The Case of the Stepdaughter’s Secret

Chapter Twelve

A little before two o’clock Mason’s unlisted phone rang sharply.

Mason scooped up the instrument, said, “Yes, Paul. What is it?”

Paul Drake’s voice came crisply over the wire. “Just received a call from the man who is staked out on Eve Amory’s apartment. A man answering the description of Con-King Kelsey just pulled up in a car and went in.”

“Alone?” Mason asked.

“Alone,” Drake said.

“Your man has a phone in his car?”

“That’s right. He can keep in touch at all times.”

“Okay,” Mason said. “I’m going out there, Paul.”

“Want company?” Drake asked.

“I think I can handle it alone,” Mason said. “A witness might be a little unhandy. Now, I’m sitting on a deal down at the harbour. We’re waiting for the fog to lift. I understand it may lift any time and I have a helicopter standing by. If Della Street phones that the fog is lifting, get your man who’s staked out on the Amory apartment to come in and tip me off.”

Mason slammed down the receiver, said to Della, “Keep on the job, Della. The minute that fog starts to lift I want to get down to look for that yacht.”

“You’re going out to see Kelsey?” she asked.

“I’m going to have a talk with a blackmailer,” Mason said. “A perfectly frank, heart-to-heart talk.”

“You be careful,” she warned.

Mason grinned at her as he shot through the door.

Mason made time to Eve Amory’s apartment house. Drake’s man, who was staked out on the job, recognizing Mason, came forward and said, “He’s still up there, Mr Mason. You want me to go with you?”

“No, you stay here,” Mason said. “You have radio communication in your car?”

“That’s right.”

“Keep in touch with the office,” Mason said. “If they want me, come and get me.”

“What’ll I say?” the operative asked.

“Just that my office wants me,” Mason said.

“How long will you be up there?”

“Not very long,” Mason said.

He took the elevator, walked down the corridor and jabbed the mother-of-pearl call button on Eve Amory’s apartment.

Chimes sounded on the inside.

After a moment Eve Amory opened the door.

“Hello,” Mason said.

As she stood uncertainly in the doorway, Mason pushed on past her and entered the apartment, where a powerfully built man of around fifty years of age with steady, cold grey eyes looked up at him in venomous appraisal.

“And,” Mason said, “I suppose you’re Stilson L Kelsey, sometimes referred to as Con-King Kelsey, and that document you’re holding in your hand is something you’re trying to get Eve Amory to sign.

“I’m here to tell you that she’s not going to sign it, that I don’t like blackmailers, and that you can get the hell out of here and leave this young woman alone or you’re going to go to prison.”

Kelsey slowly rose, pushed back the chair, said, “I don’t like lawyers. I’m not a blackmailer. I’m a businessman. Call me a sharpshooter, if you want to. I’m smart enough to know a phony setup when I see it.

“This wasn’t blackmail, this was a publicity deal. It’s as phony as a three-dollar bill. For your information, Mr Mason, Eve Amory has just admitted as much to me and I have in my hands a document showing that the whole thing was a frame-up.”

“I’ll show you the kind of a frame-up it was,” Mason said. “Who do you think put that three thousand dollars in the coffee can?”

“I don’t know and I don’t give a damn.”

“I can show exactly who put it in, and that it wasn’t any publicity stunt,” Mason said.

Kelsey regarded the lawyer with shrewd, unblinking eyes, sizing up the situation.

“All right,” he said at length, “I’ll put my cards on the table with you, Mister Lawyer. I get around. I know people. I know a guy by the name of Willmer Gilly. Gilly uncovered some information and started putting the bite on certain people I won’t name at the moment.

“I’m in a position to control Gilly. If somebody wants to deal with me, okay. If they don’t, okay.”

“They don’t,” Mason said. “Get out.”

“Are you paying the rent on this apartment?” Kelsey asked.

“I’m a taxpayer,” Mason said. “I’m paying part of the cost of maintaining the city jail. Now then, I’m going to call your bluff, Kelsey, and I’m going to call it cold. You try to bring any pressure to bear on this young woman to state that this was a publicity stunt, and I’ll come out and show that I put up the money that went in that coffee can. I’ll have the cancelled cheque to prove it and the statement of the banker that the money was handed over to me in ten and twenty-dollar bills and some of the numbers of the bills were kept on a list just to prove where the money came from, in case the question ever arose. Eve Amory isn’t going to sign this statement saying that it was a publicity stunt and that you put up the money or had anything to do with putting up the money because that’s false, and if you try to make any commotion about it we’ll have you up for extortion, for obtaining money under false pretences, and making false statements to the authorities.”

With that, Mason stepped forward, picked up the paper that was on the table in front of Kelsey, tore it into four pieces, and tossed the pieces to the floor.

“Got anything to say, Kelsey?” he asked.

Kelsey regarded him with cold fury. “Not now,” he said. “I’ll have something to say later.”

“Say it to me,” Mason said.

“I’ll say it to you,” Kelsey said, “and when you hear it, you won’t like it.”

Chimes sounded on the door.

Mason jerked it open. Drake’s man was standing on the threshold. “Your office phoned. They want you,” he said.

Mason jerked his head toward the door and said to Kelsey, “Out.”

“You don’t own this apartment,” Kelsey said.

“That’s right,” Mason told him. “Out.”

“You can’t put me out.”

“Want to bet?”

“Now that reinforcements have arrived, maybe you can,” Kelsey said. “Who the hell is this guy?”

“Private detective,” Mason said. “He’s had you under surveillance. We’re getting evidence to throw the book at you on extortion.”

Kelsey’s eyes wavered. He looked for a moment like a trapped animal.

“Show him your credentials,” Mason said to the operative.

The operative took a leather folder from his pocket, exhibited his credentials.

“All right,” Kelsey said, “all right, I’ll go. But you haven’t got a case against me. You may have something against Gilly but you haven’t got it against me.”

Mason said, “Want to bet?”

“No, I don’t want to bet,” Kelsey flared at him. “I’ve half a mind to—”

“Go ahead,” Mason said, as Kelsey’s voice trailed off into silence.

Kelsey turned, stalked out of the apartment.

Mason said to Eve Amory, “Come on, Eve. You’re going to Paul Drake’s office. You’re going to stay there for a few hours until we get this thing ironed out.”

“He threatened to—”

“Sure he did,” Mason said. “He makes his living by making threats. His threats are bluffs. He isn’t going to do any of the things he said he was going to do. He can only get by, by frightening people. Come on, you’re going to Drake’s office and sit there for a while. Get your things. I’m in a hurry.”

“It’ll take me a few minutes,” she said. “I—”

“All right,” Mason said, “I can’t wait.”

He turned to Drake’s operative. “Put her in your car,” he said. “Drive her up to Drake’s office. Let her stay there for a couple of hours. If that man, Kelsey, should be waiting outside and try to make trouble — do you think you can handle him?”

“With one hand,” the operative said with calm confidence.

“All right,” Mason said, “handle him.”

The lawyer turned, dashed down the corridor, took the stairs two at a time, jumped in his car and hurried to the heliport.

Bancroft and Della Street were waiting for him.

“Been here long?” Mason asked.

“Just a few minutes,” Bancroft said. “The pilot said the fog is lifting down at the bay.”

“Let’s go,” Mason told him.

They strapped themselves in the helicopter, and the pilot revved the engine and abruptly took off. They gained elevation rapidly, skimming over the city and the outskirts, then came down lower and raced along over relatively open country.

The fog bank was still ahead of them but as they approached the bay the fog was melting into wisps and streamers, and the pilot, carefully skirting the edge of the fog, slowed the helicopter so that it was hovering motionless over the bay.

“All right,” Bancroft shouted, “there’s the yacht club over there. There’s the mooring that the Jinesa usually occupies.”

“Now show me the oil and gasoline wharf which was recognized last night,” Mason said.

“A little over to the right,” Bancroft told the pilot.

The helicopter hovered over the water.

“Right down here,” Bancroft said.

“No sign of a boat here,” Mason said. “Was there any wind last night?”

“No wind. It was dead calm. That’s the reason a fog came in and stayed so long. There hasn’t been any wind. It’s just beginning to clear off with a slight land breeze.”

Mason said, “The tide was coming in last night. Keep working up to the head of the bay.”

The pilot obediently kept the helicopter moving slowly up the bay.

“Look! Look ahead!” Bancroft said suddenly. “That looks like her.”

“Where?”

“About a mile up ahead.”

Mason nodded to the pilot who sent the helicopter into more rapid forward motion, eventually hovering over a yacht which was anchored out by the edge of the shore line along some mud and sand flats at the head of the bay.

“That your boat?” Mason asked. Bancroft nodded.

“It seems to be anchored,” Mason said.

“That’s right.”

“The tide is now running out?”

“Right.”

“And the anchor is holding it.”

“Yes.”

“Any idea about how deep the water is here?”

“Judging from what I know of the bay and the angle of the anchor chain, I’d say the water was ten or twelve feet deep and there’s about twenty or twenty-five feet of anchor chain out.”

Mason said, “Notice that the dinghy is still attached to the boat.”

“I’ve noticed that,” Bancroft said.

Mason said, “Evidently the boat has been stolen. I think we’d better have a representative of the sheriff’s office with us when we go aboard.”

The helicopter pilot said, “There’s a sheriff’s substation up here a little ways. I can land the helicopter there if you want. Also I have an aerial camera set up in this crate. I can take pictures if you want.”

“We want,” Mason said. “Both the sheriff and the pictures, but don’t say anything about the pictures for a while.”

A few moments later the helicopter settled to a landing by a sheriff’s substation.

Mason quickly explained to the deputy, “We have reason to believe that Mr Bancroft’s yacht was stolen last night. We’ve been looking for it and finally found it. It’s riding at anchor out here and whoever stole it is probably still aboard because the dinghy is still tied to it. Want to look?”

“We’ll look,” the deputy said.

“Got a boat?”

“We have a boat.”

“Let’s go,” Mason told him.

“I’ll stay with the helicopter until you get back,” the pilot said.

The deputy drove them to a landing where they boarded a fast yacht and started up the bay.

“Just keep going,” Mason said. “We’ll tell you when you’re coming to it.”

“It’s about four miles up here near the sand flats,” Bancroft said.

“At anchor?”

“At anchor.”

They moved at high speed up the channel, then slowed as they got into shallower water.

“This is your boat ahead?” the deputy asked.

“That’s it,” Bancroft said.

The deputy piloted the yacht around the boat. “Ahoy the Jinesa!” he called. “Anyone aboard?”

There was no answer.

The deputy said, “I’m going aboard and take a look.”

“Want us with you?” Mason asked.

The deputy shook his head. “You’d better wait here. You say the boat was stolen?”

Bancroft made no answer.

The deputy manoeuvered the speedboat up to the side of the Jinesa, put over a couple of rubber bumpers and tied the two boats together, then sprang aboard lightly.

Bancroft said in a low voice to Mason, “Mason, I’m going to take the rap.”

“What do you mean?”

“If Gilly is dead I’m going to say that I shot him and—”

“You keep your mouth shut,” Mason said, “The best that we can do now is to rely on the fact that the state has to prove a case against a defendant beyond all reasonable doubt.

“Now, you can take this much responsibility. You can state that your wife was hysterical, that you gave her a strong sedative and insisted that she take enough so that it completely put her out.

“But remember this. They can’t find the gun that did the shooting because your wife dropped the gun overboard when she jumped.”

“But can’t they find where she jumped and send down a diver and pick up the gun? It’s in shallow water on a smooth bottom.”

“She doesn’t need to tell her story,” Mason said. “She’s gone this far without it and she’s got to sit tight now. This isn’t the way I like to handle a case, but we’re in a spot where it’s the only way we can handle the case. If and when the time comes for your wife to tell her story, we’ll tell it. But remember that your wife boarded the yacht with a man by the name of Irwin Fordyce. The police find the yacht with Fordyce gone and Gilly killed. They’re not going to make any charges until they find Fordyce and get his story.”

“And when they get his story?” Bancroft asked.

“When they get his story,” Mason said, “the case may be mixed up all to hell. Your wife has simply got to adopt the position that there are reasons why she can’t tell everything that happened. She is going to have to sit tight as to certain phases of what happened last night. She’ll state that she’ll tell her story at the proper time, but that there are reasons why she doesn’t want to make a public statement at this time.”

“That’s going to look like hell,” Bancroft said.

“You got any suggestions that will keep it from looking like hell?” Mason asked. “What you should have done was to have called me last night and let me tell her story to the police about how she had been attacked and had fired wildly in self-defence, not knowing whether she had hit her assailant or not.”

“She knows she hit him,” Bancroft said. “He fell forward and was motionless. Evidently the bullet killed him instantly. She—”

The deputy came back on deck and said, “Look here, we’ve got a complicated situation. There’s a dead man aboard. He’s been dead for some time. Apparently he’s been shot through the heart.”

“That,” Mason said, “complicates the situation.”

The deputy looked at him soberly.

“That,” he said, “is the understatement of the month, and I am now beginning to wonder just why it happened that a yacht owner reporting a stolen boat has one of the leading criminal attorneys in the state along with him.”

Mason grinned and said, “That’s a long story, my friend.”

“Do you want to start telling it now?” the deputy asked.

“No,” Mason said.

“We can get the facts,” the deputy said. “We can get them the easy way or we can get them the hard way.”

“How long has this man been dead?” Mason asked.

“Quite a while, apparently. I don’t want to disturb things. I’m going to notify the sheriff, take this boat in charge, then we’ll move it over to a wharf where we can get technical assistance in order to evaluate the evidence — and I warn both of you that anything you say may be used against you.”

“You’re going to move this boat?” Mason asked.

“We’ll have to move it,” the deputy said. “We have to get to a point where we can have fingerprint men, photographers and experts take a look at the body while it’s still just the way we found it.”

Mason started to say something, then checked himself.

“You’re in charge here,” he said.

“Want to make any statement?” the deputy asked.

Mason shook his head.

“Do you?” the deputy asked Bancroft.

“We’ll wait until after the evidence has been evaluated,” Mason said. “This comes as a distinct shock to us.”

“Well,” the deputy said, “you seem to have been pretty well prepared for the shock.”