The Case of the Careless Kitten

by The Case of the Careless Kitten (retail) (epub)

  Gerald Shore calmly removed the pipe from his mouth and pointed the stem toward Perry Mason. “He’s my lawyer.”

  Tragg nodded. His smile was triumphant. “Okay, Jerry,” he called to the guard in the hall, “Mr. Mason has got to go. If you see him hanging around remind him that he has an engagement elsewhere—until we meet again, counselor!” Then he held up his hand for attention. “And I’m telling everyone here that as soon as Franklin Shore is found I want him as a witness to testify before the grand jury—and you’ll all kindly remember that.”

  Mason turned without a word and started for the front door and opened it. Tragg said to Gerald Shore, “This is going to be about your last chance to say something.”

  Mason hesitated, listening for Shore’s reply.

  “Have you got a match, Lieutenant?” Shore asked calmly.

  The guard bustled Mason out to the front porch. The door slammed shut.

  Another officer, evidently waiting to see that he left the grounds promptly, stepped up beside him. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “No need to.”

  “Oh, I’d better. No telling what might happen around here tonight. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, Mr. Mason.”

  Perry walked down the driveway, the officer marching at his side. Peering across the street, he saw only the vacant curb. There was no sign of his automobile nor of Della Street. For a moment only, the lawyer was puzzled. He hesitated just enough to throw the officer out of step with him.

  “What is it?” the officer asked.

  “Little kink in my leg,” Mason said, walking toward the corner.

  “Say, Mr. Mason! Your car’s on the other side. You’d better . . . Where the hell is your car?”

  Mason said, “My chauffeur took it back to the office. I had an errand I wanted done.”

  The officer looked at him suspiciously. “Where you goin’ now?”

  “I’m going to take a walk—a long walk—to get some air. Would you like to come along?”

  Said the officer, with feeling, “Hell, no!”

  14

  MASON’S UNLISTED telephone was ringing as he opened the door of his apartment. He switched on the lights, crossed over, picked up the receiver and said, “Let’s have it.”

  It was Della Street. As soon as she started talking Perry realized that she was in a nervous funk and trying to cover up. “Gosh, Chief, is that you?” She was off at the tempo of a pneumatic riveter exploding into action. “I think I may be violating the form, force and effect of the statutes in such cases made and provided, and my actions are probably against the peace and dignity of the People of the State of California. I guess I’ve graduated into a full-fledged criminal.”

  “They tell me prison is a great experience,” Mason assured her. “You’ll learn a lot.”

  Her laugh was high-pitched, and there was a catch in the middle of it. “Paul Drake warned me that I’d wind up in jail if I went on working for you, but I was too stubborn to listen to him.”

  “Well, you haven’t been sentenced yet. What have you done?”

  “I’ve k-k-k-kidnaped a witness,” she wailed.

  “Done what?”

  “Snaked him right out from under Lieutenant Tragg’s nose, and am holding him incommunicado.”

  “Where?”

  “In my automobile—or rather, your automobile.”

  “Where are you?”

  “At a service station about four blocks from your apartment.”

  “Who’s the witness?”

  “He’s sitting out in the car now. His name’s Lunk, and he . . .”

  “Wait a minute,” Mason interrupted, “what was the name?”

  “Lunk. He’s the gardener out at the Shore place. And he’s the temporary custodian of the poisoned kitten.”

  “How does he spell his name?”

  “L-u-n-k. Thomas B. Lunk. That part’s on the up and up. I’ve already managed to get a look at his driver’s license.”

  “What does he know?”

  “I don’t know exactly, but I think it’s awfully important.”

  “Why?”

  “He got off a street car about two blocks from the house. It was just after that guard collared you and took you inside. I saw the street car come to a stop and this man get off. He’s an old, weather-beaten, outdoor type of man. He came hurrying toward the house. Occasionally he’d break into a run for a few steps. You could see he was in a great rush.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Followed a hunch,” she said, “started the car, and drove down a block to meet him, got out of the car and asked him if he was looking for the Shore residence.”

  “Then what?” Mason asked, as she hesitated.

  “I’d rather not tell you all this over the phone.”

  “You’ve got to. At least the part that you don’t want him to hear.”

  “Well, he was so excited he was stammering. He just kept nodding his head and couldn’t talk at first. Then he said he had to see Mrs. Shore right away. I turned on my best manner and asked him if he knew Mrs. Shore when he saw her—just sort of sparring for time and trying to find out what it was all about. He said then that he’d worked for her. That he’s the gardener who’s been with the place for twelve or thirteen years.”

  “But doesn’t live there?” Mason asked.

  “No. The address on his driving license is 642 South Bilvedere. He says he lives in a little bachelor shack in back of a house. He used to live in a room over the garage up at the Shore place. Then he went down to live in this little shack.”

  “What’s he know?”

  “I don’t know. He was so excited he could hardly talk. He said he had to see her at once, that something had happened, and I told him that Mrs. Shore wasn’t at home, that I happened to know where she was and I could take him to see her. I got him in the car, drove away from the place, and then started stalling, pretending that I needed oil and gas, and then let the attendant at the service station here talk me into changing spark plugs. I told him that Mrs. Shore was where she couldn’t be disturbed right away, but that we could see her in fifteen or twenty minutes and I’d take him to her. All the time, of course, I kept calling up, hoping that you’d get a taxi and come in. When I didn’t hear anything from you, I bribed the service station attendant to let the air out of one of my tires and tell me that I had a puncture that had better be fixed right away. He got the tire off and kept fooling around with it. Now my boy friend’s getting nervous and a little suspicious. I’ve got to let the attendant here put that tire back on, and you’ll have to get here in a rush.”

  “What’s the address of the service station?”

  “On the corner, four blocks down the boulevard from your apartment.”

  “I’m coming right down. Wait there,” Mason said.

  “What’ll I do when you get here?”

  “Just follow my lead,” Mason said. “I’ll size him up. Tell me about him.”

  “He has steady, blue eyes, with a far-away squint, a weather-beaten face with high cheekbones, a drooping mustache, about fifty-five or maybe sixty, gnarled hands, stoop shoulders, long arms, slow-moving, and has a single track mind. Sort of simple, but obstinate and sullen when he gets suspicious. I think he’ll believe anything you tell him, if you can make it sound plausible. But I was so excited and—well, he’s getting terribly suspicious. You’ll have to get down here right away or he’ll walk out on me.”

  “On my way,” Mason promised, and hung up.

  He switched out the lights, went down in the elevator, crossed the street and waited in the shadows to make certain he wasn’t being followed. Having convinced himself on that point, he walked rapidly for three blocks, and paused long enough to once more be certain no one was on his trail. Then he walked to the all-night service station where an attendant in white uniform was just finishing tightening the bolts on the left hind wheel of Mason’s car.

  Mason walking up to Della Street, apparently without notici
ng the man in his late fifties who sat at her side, raised his hat, said, “Good evening, Miss Street. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

  Della searched his eyes for a signal, hesitated a moment, then said, with some show of feeling, “Well, you certainly were late! If it hadn’t been for finding a nail in this tire I couldn’t have waited.”

  “Too bad,” Mason said. “I was unavoidably detained. You know, I told you I could get you an audience with Mrs. Shore. But, you see, she’s . . .”

  He broke off, apparently seeing, for the first time, the man beside Della.

  Della said, “It’s all right, this is Mr. Lunk. He’s working out at the Shore place as a gardener. He wants to see Mrs. Shore, too.”

  Mason said, “Mrs. Shore is at a hospital. She was poisoned. She says she took poison by mistake, but that isn’t what the police think, and they’re making it a matter for police investigation.”

  “Poison!” Lunk ejaculated.

  Della Street registered dismay. “Can’t we see her? Mr. Lunk says his business is terribly important.”

  Mason said, “We can try at least. I thought everything was arranged, but the way things have turned out . . .” He shifted his position so he could watch Lunk from the corner of his eye. “You see,” he went on, “with a police guard on the premises, the minute we tried to see her, they’d begin asking us questions.”

  “I don’t want no police,” Lunk burst out. “I’ve got to see Mrs. Shore personally and private.”

  Mason raised his eyebrows. “You say you work there?”

  “I’m the gardener.”

  “Live there?”

  “Nope. I come to work on the street car and go home on the street car. I lived there for a while. That was years ago. She wanted me to stay on, but I can’t stand having a darned Oriental snooping around. I want to be by myself and be private-like.”

  “Oriental?” Mason asked.

  “Yeah. That houseboy she’s got. I don’t know why she hasn’t fired him long ago. To tell you the truth, I’ve been looking for the FBI to come around and . . . Well, I guess I ain’t goin’ to say nothin’ more.”

  Mason didn’t press him, but nodded sympathetically. “Well, as I understand it, if we can fix things so we can see Mrs. Shore without the police grabbing us, you want to see her. Otherwise, it can wait. Is that it?”

  Lunk said, “It can’t wait.”

  “That important?”

  “Yes.”

  Mason gave the matter thoughtful consideration. “Well, let’s go down and see if the coast is clear.”

  “Where is she?”

  Mason said, “She’s in a hospital.”

  “Yeah, I know. But what hospital?”

  “I’ll drive you there.”

  Mason eased the car past the street intersections. “At this hour of the night, you don’t ordinarily meet anyone on these intersections, but if you do meet someone, he’s driving like the devil. You can get smacked at an intersection as easy as not.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “So you’ve been working for Mrs. Shore for some twelve years?”

  “Yes, goin’ onto thirteen.”

  “You knew her husband then?”

  Lunk glanced at Mason sharply, saw nothing except an expressionless profile as Mason’s eyes held steady on the road ahead.

  “Yes. One of the finest men that ever set foot in a garden.”

  “So I’ve heard. Peculiar about his disappearance, wasn’t it?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “What do you think about it?”

  “Who? Me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why should I think anything about it?”

  Mason laughed. “You do think, don’t you?”

  “I’m paid for gardening.”

  Mason said, “It’s an interesting family.”

  “You know ’em?” Lunk asked. “All of ’em?”

  “I’ve met some of them. I’m doing some work for Gerald Shore. How do you like him?”

  “He’s all right, I reckon. He ain’t like his brother Franklin, though, about the lawn and flowers. He don’t seem to care much about ’em, so I don’t see much of him. Mrs. Shore gives the orders—except when that damned Jap tries to horn in. Know what that heathen devil was trying to do just a little while ago?”

  “No.”

  “Get her to go take a trip for her health. Wanted the whole family to get out and let him give the house a thorough cleaning inside and out. Guess he wanted to take three or four months doing it. Wanted her to go to Florida and take the niece with her. And I happen to know he’d been talking with George Alber about it. May have been Alber’s idea. You know him?”

  “No.”

  “He’s the fair-haired boy child right now. Seems like the old lady liked his daddy—or he liked her—ain’t sure which. I do my work and want to be left alone. That’s all I ask.”

  “How is Komo? A pretty good worker?”

  “Oh, he works all right, but you always have the feeling that his eyes are staring through your back.”

  “You said you lived at the Shore place for a while. Have any trouble with Komo while you were living there?”

  “No fights—nothing open. My brother was the one that had the trouble with him.”

  “Your brother?” Mason asked, taking his eyes from the road long enough to flash a quick glance at Della Street. “You had a brother living there with you?”

  “Uh huh. For about six, seven months.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “Died.”

  “While you were living there?”

  “Nope.”

  “After you moved, eh? How long after?”

  “Week or two.”

  “Sick long?”

  “No.”

  “Heart trouble, I suppose?”

  “No. He was younger than me.”

  Della Street said soothingly, “I know just how he feels about it. He doesn’t want to talk about it, do you, Mr. Lunk?”

  “No.”

  Della Street went on rapidly, “It’s that way when someone near to you passes away. It’s a shock. Your brother must have been smart, Mr. Lunk.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Oh, just little things in the way you describe him. He seems to have been a man who wasn’t taken in by anybody. That is, the Japanese houseboy didn’t fool him any.”

  “I’ll say he didn’t!”

  “It must have been rather hard to start doing the work by yourself after having had your brother help you in the garden.”

  “He didn’t help me. He was there visiting. He hadn’t been well for quite a while—not able to do any work.”

  “People of that sort sometimes live a lot longer than the husky, strong people who don’t know what an ache or a pain is.”

  “That’s right.”

  Della said, “Mr. Shore must have been a very fine man.”

  “Yes, ma’am. He sure was. He was certainly nice to me.”

  “Letting your brother stay in the house that way. I don’t suppose they charged him board.”

  “Nope. They didn’t,” Lunk said. “And I’ll never forget how Shore acted when my brother passed away. I’d been spending my money on doctors and things, and—well, Shore just called me in and told me how he understood the way I felt, and—know what he did?”

  “No. What did he do?”

  “Gave me three hundred and fifty dollars so I could ship him back East, and gave me time off from work so I could go along with him on the train. My mother was alive then, and it meant a lot to her having me bring Phil home that way and having the funeral right there.”

  “She’s passed away since?” Della asked.

  “Uh huh. Five years ago. Never had anything hit me quite as hard as the way Mr. Shore acted about that. I thanked him at the time. I wanted to thank him some more, but he was gone when I got back from burying Phil.”

  Mason nudged Della Street with his knee so that she wouldn’t pounce on th
at opening and alarm the gardener. Then, after a moment or two, Mason asked casually, “That was right about the time he disappeared?”

  “Just that time.”

  Mason said, “Those Japs certainly are clever. The Orientals know a lot about drugs that we don’t know.”

  Lunk leaned forward so he could look searchingly into the lawyer’s face.

  “What made you say that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Mason said. “I was just thinking out loud. I sometimes get funny ideas.”

  “Well, what was funny about that idea?”

  “It wasn’t even an idea,” Mason said. “I was just thinking.”

  Lunk said, significantly, “Well, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking too.”

  Mason waited a few seconds, then observed, casually, “If I had a Jap around and I didn’t like him—I’d sure hate to be living in the house with him. . . . Have him fixing or serving food for me. I don’t trust ’em.”

  “That’s the same way I feel,” Lunk said. “I’m going to tell you something, Mr.—what’d you say your name was?”

  “Mason.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you something, Mr. Mason. There was a while after I heard about Mr. Shore disappearing that I’d have bet dollars to doughnuts the Jap had something to do with it. And then, later on, I began to wonder if maybe the Jap hadn’t had something to do with the way Phil died. It could have been something, you know.”

  “Poison?” Mason asked.

  “Well, I ain’t saying anything. Personally, I ain’t got any use for the sneaking, treacherous race, but I want to be fair. I’ve done him one injustice already.”

  “Oh, is that so?”

  Lunk said, “Well, to tell you the truth, I sort of suspected him of having a hand in—well, I’ll tell you. I thought for a while that maybe he wanted to get Mr. Shore out of the way, and he sort of practiced first on my brother to see if he had the right dose and—you know, the way Mr. Shore disappeared and all that, and coming right on top of Phil’s death. . . . I didn’t think so much of it at the time, but I got to thinking more about it later on.”

  Mason again nudged Della Street with his elbow as he piloted the car around a corner toward the hospital. “Well, I don’t see that that’s doing the Jap any injustice.”