The Case of the Shoplifter's Shoe

Chapter 10

Virginia Trent sat up in bed and regarded Mason with heavy eyes. “Good morning, Mr. Mason,” she said thickly.

“How do you feel?” Mason asked.

She made tasting noises with her mouth and said, “I don’t know. The nurse just woke me up.”

A nurse, standing by the side of the bed, said, “You were pretty much unstrung. The doctor gave you a sedative.”

“I’ll say he did,” Virginia Trent said, rubbing her eyes. “I’ll bet I look a fright. Give me a mirror and a drink of water.”

The nurse brought the water but not the mirror. Virginia Trent drank it petulantly, regarded the heavy flannel nightgown which came high up around her neck and said to the nurse, “That’s a nightgown I hardly ever wear? Where did you find it?”

“It was in the bottom drawer on the right-hand side. I...”

“Well, why didn’t you get the ones in the upper drawer on top?”

“You’d had quite a shock,” the nurse said. “I was afraid you might get chilled. Your resistance was lowered. The sedative started taking effect in the taxicab.”

Virginia Trent said, “I remember now — those officers. They’re a bunch of sadists. They love to torture the helpless.”

“What did they do?” Mason asked.

“Thundered questions at me and almost drove me crazy,” she said. “I guess I had hysterics again.”

“You did,” the nurse told her.

“Then what happened?”

“Finally a doctor gave you a sedative, and I was detailed to take you home and see that you slept.”

“You mean, to see that I didn’t try to escape,” Virginia Trent said. The nurse was tactfully silent. “Where’s my aunt?”

“In the hospital. She had only a very light concussion, and slept most of the night. The doctor didn’t let the officers know she was conscious until this morning.”

“How is she?”

Mason said, “Don’t worry. She’s quite able to take care of herself.”

“What was all this they told me about finding her bag with the gun which killed Austin Cullens?”

Mason said, “They haven’t been able to establish that it’s her bag yet.”

She yawned prodigiously. “You’re going to have to wait, Mr. Mason, while I wash my face in cold water and clean my teeth.”

“All right,” Mason told her, “I’m sorry I had to disturb you, but we have work to do.”

“About — about — Uncle George — what did they find out?”

“Nothing, so far as I know,” Mason said. “If they found out anything, they’re keeping it secret.”

“Is he — is — that is...”

“They had to make a postmortem on the body,” Mason said. “It’s at a funeral home now.”

“Turn your back,” she told him. “I’m getting up.”

“I’ll do better than that,” Mason said, “I’ll wait downstairs in the library. Do you feel as though you could talk on an empty stomach?”

“No,” she said shortly. “Where’s Itsumo?”

“Downstairs,” the nurse said.

“All right, I’m going to take a quick tub. Tell him I want tomato juice, with lots of Worcestershire sauce, coffee, scrambled eggs and toast. And you’re going to have to wait, Mr. Mason, until I get to feeling halfway decent before I talk about anything.”

Mason said, “I’ll be downstairs.”

“How about joining me with some eggs?”

“No, thanks. I had breakfast long ago.”

“Coffee, then.”

“I could go for a cup of coffee and a cigarette,” Mason told her. “I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

It was a good twenty minutes before she joined him. The Japanese cook served them with swiftly silent efficiency. Mason waited until she had finished eating and was sipping her second cup of coffee after the meal. “Suppose,” he said, “you tell me about it.”

“About what?”

“About everything.”

“I don’t know a thing to tell. You know as much as I do.”

“How about that gun in the desk — did you know it was there?”

“Good Heavens, yes! I should have. I’ve shot it enough.”

“You have?”

She nodded. “When?” Mason asked.

“Off and on for the last six months. About once a week I go out in the country and practice.”

“May I ask why?” Mason inquired.

“Because,” she said grimly, “I’m there alone much of the time. There are thousands of dollars worth of jewels in that vault. I certainly don’t propose to be stuck up, and stand there like a ninny while some highwayman goes through the vault and cleans Uncle George out.”

“Aren’t they insured?”

“Some of them are. But it isn’t a question of the insurance, Mr. Mason, it’s a question of the development of my own character. I Want to be self-reliant... If you keep walking with crutches, your legs get weak. I want to stand on my own two feet... I have a boyfriend who... well, he likes self-reliant women... and he’s quite a revolver shot. I want to share in his life. I want to like the things he likes. I want to be his pal. I think a woman who doesn’t cultivate the same tastes as the man she’s interested in is making a big mistake. Biologically, we know that opposites attract each other, but that’s opposite temperaments. After the original attraction has cooled, the basis of companionship has to be a sharing of interests. People can’t get along forever, just on the strength of a biological attraction. Companionship between the sexes is comprised of two very distinct stages. First, there’s the biological reaction. Then there’s the...”

Mason said, “I’m talking about revolver shooting. You’re talking about matrimony.”

“Not matrimony,” she said, “just the basic reactions. Matrimony is an outgrowth of...”

“Never mind what it is,” Mason said. “Let’s quit talking about what you’re talking about and talk about what I’m trying to talk about.” She flushed. “And that,” Mason said, “means revolver shooting.”

“Well,” she said, “there’s nothing to add to what I’ve told you. For the past six months I’ve been practicing revolver shooting. And,” she said, “I’ve become quite proficient.”

“Your practice was with this thirty-eight caliber?”

“Most of it. I fired some shots from what they call a service revolver, but it had too much recoil.”

“Did you,” Mason asked, “tell the officers about all this revolver practice?” She nodded. “Then how were you able to convince them you hadn’t shot your uncle?”

“Partially,” she said, “because of the fact he was killed Saturday afternoon, and, as it happened, I could account for every minute of my time. Tell me, Mr. Mason, are they going to start pounding me with a lot of third-degree stuff again this morning?”

“I don’t think so,” Mason said.

“What makes you think they won’t?”

“Because,” Mason told her, “I’m going to be here.”

“They won’t let you stay,” she said.

Mason grinned and said, “It happens that they have nothing to say about it unless they actually arrest you, charge you with murder, and take you to jail. So far, they’re not ready to do that. I have a court order permitting me, as your attorney, to confer with you. Of course, the nurse has telephoned the news, and... Here they come, now.”

A siren sounded, and Virginia Trent pushed back her coffee cup. “I suppose,” she said wearily, “I can take it, but... well, coming on top of all the other things — and finding Uncle George...”

Mason said, “Promise me you won’t get nervous. Sit tight and let me do the arguing.”

“The officers won’t like that,” she said.

Before Mason could say anything, there was the sound of steps on the porch of the big house. The nurse beat Itsumo to the front door. She flung it open and said, “They’re in the dining room.”

Sergeant Holcomb and two plain-clothes detectives marched through the door and into the dining room. “What’s the idea?” Sergeant Holcomb demanded of Perry Mason.

“Court order,” Mason said, showing him a document.

“I knew I should have kept you in jail,” Sergeant Holcomb said to Virginia Trent. “That’s what I get for trying to give you a break.”

“Don’t blame me,” she said indignantly. “I was sleeping when Mr. Mason woke me up.”

“And, if you’d held her in jail,” Mason said, “I’d have had a writ of habeas corpus, so it’s just as broad as it is thick.”

Sergeant Holcomb sat down and motioned the two detectives to chairs. “I suppose,” he said to Perry Mason, “you’re going to advise her not to answer questions, and stand on her constitutional rights?”

“On the contrary,” Mason said, “we’re going to do everything we can to assist you.”

“Yes, I have a picture of that,” Sergeant Holcomb said sarcastically. “You may not know it, but this young woman has admitted to me that she knew the gun was in the drawer, that she’s taken it with her into the country on several occasions, and has Practiced with it until she’s a very fair shot.”

“So what?” Mason asked.

“Draw your own conclusions,” Holcomb said.

“I suppose,” Mason told him, “you’ve performed a postmortem?”

Holcomb nodded.

“All right,” Mason said, “let’s go at the thing sensibly. George Trent was killed some time Saturday afternoon.”

“How do you know?”

Mason said, “I haven’t found out just what the autopsy surgeon has to say on the subject, but the body was dressed as it had been dressed on Saturday. There wasn’t much of a stubble, the shirt was not particularly soiled. Moreover, the body had been placed in a packing case and lifted to a place of concealment on the top of a pile of packing cases. George Trent was a big man. His niece could no more have placed the body up there than she could have lifted a corner of the office building.”

“An accomplice could have done it for her,” Sergeant Holcomb said.

Mason nodded. “What’s more,” Sergeant Holcomb told him, “don’t forget that this man had started out to get drunk. He’d taken his car down and parked it in a zone which is restricted to thirty-minute parking during the daytime. He’d taken out the car keys, put them in an envelope and mailed them to himself at the office. Then he’d gone out to get drunk and gamble.”

“Exactly,” Mason said, “and something happened to make him return to his office. Now, what was it?”

“I don’t know,” Sergeant Holcomb admitted. “That’s what I want to find out.”

“Don’t you think you’d get farther if you started investigating from that end before you browbeat Miss Trent simply because she happened to know that a gun was in that drawer and knew how to use it?”

“I’m not browbeating anyone.”

“The girl had hysterics last night,” Mason said. “You carried her up to headquarters and shot questions at her until she had to be put under the care of a doctor.”

“All right, we got a doctor and sent her home when she had hysterics the second time,” Holcomb said. “She’s all right this morning.”

Mason said, “I have reason to believe that the first and only gambling place George Trent went to was The Golden Platter on East Third.”

“All right, what of it?”

“Something happened there to make him go back to his office. Don’t you think it would be a good plan for you to try and find out what that something was?”

“I’m running my investigation,” Sergeant Holcomb said.

“Moreover.” Mason went on smoothly, “if you neglect this end of it, and the charge should be made that the officers are deliberately overlooking that angle because it suited their policy to close their eyes to a gambling establishment running wide open, don’t you think...”

“Who says there’s a gambling establishment there?” Sergeant Holcomb demanded belligerently.

“I do,” Mason told him. “Now, what are you going to do about it?”

Sergeant Holcomb thought for a minute and said, “I’m going to make it my business to investigate it.”

“All right,” Mason said, “and I’m going to make it my business to investigate your investigation. In the meantime, I’m going to account for every single minute of this young woman’s time on Saturday afternoon and Saturday evening... You closed the office at noon, Virginia?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you go?”

“I went out in the country.”

“For a walk?”

“Yes. My boyfriend and I were doing some...”

Mason said, “All right, I want to go into that with you in private. I think we’ll let Sergeant Holcomb conclude the other angle of his investigation before we...”

Holcomb said, “That answer sort of floored you, didn’t it, Mason?”

“What’s wrong with that answer?” Mason asked.

Holcomb said, “You don’t need to be so fast when it comes to covering up, Mason. I know what you’re afraid of. Now let me tell you something. This young woman told us all about that last night. I asked her if she took the gun with her, and she said yes. She and her friend were doing some shooting.”

Mason flashed a swift glance of inquiry at Virginia Trent. She nodded and said, “All right, what if I did? We’ve been doing it for the last six months. He can account for every minute of my time during the afternoon.”

“Just who is this boyfriend?” Mason asked.

“Lieutenant Ogilby. He’s in my psychology class at night school.”

Mason looked at Sergeant Holcomb. Holcomb nodded. “He checks,” he said shortly. “They went out about one-thirty. Trent was eating lunch at the counter next to his office building when they left. She arrived back here about six. They’d been together all the time.”

Mason said, “Excuse me, I’m going to put in a telephone call. Where’s the telephone, Miss Trent?”

“There in the hallway,” she told him.

Mason dialed Paul Drake’s office, said, “Is Paul in?... All right, let me talk with him... Hello, Paul. This is Perry Mason. What did your men find out from the janitor at Trent’s office building?”

Drake said, “I have a complete report on that, Perry. Trent closes his office at noon on Saturday, but there are lots of offices in that same building which stay open all Saturday afternoon, so they keep regular elevator service running until six-thirty Saturday night. After six-thirty, the elevators all shut down except the one operated by the janitor. The janitor has an In-and-Out Book that people have to sign when they ride in the elevator. Now, that In-and-Out Book shows that Virginia Trent went up to the office Saturday evening about eight o’clock and stayed until about nine-ten. Sarah Breel went to the office Sunday morning at ten-thirty, and stayed until twelve-five. That’s all. It doesn’t show Trent himself either in or out. That means Trent must have gone out some time Saturday afternoon, started to get drunk, and then returned to the office before six-thirty. Up until six-thirty, he could ride up and down in the elevators without anyone paying any attention to him.

“The janitor went into Trent’s office at seven-thirty to clean up. He was there half an hour. No one else was there. He saw Virginia Trent leaving the elevator just as he was leaving the office — so he left the door open for her. She was alone. Now then, here’s something else, Perry. One of the newspaper boys tells me the autopsy surgeon has checked up on the time of death pretty accurately. They’ve found out where Trent had lunch Saturday, and when. Their best guess is that he was killed about four-thirty o’clock Saturday afternoon, very probably not later than five. The police don’t like that, but those are the facts just the same.”

Mason said, “Thanks,” hung up and walked back to the dining room.

“Well, Sergeant,” he said, “let’s get down to brass tacks. If you want to put a charge against Miss Trent, go right ahead.”

“I’m not putting any charge against her,” Holcomb said. “I’m trying to get facts.”

Mason said, “In other words, George Trent was killed not later than five o’clock Saturday afternoon. Miss Trent had that gun in her possession Saturday afternoon, and she had a good alibi.”

Sergeant Holcomb leaned toward Perry Mason. “Mason,” he said, “you and I have been on the opposite sides of a few cases Let’s not let it keep us from talking sense on this case. I don’t know what we’re going to find out. But I do know that it’s a physical impossibility for Virginia Trent to have had that gun with her Saturday afternoon. She’s mistaken about it, that’s all, and if she persists in that mistake, it’s going to keep us from getting a conviction when we arrest Trent’s murderer. Now, I want this young woman to cooperate, that’s all.”

Mason grinned at Virginia Trent and said, “Go ahead and cooperate.”

“But I don’t see what you’re getting at,” she said, “I...”

“Sergeant Holcomb perhaps didn’t know as much when he was questioning you last night as he does now,” Mason told her. “If he did, he was holding out. Your uncle was killed before seven-thirty.”

“But he doesn’t need to have been shot with the revolver that was in that desk,” she said. “Good Heavens, there are plenty of thirty-eight caliber revolvers...”

“No, there aren’t,” Holcomb said. “Our ballistics department has made micro-photographs of the bullet which killed your uncle and a test bullet fired from that gun. The bullets came from the same gun. Now then, what time did you and Lieutenant Ogilby return?”

“I think we got here at the house at about six o’clock.”

“Your friend didn’t stay for dinner?”

“No.”

Sergeant Holcomb said, “Let’s get that Jap in here.”

One of the men stepped into the kitchen and brought in the Japanese, who stood squat, poised and inscrutable, his lacquer-black eyes returning Sergeant Holcomb’s glowering scrutiny. “What’s your name?”

“Itsumo.”

“You have another name?”

“Yes, sir. Itsumo Shinahara.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Five months three days today.”

“Do you remember Saturday night?”

“Very well, sir.”

“What time did you have dinner?”

“Thirty minutes behind seven o’clock.”

“You mean six-thirty?”

The man grinned. “Yes, sir.”

“Who was here at dinner?”

“Miss Virginia and Mrs. Sarah Breel. Mr. George Trent not come.”

“You knew he was not coming?”

“No, sir.”

“You set a place for him?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you know what time Miss Trent came in Saturday afternoon?”

“About twenty minutes before dinner time. I look at clock to see about cooking meat.”

“What kind of meat?”

“Steak, please.”

“How long were they at dinner?”

“You mean how long take to eat dinner?”

“Yes.”

“I have Saturday night off,” Itsumo said. “I have appointment with friend to study enlargement of films at camera school. Class is eight o’clock. I hurry very quickly, get finished with dishes thirty minutes behind eight o’clock. I telephone my friend and take street car twenty minutes behind eight o’clock. I get to class just short time before class starts. I think perhaps one minute.”

“And were Mrs. Breel and Miss Trent here when you left?”

“Miss Virginia leave before I did, perhaps five minutes. Mrs. Sarah Breel is here, please.”

Sergeant Holcomb turned to Virginia Trent. “Did you,” he asked, “clean the gun after you shot it?”

“Certainly. I cleaned it and oiled it in my room. My uncle showed me how to take care of it.”

“And you cleaned and oiled it?”

“Yes.”

“And reloaded the gun?”

“Yes.”

“And didn’t take it to the office until eight o’clock?”

“I think it was almost exactly eight o’clock.”

Sergeant Holcomb shook his head and said, “Now, look here, Miss Trent, you’re mistaken about that gun. That gun killed your uncle. Your uncle met his death around four-thirty Saturday afternoon. Now then, you couldn’t have had that gun with you.”

“But I did have it.”

Sergeant Holcomb said, “Now wait a minute. You think you had it, but you didn’t notice it particularly, did you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t check the numbers on the gun?”

She smiled and said, “Of course not.”

“You simply took a gun out of the desk drawer and put it in your purse, didn’t you?”

She nodded. “And all you know is it was a thirty-eight caliber revolver?”

“It was the same make,” she said, “as the one I’d been shooting, I know that.”

“But there’s nothing about it which will enable you absolutely to identify it, is there?”

“No,” she said slowly, “there isn’t.”

“Now then, at eight o’clock Saturday night, you returned to the office and put that gun which was in your purse in the drawer, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Was there any other gun in the drawer at that time?”

“No.”

“How were you dressed when you returned that gun to the office?”

“What do you mean?” she asked. “I had on street clothes.”

“Were you wearing gloves?”

She frowned for a moment and said, “I was wearing gloves when I came to the office, but I... No, I wasn’t, either. I wasn’t wearing gloves.”

“The gun was in your purse?”

“Yes.”

“And you took it out and put it in the drawer?”

“Yes.”

“Did you handle it at all — that is, did you make any investigation to make certain it was loaded?”

“I opened the cylinder and looked at it to make certain it was loaded, yes. I always do that before I put it in the drawer.”

Sergeant Holcomb said triumphantly, “All right, Miss Trent, that proves my point. You didn’t have the gun which killed George Trent.”

Her silence showed her complete lack of conviction.

“What makes you think she didn’t?” Mason asked.

“Because,” Holcomb said, “our examination of that gun shows that the last person who handled it had been wearing gloves. Any latent fingerprints which were on it were smudged so they were virtually valueless, and from the manner in which the prints were smudged, our expert figured the gun was last handled by someone with gloves. And it had been handled quite a bit.”

Mason flashed a quick glance at Virginia Trent, then turned back to Sergeant Holcomb. “Go ahead, Sergeant, let’s hear the rest of it.”

Sergeant Holcomb said, “I think you can cooperate with us in this, Mason. You see what happened. Someone removed George Trent’s gun and put another one in its place. Some time Monday morning, that person returned George Trent’s gun to the drawer and took out the one which had been left there.”

“Why do you say Monday morning?” Mason asked.

“Because no one went to the office after six-thirty Saturday night, until eight o’clock Monday morning, with the exception of Miss Trent Saturday evening, and Mrs. Breel Sunday.”

“I see,” Mason said, “and just what do you want us to do?”

Sergeant Holcomb’s tone was almost pleading. “Newspaper reporters are going to be talking with this young woman,” he said. “I don’t want her to say anything about the gun.”

Mason turned to Virginia Trent. “Under the advice of your counsel,” he said, “you’re not to discuss this case with anyone. Do you understand?”

She nodded. Sergeant Holcomb gave Mason his hand. “That,” he said, “is damned white of you, Mason.”

Mason grinned. “Not at all, Sergeant. It’s always a pleasure to cooperate with you.”