The D.A. Breaks an Egg

24

Brandon picked up the telephone, said to the operator, “Rush through a call to the sheriff’s office at El Centro. I’ll hold the line. Put it through as a police emergency.”

A moment later Brandon said, “Hello. This is Brandon at Madison City. About this prisoner, Frank Grannis, I have reason to believe he’s innocent of that hit-and-run charge. I think he was framed on that, but he can be of a lot of help to us on a case we’re working on up here; a murder case, and there’s a question of subornation of perjury in connection with it. Now you might get in touch with him and explain to him that if he wants to co-operate we’ll try to dig up proof that will get him out of the charge down there. We’ll show you that you really have the wrong party and... what’s that? When?

“I see. All right. Well then, I guess that’s that. Good-by.”

Brandon hung up the telephone, turned to Selby and said, “Too late again.”

“What happened?”

“Carr rang up the judge at seven-thirty this morning, told him there’d been some trouble with the surety bond and talked the judge into making a new order for one thousand dollars’ cash bail. Carr had a local attorney on the ground with the cash within ten minutes of the time the new bail order was made. Frank Grannis walked out of jail over an hour ago. With the stakes Carr’s playing for, a thousand dollars is a drop in the bucket. He’ll toss that away and think nothing of it. We’ll never find Grannis. Not now.”

Brandon slumped down in the chair. “Damn the guy. He always seems to be one jump ahead of us.”

Selby, snuggling the warm bowl of his pipe in his hand, started walking the floor, from time to time putting the pipe to his mouth for a few thoughtful puffs.

“Now,” he said, “the thing begins to make a pattern we can follow and understand. Darwin Jerome, intensely jealous, driving like a madman, trying to beat Moana Lennox back to Madison City, hits a cyclist on a lonely, deserted section of the road across the sand dunes from Yuma to El Centro.

“We can probably give him credit for having stopped to investigate. He found he’d killed a Mexican cyclist and that there was nothing he could do by way of giving aid. So he got back in his car and speeded on toward Madison City.

“He got there and waited for Moana. He found her driving with a man who actually was a stranger; but Darwin was hurt and jealous and thought that man had followed them and was the real reason Moana had jilted him. He knew that this man had been over the same road he had traveled, and he knew that Moana would never dare to come forward and give him an alibi. In order to do that she’d have to ruin her reputation. So Darwin did a clever thing as far as he’s concerned. He knew the motel where Grannis was staying. He waited until he was certain Grannis was asleep, then he took an iron bar, dented a fender and broke off a piece from the right headlight lens, being as silent as possible. Then he drove back to the place where the accident had occurred. It was probably daylight by that time, so he had no trouble finding the place. He dropped the piece from Grannis’s headlight by the body, where it was certain to be found, and then telephoned the sheriff’s office at El Centro that there was a dead man over in the dunes, and gave the approximate mileage.

“By that simple expedient Jerome put Moana in a spot, got out of his own difficulty, and put a potential rival in jail.

“Moana’s conscience bothered her. She went to A. B. Carr. Carr is a clearinghouse for criminal cases. He saw a chance to clear up some case that had been bothering him, by tying it onto Moana’s case. Now then, Rex, I think the murder is connected with that other case and I think we’re only going to solve the murder when we find out what that case was.”

“How can we find out?”

“It’s a case Rose Furman was working on. She was a detective. We’ve found out she was working on two cases but both of those apparently were closed. She could have had other cases. Something that was pretty close to home as far as old A. B. Carr was concerned.”

Brandon said, “I’m with you all the way, Doug, except that I go a lot further. I think she was working on a case involving Carr, and I think Carr knew about it, and I think he made an appointment to meet Moana and Daphne Arcola, and then when he found out Rose Furman was following him, he slipped a knife into her back and...”

“Wait a minute,” Selby said. “How do we know, Rex, that both of those cases Rose Furman was working on were cleaned up?”

“Well, both clients told us so.”

“And how did they know?”

“They’d received reports from Rose Furman.”

“But had they?”

“What do you mean? She’d left a note in the typewriter in one case and sent a telegram in the other.”

“How do we know she did? We don’t have her signature on either one. There’s a telegram for one thing, and a typewritten note for another. Where are her signatures?”

Brandon came bolt upright in his chair. “Where was that telegram sent from, Doug?”

“Corona. Of course, the assumption is that she sent the telegram, then went to her apartment, wrote the letter, and then started back for Madison City. But that letter could have been written in her apartment and the telegram sent later on from Corona as she was on her way back to Madison City. Now the question is, what brought her back?”

“A. B. Carr,” Brandon said positively.

“Let’s investigate and see what we can find out,” Selby said. “First rattle out of the box, let’s find out from Corona about the person who sent that wire. It may have been a man.”

“What’s holding us back?” Brandon said enthusiastically. “Now we’re on the right track.”

“You have some pictures of Rose Furman?”

“That’s right. Come on, let’s get started.”

They went pell-mell down the Courthouse steps.

Harry Elrod, The Blade reporter, came running toward them. “What is it, boys?” he asked. “Have you got a tip?”

They ignored him, but pushed on through the back door of the Courthouse into the official parking space.

Elrod, running along behind, shouted, “Hey, what’s it all about? What’s...”

They jumped into the sheriff’s car. The doors slammed.

Elrod made a dash for his own car, climbed in, and started the motor.

The sheriff, watching out of the corner of his eye, said, “This is going to be good. We’ll let him try to follow us.”

He gunned the powerful motor into life, switched on the red spotlight, and threw on the siren. “I don’t ordinarily go in for all this fanfare of trumpets, Doug,” he said, with a quiet grin, “but if that reporter wants to follow me in the jalopy The Blade provides as transportation for its reporters, he’s going to have quite a ride.”

The car rocketed through town, passed frozen traffic at the street intersections, out onto the main highway toward Los Angeles, and then settled down to steady, throbbing speed.

From time to time Brandon glanced in the rear-view mirror, then finally relaxed with a smile. “He probably thought we were going some place in town. When we took him out on the main highway he was hopelessly lost. Probably bogged down in the traffic.”

Brandon adjusted himself more comfortably in the driver’s seat, gave attention to driving the car until he screamed into Corona.

The telegraph operator in the railroad station in Corona remembered the occasion of the wire perfectly.

“It was a girl,” he said. “A young woman. A cute, red-haired girl with a nice figure.”

Brandon’s face fell. “You’re sure she’s the one?”

“That’s right.”

“How was the wire written?” Selby asked. “In handwriting, or...”

“No, it had been written on a typewriter. I remember that. I can dig into the files and find it, I guess. It was all written on a typewriter. I’m certain of that.”

“This the woman?” Brandon asked, showing him Rose Furman’s picture.

“I think it was. Of course, it’s hard to tell. There’s something sort of... yes, I think it was. Of course, her red hair doesn’t show in the picture, and... yes, I guess it’s the woman all right.”

“Well,” Brandon said to Selby, “I guess that knocks that theory into a cocked hat.”

They thanked the telegraph operator, started back to the county car.

“Hang it,” Brandon grumbled. “I thought we were on the right track. We must have...”

“Wait a minute,” Selby said, as he noticed a copy of the evening Blade in the rear of the car.

A photograph of Daphne Arcola smiled up at Selby from the front page under headlines reading, DISTRICT ATTORNEY SELBY INVADED BEDROOM WITNESS CLAIMS.

“Just a minute, Rex,” Selby said. “Let’s try this thing from another angle. You remember it was the resemblance between these two women that touched off the initial mistake in this case when we thought Daphne Arcola was the one who had been killed.”

Selby picked up the newspaper, walked back to the telegraph office, and said, “Now this girl has red hair. Of course this is a newspaper photograph and...”

“That’s the one,” the operator exclaimed unhesitatingly. “I know that’s the one. I recognize her. That’s it. She is the one who sent the telegram. There’s a resemblance between her and the other girl, but this is the one.”

Selby grinned across at Brandon. “Now let’s find out where Daphne Arcola is. We’re getting somewhere.”

“Want me to call the office?” Brandon asked.

“Let’s call Sylvia Martin at The Clarion,” Selby said. “She can go around as a news reporter and it won’t attract so much attention. She’ll say she wants an interview.”

“Sure,” Brandon said. “Go to it.”

Selby put through a call from the phone in the station, in order to expedite matters, making it a station-to-station call to the office of the Madison Clarion.

“Hello,” he said, when he had an operator on the line. “This is Doug Selby, the district attorney. I want to talk with Sylvia Martin. It’s important, and...”

The operator interrupted to say, “She’s been trying to get you too, Mr. Selby. She’s on some sort of a hot tip. One of the persons in whom you’re interested, and who Sylvia thinks has a key to the situation, was leaving in an automobile on some mysterious errand. Sylvia was trying to get you so that you could follow. When she couldn’t find you, she started out in her own car.”

Selby said, “Well, I guess we can’t wait then.”

He hung up and explained the situation to Brandon. “Daphne must be skipping out, Rex. Sylvia’s trying to trail her.”

Brandon said, “What’ll we do, Doug?”

“Broadcast a pickup on Daphne Arcola, Rex.”

Brandon called his office and said to the deputy who answered the phone, “Find out where Daphne Arcola is, and nail her down. If she’s left town, send out a pickup. If she hasn’t left, but starts to go anywhere, put her in custody. If Carr tries to get bail for her, see that things are tied up until we can get there. We’re starting from Corona right now.”

Brandon hung up the telephone, said, “Let’s go.”

They climbed in the car and in a matter of minutes were speeding over the road at seventy miles an hour.

Suddenly Selby grabbed Brandon’s knee. “Hold it, Rex. That’s A. B. C.’s car coming down that bill on the road ahead.”

Brandon said, “Darned if it isn’t. I’d know that battleship on wheels anywhere.”

Brandon slowed the car, extended his arm from the window, made signals.

Old A. B. C. ignored the signals. His big sedan, hurtling along the highway, went whipping past with such speed that the suction of air rocked the county car.

Brandon said, “The dirty shyster,” and watching his opportunity spun his car in a complete turn.

“That was Daphne Arcola with him,” Selby said.

“We’ll get them,” Brandon promised.

The county car rolled into speed. Ahead, the road became a divided highway. There was no sign of the car they were pursuing.

Brandon floorboarded the throttle. They roared along the smooth cement ribbon.

“There he is,” Selby said. “I recognize the rear of his car. The bumper’s chromium plated, but it’s railroad iron. They say the windows are bulletproof.” Brandon slowly cut the distance.

A. B. Carr was giving his big machine plenty of gas and was passing cars with such regularity that he consistently hugged the left-hand lane. Brandon nursed his car up behind the lawyer’s car. Then, watching for an opportunity, suddenly shot over into the right-hand lane and floorboarded the throttle.

After a second, the two cars were abreast. Old A. B. Carr at the wheel glanced across, saw the sheriff’s automobile, recognized Selby, and abruptly pushed his own throttle down to the floorboard.

The powerful motor sent the car surging forward, but Brandon, jamming the throttle of the county car wide open, kept alongside. However, the advantage was Carr’s because Carr was in the left lane of traffic, and as a big truck and trailer loomed ahead of the county car in the right-hand lane, Brandon was trapped.

For a moment the sheriff hesitated, then, giving the machine everything he had, started cutting to the left.

The truck and trailer were being overtaken with such rapidity that they drew measurably closer with each swift second while Carr’s machine, which had slowly started to forge ahead, still couldn’t make it far enough to draw away from the county car.

Selby braced himself.

Brandon grimly swung the wheel over more and more to the left until there was a scant half-inch between the fenders of the two cars.

Old A. B. Carr lost his nerve at the showdown. He took his foot off the throttle. Brandon’s car, cutting in between the wide truck and trailer and the speeding car of the lawyer, seemed to have less than an inch to spare on each side. But the sheriff was now ahead of the other machine. He grinned, shifted one hand, pulled out his revolver from its holster, placed it on the seat beside him, and slowed down, waiting for Carr to come up.

Old A. B. C. refused to take the invitation. He slowed his machine abruptly.

Brandon slammed on the brakes, watching developments in the rear-view mirror.

Carr veered over to the right, but Brandon refused to walk into that trap. He eased his machine only part way over so that when Carr suddenly tried to detour back to the left, Brandon had forestalled him and the county machine was ahead, all the time slowing in speed, forcing Carr over to the right-hand lane.

The truck and trailer coming behind started a raucous blast of its horn; then the driver, sizing up the situation, as he noted the tax-exempt license on the county car, swung over to the right and started slowing down.

Carr made a last desperate effort to scrape by on the right and Brandon, driving with his left hand, holding the gun in his right, swerved the car over sharply forcing A. B. C. off the road.

Carr brought his machine to a stop, raised his hat in a courtly bow, and said, “Good morning, gentlemen, good morning. Aren’t you rather hogging the traffic, Sheriff? It seemed to me you wanted pretty much all of the road.”

“No,” Brandon said dryly, “just the part that you were on. Pull over there and shut off your motor.”

“I say,” Carr protested, “I’m in rather a hurry and...”

“You’re being stopped for questioning,” Brandon said, “and if you try to get away I’m going to start shooting the tires out.”

“Well, of course,” Carr said, smiling affably, “if you want to be arbitrary and violent about it. Aren’t you outside of your county, however, Sheriff?”

“I’m outside of my county and within my rights.”

“After all,” Carr announced, “so far as the law is concerned, there are several...”

Brandon raised the gun. “Carr,” he said, “you try to make a getaway and I’ll riddle your tires. Now if you can get a writ of habeas corpus that’ll keep a bullet from penetrating rubber, you’d better get one fast, because you’re going to need it.”

Carr surrendered with a good-natured laugh, said, “Well, well, since you’re so remarkably insistent, Sheriff, I suppose there’s no alternative but to consume more of my valuable time in listening to your questions — questions which so frequently are completely beside the point. But go right ahead, Sheriff, if it’ll give you any pleasure, let’s get it out of your system.”

“I want to talk with Daphne Arcola,” Brandon said, getting out of the car and holstering his revolver.

Carr’s lips tightened. “What questions did you want to ask Miss Arcola?”

“Where are you going, for one thing,” Brandon said.

“I received a call which is taking me to my office in the city.”

“You put up bail for Frank Grannis earlier today, I believe,” Selby said.

“That’s right, I did. Is there any law against that?”

“Why did you put up that bail?”

“Because he’s a client of mine,” Carr said, “and I’m satisfied he’s innocent. I feel that he’s been given a raw deal. I put up my own money as bail and I don’t have to answer...”

“And then where did he go when he left El Centro?”

“Good heavens, gentlemen, I don’t know,” Carr said. “I asked him to keep in touch with me, naturally. And, of course, when the time is set for his trial he’ll be there. Otherwise, of course, I’d have to forfeit the bail money.” And Carr smiled blandly.

“All right,” Brandon said, turning to Daphne Arcola. “Why did you go into the telegraph office at Corona and send a wire to Mrs. Barker C. Nutwell in Los Angeles and sign the name of Rose Furman, the murdered girl?”

Daphne Arcola’s eyes widened. Her face suddenly drained of color so that the patches of rouge showed distinctly orange.

Carr flashed her a swift glance, and said, “Don’t answer that question, Daphne.”

“If you don’t answer it, I’ll take you into custody,” Brandon warned.

“On what charge, may I ask?”

“You may,” Brandon said grimly.

“May what?”

“May ask.”

Carr said, “In the first place, you’re out of your county, Sheriff. In the second place, if you try to make an arrest, I shall insist upon having the prisoner informed of the charge against her, and then I shall insist upon the prisoner being immediately taken before the nearest and most accessible magistrate in order that bail may be fixed.”

“Which, I suppose, you’ll put up,” Brandon said.

“I might,” Carr said. “I’m financially able to do so.”

He reached in his pocket, pulled out a wallet, and started taking out thousand-dollar bills.

There was that in the gesture which indicated that if Brandon so elected he might have received some of the contents of the wallet.

Brandon’s face darkened. He pushed Carr to one side, reached in past the steering wheel, took Daphne Arcola by the wrist, and said, “Get out. You’re under arrest.”

“For what?” she asked.

“I’ll tell you what the charge is when I get good and ready,” Brandon said.

“For forging the name of Rose Furman to a telegram,” Selby said hastily.

“Thank you, Counselor,” A. B. Carr said. “She’s arrested on a charge of forgery. That’s an offense for which bail can be fixed. Now if you will take the prisoner before the nearest and most accessible magistrate, I’ll put up her bail, and...”

“All right,” Brandon said, “we’ll take her in on a charge of murder then.”

“Murder!” Carr exclaimed.

“That’s right. You force my hand and see what you get,” Brandon said.

“You’re not going to take this young woman into custody in this county,” Carr said.

Brandon produced his handcuffs. “I’m going to take this woman into custody,” he said, “and if you resist an officer in the discharge of his duties, I’m going to take you into custody.”

“You can’t do it,” Carr said, pushing his way forward. “You’re outside your jurisdiction. You have no authority in this county, you’re acting without a warrant, you’re making an illegal arrest, and you’re refusing to take the prisoner before the nearest and most accessible magistrate. All are distinct violations of the law.”

“So what!” Brandon said. “Do you want me to handcuff this girl to my wrist and then let you try to get her loose with a lot of legal flimflam?”

“I appeal to the district attorney of Madison County,” A. B. Carr said.

Brandon said, “I’m arresting this young woman. Get into the car, Miss Arcola.”

Carr stepped forward. “Don’t do it.”

Brandon whirled to face Carr. “Just try putting a hand on her or on me. Just so much as a finger.”

Brandon piloted Daphne over to the county car and said, “Do you want to get in under your own power, or do you want to be lifted in? Do you want to ride like a lady, or do you want to be handcuffed?”

Carr raised his voice. “Miss Arcola, this arrest is illegal. I advise you not to answer any questions, and I advise you not to submit to any questioning. I advise you to keep absolutely silent and there’s one more thing I...”

Carr crowded forward as though about to whisper some confidential instructions to the young woman.

Brandon suddenly whirled. His shoulder caught Carr in the chest sending him spinning back.

“Watch that girl, Doug,” Brandon said, and strode after the reeling lawyer. “Now then,” he said, “you and I are about of an age. Do you want to make an issue of this, or don’t you?”

Carr suddenly recovered his dignity and his affability. “Certainly not in terms of personal violence, my dear Sheriff. Whatever I do will be done legally,” he said. And with that he got in his machine, started the motor, and once more started speeding along the road to Los Angeles.

Brandon walked around and climbed in behind the wheel of the county car. Selby got in beside Daphne Arcola in the front seat. Brandon started to turn the car.

Selby said, “Why did you send that telegram, Miss Arcola?”

She clamped her lips in a firm, thin fine of determination.

Selby said, “Let’s not take her back to Madison City right now, Rex. Let’s take her to Corona and let this man identify her.”

“Isn’t that illegal?” Daphne Arcola asked.

Brandon grinned, and said, “It always takes a crook to talk about the legalities of a situation.”

They drove back to Corona. Daphne Arcola sat frozen-faced in the automobile while the clerk of the Western Union came out, looked at her, and said, “That’s the one. She’s trying to look different by holding her face all frosty and cold. When she was in here she was all smiles, but that’s the girl all right.”

“She’s the one that sent the telegram?”

“That’s right.”

Selby grinned at Brandon. “Okay, Rex, now let’s head back to Madison City. But first let’s get that telegram.”

“I have it for you,” the clerk said. “I looked it up after you left. I was able to find it. Here’s the telegram just the way she brought it in.”

Selby glanced at the typewriting, frowned, and said, “It was filed a short time before Rose Furman was murdered. Whoever wrote it out must have been planning the murder at that time. It will show premeditation. Now, unless I’m mistaken, Rex, this was not written on Rose Furman’s typewriter, the one that was in her apartment. That’s a portable. This seems to have been written on another machine. Now this... wait a minute, Rex.”

“What is it?” the sheriff asked.

Selby said, “Put yourself in old A. B. Carr’s position. What would he normally have done?”

“What do you mean?”

Selby said, “Daphne Arcola is mixed up in this thing. Her testimony can be damaging to old A. B. C. Ordinarily he would have moved heaven and earth to get her out of jail as soon as she was put in.”

“Well, he tried his best,” Brandon said, grinning. “At least he tried to move me.”

“No, he didn’t, Rex. He tried to bluff us out of arresting her but after that he didn’t do a thing. He quit cold and went tearing on down the highway toward Los Angeles. Ordinarily he’d have followed along, yapping at our heels, demanding that we take her before the nearest and most accessible magistrate, get bail fixed, and...”

“Okay,” Brandon said, “I get it. What do we do, Doug?”

“We get to Los Angeles just as fast as we can,” Selby said.

Daphne Arcola interposed hotly, “I have some rights! You can’t drag me around all over the country wherever you happen to want...”

“Better quit talking and find something to hang hold of, sister,” Brandon told her. “As things stand right now, you’re about to have the ride of your life.”