The Case of the Troubled Trustee

Chapter Nine

As Mason and Della Street walked down the little sidewalk in front of the auto courts, Drake's detective came running toward them, motioning frantically.

Mason quickened his step.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I called Drake to report, and he's on the phone. Something he wants to tell you about right away. Says it's terribly important; that I should get you. He's going to hold the line until you can come."

Mason nodded to Della Street, hurried down the walkway under the palms and banana trees, his long legs making the detective trot to keep up, while Della Street made no attempt to match the pace.

In the phone booth, where the receiver was off the hook, Mason closed the door, picked up the receiver, said, "Yes? Hello."

Drake's voice said, "That you, Perry?"

"Right."

"All right," Drake said, "there's a rumble. I don't know how bad it is as far as your client is concerned, but it's pretty bad at this end."

"Murder?" Mason asked.

"Right. How did you know?"

"The officers moved in on Dutton while I was talking with him."

Drake said, "Here's all I know. An early golfer found a body on tee seven at the Barclay Country Club. The man had been shot once."

"Did they find the weapon?" Mason asked.

"I don't know," Drake said. "This much I do know. An attempt had been made to keep the police from identifying the victim and apparently that attempt has succeeded to date.

"Everything in the man's pockets had been taken. There isn't so much as a handkerchief. The labels had been cut from the inside of the coat pocket and on the little hanging strap at the back of the neck.

"The cutting had been skillfully done with a very sharp knife or a razor blade.

"The time of death hasn't been officially determined as yet, but it could be at just about the time our man tailed Dutton out to the golf club-that's within the general over-all time limit that they've mapped out for the murder. After they have a complete autopsy, they may let Dutton off the hook. Right now I understand the tentative time is fixed between nine-thirty last night and two-thirty this morning."

"All right," Mason said. "Now, your man couldn't get into the club because it was a key job?"

"That's right. You have to go in through the clubhouse to get to the course."

"There must be a service road," Mason said.

"There is, somewhere. I haven't looked it up."

Mason said, "At that hour of the night, the murdered man probably let himself in with a key. It's a cinch that Dutton did."

"Dutton's a member of the club," Drake said.

"All right, probably the other man is, too. Get photog'raphs from the newspaper reporters and start covering members who are regular players and-"

"We're way behind on that," Drake said, "the police have five detectives interviewing all the members whose record of greens fees shows that they've been playing regularly. They have photographs of the dead man and they're trying to make an identification."

"Have you seen a photograph?"

"No," Drake said. "I have a general description."

"Shoot."

"A man about fifty-five," Drake said, "with dark hair, powerful broad shoulders, slightly stooped, black eyes, about six feet one inch in height, weight two hundred and five pounds, very hairy hands, big powerful wrists."

"No keys on him?" Mason asked.

"No keys, no coins, no knife, no handkerchiefs, no pens, no pencils-nothing."

Mason said thoughtfully, "Paul, you talked about a man you thought was a process server who was waiting to serve papers on Dutton?"

"That's right, he- By George, Perry, it could be the same man. The description fits."

"You'd recognize the man if you saw him?"

"Sure."

"Stay away from the morgue," Mason said. "Let's see if you can get a look at the police photographs."

"Gosh, Perry," Drake wailed, "if I make the guy, I'll have to go to the police. That's evidence a private detective can't withhold."

"You can't make a positive identification from a newspaper photograph like that," Mason said. "You'd have to see the corpse."

"Well, you were talking about police photographs."

"I was," Mason said. "Now I am talking about newspaper photographs… Della and I are on our way back just as fast as we can get there. I'll leave my car here. I'll get my friend Munoz to fly us to San Diego. You have Pinky waiting at the San Diego airport with a twin-motored job to bring us in to the Tn-City Airport, and sit tight until we get there. Meet us at Tn-City Airport."

"Even if there's a very good resemblance in the newspaper photographs, I'd have to run it down," Drake said. "In a murder case my license wouldn't be worth a thin dime if I held out an identification."

"You and your license," Mason said.

"Me and my living," Drake told him. "I'll have the plane in San Diego by the time you get there."

"We'll get there pretty darn fast," Mason said and hung up.