"All right," said Mason, "give me the lowdown, and don't try to put a sugar coating on it. Give me the facts."
"The facts are," said Drake, "that this Celane girl had on a pink negligee the night the murder was committed. Graves was sent by Edward Norton to ride up with Judge Purley and Arthur Crinston to get some documents. He kept looking back toward the house as they went around the curves in the road and when they got to the point in the road where he could look up at the window in Edward Norton's study, he saw somebody standing back of Norton, who was seated at his desk.
"More than that, he says that he saw the man swing a club down on Edward Norton's head, and Norton collapsed across the desk. He says that he saw the arm, shoulder and head of a woman, and that he thinks he is positive of the identity of both the man and the woman. The woman had on a pink negligee."
"He made that statement to the District Attorney's office?" asked Mason.
"Yes, he's made it, and subscribed and sworn to it."
"That isn't the statement he made the first time," Mason pointed out. "When they were making their first investigation, Graves said that he saw the man in the room, who struck the blow, and didn't see anyone else except Norton."
"That won't help you any," said Drake casually. "You can't prove that."
"They took the statement down in shorthand," said Mason.
Drake laughed.
"Those notes have been lost. I'm just telling you in the event you don't know it," he said. "I made it a point to ask one of the newspaper reporters to inquire of the shorthand stenographer who took down the statements there that night. Strange as it may seem, something happened, and the notebook had been misplaced. It's disappeared."
He grinned at the lawyer.
Perry Mason stared down at the surface of his desk, his brows in straight lines of frowning concentration.
"The dirty crooks," he said. "The D.A. always howls to high heaven about the crooked criminal lawyers who manipulate the facts. But whenever the D.A. uncovers any evidence that gives the defendant a break, you can bet something happens to it."
The detective shrugged his shoulders.
"The D.A.'s want convictions," he said.
"Can your operative get into Mrs. Mayfield's room in Norton's residence, Paul?" Mason asked.
"Sure. That's a cinch."
"All right, I want her to make a report on every dress that's in there. In other words, I want to see if there's a pink dress or a pink negligee in there."
Paul Drake squinted at the lawyer significantly.
"It wouldn't be such a hard job to put one in there," he said.
"No," said Mason, "I'm going to play fair."
"What's the use of playing fair?" asked Drake. "They didn't play fair with you."
"I can't help that," said Mason. "I think I've got an out in this case, and I'm going to play it fair and square. I think I can beat the rap if I can get a decent break."
"Listen," said Paul Drake, drawing his feet up to the desk, and sitting crosslegged on the corner of it, "you haven't got an out in this case. They've got your client as good as convicted right now. Look what they've got on her. She's the one that would have benefited by the old man's death. In fact, with that marriage hanging over her head, she either had to kill him, or lose an estate that's worth a big bunch of money.
"This fellow, Gleason, may have married the woman because he loved her, or he may have married her because he wanted her money. Nobody knows which, but he gets all the credit for marrying her for money. The theory of the prosecution is that when he found out about the trust provision, he and the girl tried to reason with Norton. When Norton wouldn't listen to reason, Gleason made up his mind he'd bump him off. They had a big squabble. He'd have killed Norton right then if it hadn't been for Crinston coming to keep an appointment. So Gleason waited around until Crinston left, then jimmied a window to make it look as though burglars had broken in from the outside. Then he cracked down on Norton's head.
"He probably hadn't figured on any robbery at the time. He just wanted to make it look like robbery, so he turned the pockets insideout. He found so much money in the wallet, he decided to keep it. Then he heard Crinston coming back, and had to do something quick. He knew the chauffeur was drunk, so he dashed down and planted as much of the evidence on him as he could, and then beat it.
"Frances Celane was with Gleason when the murder was committed. She's got the devil of a temper when she gets aroused. Probably she was in a rage, but Gleason married her for her dough. It was a deliberate crime on his part. He'd probably worked out the burglar plant while Crinston was talking with Norton. When he heard the car coming back, he realized he must have been seen, or that something had gone wrong, so then he framed the chauffeur, just as a second string to his bow."
Perry Mason stared at the detective with his eyes cold and hard.
"Paul," he said, "if they go into court on that theory, I'm going to bust it wide open."
"You're not going to bust anything wide open," Drake told him. "They've got all kinds of circumstantial evidence. They've caught the girl in half a dozen lies. Why did she say that she was out in the Buick sedan when she wasn't? They can prove that the car never left the garage. Mrs. Mayfield has worked up that end of the case for them; and the butler will swear positively that the car was there all the time. They can prove the ownership of the club that killed Norton, and they can prove that the girl had some of the money that came from Norton…"
Perry Mason jerked to rigid attention.
"They can prove the girl had the money?" he asked.
"Yes," said Drake.
"How?" asked the lawyer.
"I don't know exactly how, but I do know that it's part of their case. They've got it all worked up. I think it's through the Mayfield woman."
"Well," said Mason wearily, "we're going to have a chance to find out. I'm going to force them to bring that case to an immediate trial."
"Force them to an immediate trial?" exclaimed Drake. "Why I thought you were stalling for delay. The newspapers say that you are."
Perry Mason grinned at him.
"That," he said, "is the way I'm forcing them to a trial. I'm yelling for continuances, and asking for additional time, as though my clients would be stuck if I didn't get them. Naturally, they're opposing my continuances. After I've got the D.A.'s office to make that opposition sufficiently vigorous, I'm going to admit that I'm licked, and let them bring the case on for trial."
Drake shook his head.
"They won't fall for that one," he said, "it's too old."
"It won't be old the way I dress it up," said Mason. "What I want you to do is to play this rough shadow business on Mrs. Mayfield, and also on Don Graves. I want to see if we can't frighten some facts out of them. Neither one of them is telling the truth—not yet. And I want to find out more about that money, whether the District Attorney had proof or just suspicions."
"You going to try and saddle the murder off on Mrs. Mayfield and her husband?" asked Drake.
"I'm going to represent my client to the best of my ability," Mason insisted.
"Yeah, I know that line," the detective told him, "but what does it mean?"
Mason tapped a cigarette end on the polished surface of the desk.
"The way to get to the bottom of a murder," he said, "is to pick out any pertinent fact which hasn't been explained, and find the real explanation of that fact."
"Sure," said Drake, "that's another generality. Get down to earth. What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about the reason Norton had for claiming the Buick sedan was stolen," said the lawyer.
"What's that got to do with it?" Drake wanted to know.
"Everything," insisted Perry Mason. "That's an unexplained fact in that case, and until we get the explanation of that fact, we haven't got a solution of the murder."
"That's a good line of hooey for the jury," commented the detective, "but it doesn't really mean anything. You can't explain everything in
any case. You know that."
"Until you can explain it," doggedly insisted Mason, "you haven't got a complete case. Now remember that the prosecution is going to rest its case on circumstantial evidence. In order to get a conviction on circumstantial evidence, you've got to exclude every reasonable hypothesis other than that of guilt."
The detective snapped his fingers.
"A lot of lawyer talk," he said. "That doesn't mean anything to the newspapers, and the newspapers are going to be the ones who will determine whether or not your client gets convicted."
"Well, before I get done with this case," Mason remarked, "the newspapers are going to figure that Buick car is the most important fact in the entire case."
"But the automobile wasn't stolen. It didn't leave the garage."
"That's what the butler says."
Drake's face suddenly became hard with concentrated attention.
"You mean that the butler is lying?" he asked.
"I'm not making any statements right now," said Mason. Drake spoke in a monotone, as though thinking out loud.
"Of course if the butler had taken the car and disconnected the speedometer, and maybe gone for a little drive, and Norton had telephoned the police that the car was stolen, and he wanted the driver picked up, no matter who it might be, and then the butler had come back and found out about that telephone call…"
His voice trailed off into silence. He sat motionless for a few minutes, then shook his head sadly.
"No, Perry," he said, "that won't work."
"All right," said Mason, smiling, "I'm not asking you what'll work and what won't work. I want facts out of you. Get the hell off of my desk, and let me go to work. Put your rough shadows to work just as soon as you can. I'm anxious to find out what they uncover."
"You're representing both Gleason and the woman, eh?" asked Drake.
"Yes, I am now. Frances Celane is going to stand by her husband. She's told me to represent him."
"All right, I'm going to ask you something that's been asked me by a dozen different people. I hope you won't take any offense, but it's for your own good, because everybody in town is talking about it. They're saying that if the lawyer for the defense has any sense why doesn't he try to get separate trials and try the man and the woman separately? In that way they'd have to try the man first, and you'd have a chance to find out all their evidence and crossexamine all their witnesses before they got down to a trial of the woman."
"I couldn't get separate trials for them," said Mason. "The court wouldn't allow it."
"Well, you could at least make the attempt," said the detective.
"No," said Mason with a smile, "I rather think I'm satisfied the way things are now. I think we'll try them together."
"Okay," said Drake, "you're the doctor. I'll get the rough shadows at work just as soon as I can."
Chapter 18
Perry Mason appeared at the entrance to the visitors' room in the huge jail building.
"Robert Gleason," he told the officer in charge.
"You're Gleason's attorney?" asked the officer.
"Yes."
"You didn't appear for him as his attorney when he first came in."
Perry Mason frowned. "I'm his attorney now," he said. "Do you want to bring him out, or do you want me to go into court and show that the officers have refused to permit me to talk with my client?"
The officer stared at Mason, shrugged his shoulders turned on his heel without a word, and vanished. Five minutes later he opened a door and escorted Mason into the long room.
A table ran the length of this room. Along the middle of the table, stretching to a height of some five feet above it, was a long screen of heavy iron mesh. The prisoners sat on one side of this screen. The attorneys sat on the other. Robert Gleason was seated about half way down the table. He got to his feet, and smiled eagerly as he saw Perry Mason approaching. Perry Mason waited until the officer had moved out of earshot, then dropped into the chair, and looked searchingly across at the man accused of murder. "Keep your voice low when you answer questions, Gleason," said Mason, "and tell me the truth. No matter what it is, don't be afraid to tell me the exact truth."
"Yes sir," said Gleason.
Mason frowned at him.
"Did you make a statement to the District Attorney?" he asked.
Gleason nodded his head.
"A written statement?"
"It was taken down in shorthand by a court reporter, and then written up and given to me to sign."
"Did you sign it?"
"I haven't yet."
"Where is it?"
"It's in my cell. They gave it to me to read. That is, they gave me a copy."
"That's funny," said Mason. "Usually they try to rush you into signing it. They don't let you have a copy."
"I know," said Gleason, "but I didn't fall for that. They tried to rush me into signing it, and I told them I was going to think it over."
"It won't do you much good," the lawyer told him, wearily, "if you talked in front of a court reporter, he took down everything you said, and he can testify to the conversation from his notes."
"That's what the District Attorney's office told me," said Gleason. "But I'm not signing, just the same."
"Why not?"
"Because," said Gleason, in a low voice, "I think that I'll repudiate what I said."
"You can't do it," the lawyer told him. "Why the devil did you have to shoot off your mouth?"
"I can do it the way I intend to," Gleason told him.
"Can do what?"
"Repudiate the confession."
"All right, show me," said the lawyer.
"I intend to take the entire responsibility for the murder," Gleason told him.
Perry Mason stared at the man through the coarse screen of the partition.
"Did you commit the murder?" he asked.
Gleason bit his lips, turned his head so that his eyes were averted from those of the attorney.
"Come on," said Perry Mason. "Come through, and come clean. Look up at me and answer that question. Did you commit the murder?"
Rob Gleason shifted uncomfortably in the chair.
"I'd rather not answer that question just yet," he said.
"You've got to answer it," Perry Mason told him.
Gleason wet his lips with the tip of a nervous tongue, then leaned forward so that his face was almost against the coarse iron screen.
"Can I ask you some questions before I answer that?" he inquired.
"Yes," Mason said, "you can ask me all the questions you want, but you've got to come clean on that before I leave here. If I'm going to act as your attorney, I've got to know what happened."
"The District Attorney's office told me that Frances had been caught with some of the money that Mr. Norton had in his possession when he was killed."
"Don't believe everything the District Attorney's office tells you," Mason answered.
"Yes I know. But the point is, did she have that money?"
"I'll answer that question by asking you another," said Perry Mason. "Did Mrs. Mayfield make any statement to the District Attorney about having money in her possession, that she had received from Frances Celane?"
"I don't know," said Gleason.
Perry Mason chose his words carefully. "If," he said, "the District Attorney's office has any proof of Frances Celane having any of that money, it came through Mrs. Mayfield. In other words, they found Mrs. Mayfield with the money, and she passed the buck to Frances Celane. Now, if that happened, there's just as much reason to believe that Mrs. Mayfield was in the room at the time of the murder, and took the money from the body of the dead man, as to believe that Frances Celane gave it to her."
"Are they sure that there was a woman in the room at the time of the murder?" Gleason inquired.
"Don Graves says there was."
"He didn't say that the first night."
"We can't prove what he said the first night because the police have torn up the notes of
the statement he made."
"He says now that there was a woman there?"
"Yes, he says there was a woman. I think he's going to say it was a woman who wore a pink negligee."
"Did he see her plainly enough to identify her?"
"He saw her shoulder and arm, and part of her head—probably the back of her head."
"Then Mrs. Mayfield is trying to pin this crime on Fran?" asked Rob Gleason.
"I'm not saying that," said Mason. "I'm simply giving you the facts as I know them. If the District Attorney's office has proof of any money, that's where they got it."
"How much chance do you stand of getting Fran off?" asked Gleason.
"One never knows what a jury is going to do. She's young and attractive. If she keeps her temper and doesn't make any damaging admissions, I stand a pretty good chance."
Gleason stared through the screen at the lawyer for a few moments, and then said: "All right, I'm not attractive. I haven't got any of the things in my favor that Frances has. How much chance do you stand of getting me off?"
"It depends on the kind of a break I can get, and on what you've told the District Attorney," said Mason. "Now, I'm going to tell you what I want you to do. You go back to your cell and get some paper. Say that you want to write out what happened, in your own handwriting. Take that paper and scribble a lot of meaningless stuff on a few pages of it, and then tear it up. Let them believe that you used up all the paper, but take the rest of the paper and write out a copy of the statement that the District Attorney has given you to sign. In that way, I'll know exactly what you said, and what you didn't say."
Rob Gleason swallowed twice painfully.
"If," he said, "you don't get the breaks, they may convict Fran?"
"Of course, she's charged with first degree murder, and there's some circumstances in the case that don't look so good."
"Would they hang her?"
"Probably not. She'd probably get life. They don't hang women, as a rule."
"Do you know what it would mean to a girl of her fire and temperament to be shut up in a penitentiary for the rest of her life?" asked Gleason.
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