The Case of the Troubled Trustee

Chapter Thirteen

Desere Ellis said, "Oh, Mr. Mason, I'm so glad to see you. Isn't this simply too terrible for anything?"

Mason said, "These things nearly always look blacker at the start; then after the facts begin to come to light the case looks better. Are you willing to talk with me?"

"Willing? Why, I'm anxious! I've been wondering how I could get in touch with you. Tell me, how is the case against Kerry? Does it look bad? All I know is that he's been arrested."

"That," Mason said, "is something I can't tell you. I'm Kerry's attorney. I want you to understand that. I'm here as Kerry Dutton's lawyer. I'm representing him and no one else.

"Now, Dutton may be representing you, in a way, but that doesn't mean that I'm representing you. My whole interest in this case is to protect Kerry Dutton against the charges that have been made against him and to get an acquittal, if possible. Do you understand that?"

"Yes."

"All right," Mason said, "let's talk."

"Won't you be seated?" she asked, indicating a comfortable chair.

Mason said, "Thank you," and dropped into the chair.

"May I get you a drink?"

"No," Mason said, smiling, "I'm on duty and when I'm on duty I prefer not to drink. Now then, tell me about Dutton's gun."

"About… Dutton's… gun!"

"That's right."

Her eyes were wide with panic. "What about it?"

"Did he loan it to you?"

"Why… why, yes."

"Where is it?" Mason asked.

"In the drawer, in my bedroom."

"Let's go get it," Mason said.

"All right. I'll bring it to you."

"If it's all the same with you, I'd like to go with you," Mason said.

"Why?"

"One might say, to see how good an actress you are."

"What do you mean?" she flared.

"If you're telling the truth," Mason said, "I think I can detect it. If you're not, I think I can also tell that. It may make a big difference."

"In what way?"

"Let's get the gun first and then I'll tell you."

"All right," she said, "come with me."

She led the way down a passageway, opened the door of a typically feminine room, walked over to a dresser by the bed, triumphantly opened the drawer and then recoiled with her hand on her breast.

"It's… it's not here!"

"I didn't think it would be," Mason said dryly. "The gun was used in killing Rodger Palmer. Now, perhaps you'll tell me how that happened?"

"I don't know," she said. "I-I- Why, I just can't imagine. I would have sworn the gun was here."

Mason eyed her narrowly. "That," he said, "is exactly what I want you to do."

"What?"

"Swear that the gun was there."

"But… but what could have happened to it?"

"Someone took it," Mason said. "Unless you took it and used it."

"What do you mean?"

Mason said, "Did you, by any chance, go out to the Barclay Country Club the night of the murder?"

"No, why?"

"You are a member of the Barclay Club?"

"Yes."

"And, as such, have a key?"

"Heavens, I suppose so. There's one around here somewhere. Wait a minute, I had that in the drawer with the gun."

"You say you had it?" Mason said. "That's past tense."

"All right, if you want to be technical about it, I have it."

"Let's take a look."

She rummaged through the back of the drawer and then triumphantly produced a key.

"Now then," Mason said, "is there any chance that last night you took this key and that gun, went out to the Barclay Country Club, met Rodger Palmer on the seventh tee, had an argument with him over blackmail and shot him?"

"Good heavens, what are you talking about? Are you crazy?"

"I don't think so," Mason said. "I'm just asking you if that happened."

"No!"

Mason said, "There's a pretty good chance that the Palmer murder was committed with Dutton's gun. Now then, as far as you know, that gun was here in this drawer until the day of the murder?"

She regarded him with white-faced emotion. "Of course it was here. Only… only someone must have taken it, because it's gone."

"And you don't know when it was taken?"

Her forehead puckered into a contemplative frown. "I saw it here two days ago, or was it three days ago. I was cleaning out one of the other drawers and wanted a place to put some things. I debated whether to put them in the drawer with the gun. I remember I opened the drawer and saw that the gun was there."

"And you haven't opened the drawer since then?"

"Heavens, Mr. Mason, I just don't know. I'm trying to think. I come in here a dozen times a day. This is my bedroom. I keep things in the drawers. I open them and close them. I-I'm only telling you what I can remember."

"All right," Mason said, "remember that the gun was there two days ago; remember that you thought it was there when I asked you about it. You're going to have to swear to it."

"And this man, Palmer, was shot with Kerry's gun?"

"Apparently so. He was killed sometime during the night of the twenty-first."

"Can they… fix the time any more definitely than that it was just sometime during the night?"

"I think perhaps a little more definitely," Mason said, "but they want to fix it as being around sometime between nine-thirty and two-thirty, because that's when Kerry Dutton was out there at the golf club."

"He was out there?"

"Yes."

She was thoughtfully silent.

"Now then," Mason said, "is there any chance that Kerry Dutton could have been here in the house; could have gone into your bedroom and repossessed that gun from your bedroom drawer?"

She shook her head emphatically.

"Think it over," Mason said. "You see Kerry Dutton from time to time?"

"Mostly I talk with him over the telephone. He -.. he seems to avoid me."

"Has he been here within the last two days at any time that you can remember, prior to the time he had the fight?"

"No."

"You're sure?"

"Of course, I'm sure. He… he just wouldn't come near me. He was terribly hurt."

"Now, the night of the fight was the night of the murder… Was he in your bedroom at any time prior to the start of the fight?"

"Not before the fight started, but afterwards they were all over the place."

"What happened?"

"Fred had been here to see me. He was elated. He wanted me to marry him and to use all the Steer Ridge Oil stock to give him some money with which to carry out that pet project of his."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him I'd have to think it over."

"Then what happened?"

"Then he went home and, shortly afterwards, Kerry was at the door."

"And what did Kerry want?"

"He said he wanted to talk with me privately."

"You invited him in?"

"Yes, of course."

"What was the situation between you? Were relations strained or cordial?"

"I tried to be cordial, but he was terribly standoffish. Finally I asked him what was the matter with him and why he had been so distant during the past few weeks, why he had been avoiding me.

"He said he had something to tell me, that it was going to be difficult. I thought he was going to tell me again how much he loved me and ask me to marry him."

"And you had told him prior to that time that the subject was distasteful to you, that you would be his young sister, but that if he wouldn't be content with that, you couldn't continue being friends?"

Her eyes shifted from Mason's, then she said suddenly, "I wish I'd bitten my tongue off before I'd told him that."

"Why? Had you changed your mind?"

"Frankly, Mr. Mason, I don't know. But it made such a difference in Kerry. It was just as if all the lights had gone off."

"All right, getting back to the night of the twentyfirst," Mason said, "what happened? You asked him why he had been so distant?"

"Well, I… I was glad to see him but had the impression he'd been waiting outside watching Fred's car and waiting for Fred to drive away, and somehow there was something about that that I didn't like."

"And then what happened?"

"Fred had either forgotten something or else he knew that Kerry was waiting. I don't know which. But Kerry was just telling me that he had something to tell me, that he hoped I wouldn't tell Fred or tell Fred's mother. He said they were trying to dominate my thinking and said I should quit running around with that type of person."

"And then," Mason prompted, as she hesitated.

"And then, all of a sudden, Fred's voice came from the doorway. He'd come back and hadn't knocked or pressed the button or anything. He just opened the door and stood there sneering."

"You said you heard his voice from the doorway?"

"Yes. He started telling Kerry a lot of things-that it was moneygrubbers like Kerry who were running the world, that really constructive thinkers stood no chance."

"Then what?"

"Then Kerry walked up to him, told him to shut up and get out, that he was talking to me and had some information that was for my ears alone."

"Go on," Mason said.

She said, "Fred's face got flushed with anger. Usually, he tries to appear to be cool, to hide his emotions beneath that attitude of calm contempt.

"This time, he got mad and said, 'Why, you little moneygrubbing pipsqueak,' and made a swing at Kerry."

"Did the blow land?"

She said, "I can't tell you everything that happened. I never saw anything in my life as fast as Kerry Dutton. He was all over the place, in and out, avoiding Fred's swings and punching Fred all over.

"Then Fred made a dash for the bedroom, and Kerry was right after him. Fred was screaming, and some woman in the adjoining apartment was shouting for the police. They were making a terrific noise; and in the bedroom some furniture got smashed."

"How did that happen?" Mason asked.

"They broke the nightstand, I guess, when someone fell against it; and someone jerked open a bureau drawer-not the upper one that had the gun, but one of the lower ones where I keep clothes and lingerie."

"And then?" Mason asked.

"Then Kerry really flattened him, because Fred was lying on the floor, and Kerry came running by me. He said, 'I'm sorry, Desere. I'll see you later.'

"I had already telephoned for the police while they were struggling in the bedroom. The woman in the adjoining apartment had been screaming for the police; and just a few minutes after Kerry left, and while Fred was getting himself together and trying to get to his feet, the police came and asked a lot of questions about what had happened.

"Fred told his story. But he lied, Mr. Mason. He lied about several things. My opinion of him went down when I heard the way he told the police what had happened."

"Did the police believe him?"

"At first, I think they did. Then they asked him to describe Kerry, and when he told them how tall he was and how much he weighed and how old he was and they looked at Fred Hedley standing over six feet and broad-shouldered, one of the officers said to Fred, 'Well, you wouldn't have had any trouble if you'd landed that first punch.'

"And Fred walked right into the trap and said, 'You can say that again. The shifty little pipsqueak ducked that punch and slammed me in the stomach so hard it knocked the wind out of me. Then he was climbing all over me while I was half paralyzed from the solar plexus punch.'

"Then the officer grinned and said, 'So you really did start the fight? It was you that took the first punch.'"

"And then?" Mason asked.

"Then the officers told him he'd brought it on himself and refused to give him a warrant for Kerry's arrest."

Mason said, "Tell me a little more about what Hedley was talking about-what he wanted."

"What he wanted was an endowment for this art center of his."

"What is it-an art gallery, a school, or what?" Mason asked.

"Oh, it varies from time to time. It's one of his rather nebulous ideas. And yet, in some ways, it isn't so nebulous. What he wants is to encourage artists to start a whole new school."

"A new school?"

"Well, more along the lines of a branch of modern art. Something that's a cross between the so-called modernistic school and the primitive school, interpretive art."

"He's quite definite in his ideas as to what he wants?"

"Well, as to what he wants, but not exactly how he intends to go about getting what he wants.

"Mainly he thinks that art is decadent; that color photography has made pictorial art, in the conventional sense, passe; that the so-called modernistic school is, at times, too lacking in the proper subject matter. So what he wants is to get people to paint things the way they see them, particularly portraits."

"He paints, himself?"

"Only vague outlines illustrating his technique."

"Do you have some of his paintings?"

"Not here, but- Well, he goes in for portraits. He.encourages students to paint them with exaggerated facial characteristics.

"If you went to a conventional portrait painter, he'd smooth out all of your lines, and- Not that there are any lines, of course, I'm just talking figuratively-and soften the whole contour of the features so that you would be better looking.

"Hedley doesn't believe in that. He wants it done just the other way around. He emphasizes the predominant features. His paintings are something like colored cartoons. As he says, he paints the character rather than the flesh."

"And he wants you to endow that school of art?"

"Yes, to have it take its rightful place as the modern type of portrait painting"

"Do you think he could ever sell portraits of that sort?"

"Who knows? After the vogue catches on, he probably could. But that's why he needs to have an endowment, just to get started. You see, people probably wouldn't pose for their portraits-that is, not for that kind of a portrait.. - unless it became stylish."

"I can readily understand that much," Mason said.

She hurried on. "His first subjects would be prominent men that he'd get from the newspapers. You see very good pen-and-ink, black-and-white cartoons, but what he wants to do is to make something that is almost a cartoon-not quite. It stops just short of being a cartoon but it would be in color and would be beautifully done."

"Does he have the ability and technique to do it beautifully?"

"Not now. He wants to develop. Really, Mr. Mason, I don't know why you started cross-examining me about Fred Hedley."

"Because I'm trying to get certain facts and I want to have those facts straight. Now, when Hedley talks about an endowment, he really means he wants to give financial aid to certain aspiring artists who can't make a living otherwise. Is that right?"

"I guess so, yes."

"And he's an aspiring artist who can't make a living?"

"He may be the founder of a whole new school of painting."

"And he intends to subsidize himself?"

"He says he'd be untrue to his art if he didn't."

"With your money?"

"Of course. What other money would he have?"

"That's a good question," Mason said.

"Well, of course, he despises moneygrubbing."

"All right," Mason said, "the police are going to question you."

"But I can't understand how anything like that could have happened. I mean, how Kerry could have taken the gun."

"He had plenty of opportunity," Mason said, "but if we're going to save Dutton's neck, we've got to find out how it happened. Unless, of course, Dutton killed him."

"Do you think he did, Mr. Mason?"

"He's my client," Mason said with a wry smile. And then after a moment, "Thank you very much for your co-operation, Miss Ellis."