. But, Mr. Mason, we’re going to have to do something for her. I’m completely satisfied that Ed Davenport has been going through her money just as fast as he can. She doesn’t care a thing in the world about money just so she can grow flowers, and—”

“How much of Delano’s estate has been distributed?” Mason interposed.

“Well, there was a partial distribution and—it amounts to something over a hundred thousand, I guess, and there’s more money coming in all the time. In addition to all that Ed Davenport raised some money on a note that she signed with him. He told her it was just a matter of form, but you can’t tell me any of that sort of stuff! I wasn’t born yesterday. I think I know something about men!”

“I dare say you do,” Mason said, “but in the meantime we’ll relax until we get to Los Angeles. Then you get in a taxicab and go home, and, if there’s nothing new, be at my office by two-thirty in the afternoon.”

Mason got up, tapped Della on the shoulder and led the way to two vacant seats in the front of the plane.

“Well?” Della Street asked when Mason had seated her by the window and dropped into position in the seat beside her.

“Did you get the story?” Mason asked.

“Most of it,” she said. “Apparently Ed Davenport was on one of his toots and was rolled. He got sick and passed out. The doctor gave him a shot. Davenport came to and found the door locked, so he thought someone was trying to restrain him. He got out of the window, got in somebody’s car and went places.”

“What places?” Mason asked.

“Probably he started home.”

“Not with all of the Highway Patrol being alerted to look for a man driving a car, clad only in pajamas.”

“Well,” she said, “what do you think?”

Mason smiled. “A little bit depends on what Paul Drake has found out about that San Bernardino motel, and a great deal depends on what happens when we get to Los Angeles.”

“You think they were followed to San Francisco?”

Mason nodded.

“You think that man reading the newspaper was interested in them?”

“I think he had cop written all over him,” Mason said. “However, we may as well get a few minutes’ sleep before we land.”

And with that Mason touched the button which slid the seat back into a reclining position.

“Now,” Della Street complained, “you’ve got me wide awake.”

“Doing what?”

“Thinking over what’s happened.”

Mason said sleepily, “Wait an hour and a half and you may have a lot more to think over.”