«We'll start with question number one,» Mason said. «Why did someone plant a shipment of contraband in Virginia Baxter's suitcase?»
Della Street duly typed the question.
Mason started pacing the floor. «First answer,» he said, «and the most obvious answer is that this person wanted Virginia Baxter convicted of a felony.
«Question number two: Why did this person want Virginia Baxter convicted of a felony?
«First and most obvious answer is that he knew she was a subscribing witness to Lauretta Trent's will. He intended to do something which would indicate that will was a forgery and, therefore, wanted to be able to weaken her credibility as a witness.
«Question number three: Why did anyone go to Virginia Baxter and ask her to type two fraudulent wills?
«The obvious answer to that, of course, is that he intended to plant those carbon copies somewhere where they could be used to his advantage.
«Next question: Why could those spurious carbon copies be used to his advantage? What did he expect to gain by them?»
Mason, pacing the floor, paused, shook his head and said, «And the answer to that question is not obvious.
«Then we have the question: Why did Lauretta Trent want to talk with Virginia Baxter?
«The obvious answer to that is that she knew, in some way, conspirators were trying to use Virginia Baxter. Probably, she knew about the spurious wills. Or perhaps she just wanted to interrogate Virginia about the location of the carbon copies of the wills Bannock had drawn.
«There again, however,» Mason went on, «we run up against a blank wall, because why would Lauretta Trent bother about any will which she was supposed to have executed years ago? If she had wanted to make certain her will was the way she wanted it, she would have gone to an attorney and inside of an hour have had a new will properly executed.»
Mason paced the floor for a few minutes, then said, «Those are the questions, Della.»
«Well, it seems to me you've got most of the answers,» she said.
«The obvious answers,» Mason said, «but are they the right answers?»
«They certainly seem logical,» Della Street said encouragingly.
«We'll put one more question,» Mason said. «Why in that moment of supreme danger did Lauretta Trent grab her handbag? Or, putting it another way, why wasn't Lauretta Trent's handbag found in the automobile when the car was fished out of the ocean?»
«Perhaps she had the strap of her handbag over her arm,» Della Street said.
«She wouldn't have been riding with the strap over her arm,» Mason said. «Even if she'd picked it up at the time of the collision, when she was catapulted into cold ocean water she would at least have tried to swim. When you try to swim, you're using your arms; and when you're using your arms under water, a handbag strap isn't going to stay over your arm.»
«Well,» Della Street said, «we have a rather imposing list of questions.»
Mason paced the floor for a few minutes, said, «You know, Della, when you're trying to recall a name and can't do it, you sometimes think about something else and then the name pops into your mind. I think I'll try thinking about something else for a while and see what happens with these questions.»
«All right,» she said, «what else would you like to think about?»
«You,» he told her, grinning. «Let's drive out someplace where we can have a cocktail and a nice, quiet dinner.
«How about going to one of the mountain resorts where we can sit in a dining room looking out over the lights of the city and feel far removed from everyone and anything?»
«And I take it,» Della Street said, pushing back her secretarial chair and putting a plastic cover on the typewriter, «we take this list of questions and answers with us?»
«We take those with us,» Mason said, «but we try not to think about them until after dinner.»
CHAPTER TWENTY
Della Street, seated across the table from Perry Mason, regarded him solicitously.
The lawyer had eaten his broiled steak mechanically, as though hardly knowing what he was putting in his mouth. Now, he was sipping after-dinner black coffee, his eyes fixed on the dancing couples who glided over the floor. His gaze was not following any particular couple but his eyes were focused on the sea of lights visible in the valley below through one of the big windows.
Della Street's hand crept across the table, rested reassuringly on the lawyer's hand. Her fingers tightened.
«You're worried, aren't you?»
His eyes swiftly flashed to hers, blinked as he got her in focus, and his sudden smile was warm. «Just thinking, that's all, Della.»
«Worried?» she asked.
«All right, worried.»
«About your client, or about yourself?»
«Both.»
«You can't let it get you down,» she said, her hand still resting on his.
Mason said, «A lawyer isn't like a doctor. A doctor has scores of patients, some of them young and curable, some of them old and suffering from diseases that are incurable. It's the nature of life that individuals move in a stream from birth to death. A doctor can't get so wrapped up in his patients that he suffers for them.
«A lawyer is different. He has relatively fewer clients. Most of their troubles are curable, if a lawyer only knew exactly what to do. But whether they're curable or not, a lawyer can always better his client somewhere along the line if he can get the right combination.»
«How about yourself?» she asked.
Mason grinned and said, «I led with my chin. I knew, of course, that someone had taken Virginia's car and that it had become involved in an accident. I felt that it was a trap and someone had made an attempt to frame her.
«If that had been the case, I was perfectly justified in doing what I did.
«As a matter of fact, I was justified anyway. I didn't know any crime had been committed. I did know that an attempt had been made to frame a crime on Virginia a short time earlier and I was trying to protect-Of course, if I'd known a murder had been committed and the car had been involved, then my actions would have been criminal. After all, it's a question of intent.»
The lawyer glanced back to the dance floor, his eyes followed a couple for a moment, then again became focused on the distance.
Abruptly he turned to Della Street and put his hand over hers. «Thanks for your loyalty, Della,» he said. «I'm not much on putting those things into words. I guess perhaps I take you too much for granted, like the air I breathe and the water I drink, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate all you do.»
He stroked her fingers.
«Your hands,» he said, «are wonderfully reassuring. You have competent hands, feminine hands but, nevertheless, strong hands.»
She laughed self-consciously. «Years of typing have strengthened the fingers.»
«Years of loyalty have strengthened the meaning.»
She gave his hand a quick squeeze; then, aware that they were attracting attention, abruptly withdrew her hand.
Mason started to look at the distant sea of light again then, suddenly, his eyes widened.
«An idea?» she asked.
«Good heavens,» Mason said. He was silent for several moments, then said, «Thanks for the inspiration, Della.»
She raised inquiring eyebrows.
«Did I suggest something?» she asked.
«Yes, what you said about typing.»
«It's like piano playing,» she said. «It strengthens the hand and fingers.»
Mason said, «Our second question: Why did they want to frame a crime on Virginia Baxter. The answer I gave you is wrong.»
«I don't get it,» she said. «It's the most logical answer in the world. It seems that would be the only reason they could possibly have for framing a crime on her; then her subsequent testimony could be impeached if she had been convicted of-«
Mason interrupted with a shake of his head. «They didn't want to convict her,» he said. «They wanted to be sure that she would be ou
t of the way.»
«What do you mean?»
«They wanted to get into her apartment, get her stationery and her typewriter.»
«But they knew she was on a plane and-«
«They probably didn't know it in time,» Mason interrupted. «She'd only been to San Francisco and had been away overnight. They had to be absolutely certain that they would have access to the typewriter and Bannock's stationery and be absolutely certain that Virginia wouldn't be home until they had done what they intended to do.»
«And what did they intend to do?» Della asked.
Mason, his face flushed with animation as his mind speeded over the situation, said, «Good Lord, Della, I should have seen it all a long time ago. Did you notice anything peculiar about that will?»
«You mean the way in which she left the property?»
«No. The way in which the will was drawn,» Mason said. «Notice that the residuary clause was on the first page… How many wills have you typed, Della?»
«Heaven knows,» she said, laughing. «With all my experience in a law office, I've typed plenty.»
«Exactly,» Mason said. «And in every one of them, the will has been drafted so that the specific bequests are mentioned and then, at the close of the will, the testator says 'all of the rest, residue and remainder of my estate, of whatsoever nature and wheresoever situated, I give, devise and bequeath to…'»
«That's right,» she said.
Mason said, «They had a will. The last page of it is authentic. Probably the second page is authentic; the first page is a forgery, typed on Bannock's typewriter and on his stationery, but typed within the last few days.
«There's a substitute page in that will-and it had to be done on the same typewriter that was used at Bannock's office and whoever forged it had to have an opportunity to use that typewriter.»
«But who forged it?» Della Street asked.
«On a document of that sort,» Mason said, «the person or persons who made the forgery are most apt to be the persons who benefited by the forgery.»
«All four of the surviving relatives are beneficiaries,» she said.
«And the doctor, the nurse and the chauffeur,» Mason supplemented.
The lawyer was thoughtfully silent for a moment, then said, «There was one thing about the first case we had for Virginia Baxter that puzzled me.»
«What was that?»
«The officer stating that he couldn't divulge the name of the person who had tipped them off, but that person had been thoroughly dependable in his prior tip-offs.»
«I still don't get it,» Della Street said.
«Whoever wanted to forge that will must have known a police informer, bribed him to give false information and arranged to plant the dope in Virginia's suitcase.»
Mason pushed back his chair, jumped to his feet, looked around for their waiter.
«Come on, Della,» he said, «we have work to do.»
The waiter not being immediately available, Mason dropped a twenty-dollar bill and a ten-dollar bill on the table and said, «That will cover the check and the tip.»
«But that's way too much,» Della Street protested, «and I have to keep a record of expenses.»
«Don't keep a record of these expenses,» Mason said. «Time is worth more than keeping accurate records. Come on, let's go.»
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Paul Drake was seated in his cubbyhole of an office, at the end of a long, narrow rabbit-warren runway. Fourtelephones were on his desk. A paper plate with part of a hamburger sandwich and a soiled, greasy paper napkin had been pushed to one side.
Drake had a paper container filled with coffee in front of him. He was holding a telephone to his ear and, intermittently, sipping coffee as Mason and Della Street entered.
«All right,» Drake said into the telephone, «stay with it as best you can. Keep in touch with me.»
Drake hung up the telephone, regarded the lawyer and his secretary in dour appraisal, said, «Okay, here you come fairly reeking of filet mignon, baked potatoes, French fried onions, garlic bread and vintage wine. I've gagged down another greasy hamburger sandwich, and already my stomach is beginning to-«
«Forget it,» Mason interrupted. «What did you find out about the motel, Paul?»
«Nothing that'll help,» Drake said. «A man checked in all right, and his bed wasn't slept in. He's probably our man, but the name and address he gave were phony; the license of the car he wrote down was incorrect-«
«But it was an Oldsmobile, wasn't it?» Mason asked.
Drake cocked an eyebrow. «That's right,» he said. «The car was listed as an Olds… They don't usually dare put a wrong make on the register when they're putting down the make of the car; but they do juggle the license numbers around, sometimes transposing the figures and-«
«The description?» Mason asked.
«Nothing worthwhile,» Drake said. «A rather heavyset man with-«
«Dark eyes and a mustache,» Mason said.
Drake raised his eyebrows. «How did you get all of this?»
«It checks,» Mason said.
«Go on,» Drake told him.
Mason said, «Paul, how many contacts do you have? That is, intimate contacts in police circles?»
«Quite a few,» Drake said. «I give them tips; they give me tips. Of course, they wouldn't let me get away with anything. They'd bust me and take my license in a minute if I did anything unethical. If that's what you're leading up to, I-«
«No, no,» Mason said. «What I want is the name of an informer police rely on in dope cases who answers the description of the man who checked in at the Saint's Rest Motel.»
«That might be hard to get,» Drake said.
«And again, it might not,» Mason said. «Whenever they issue a search warrant on the strength of an informer's testimony, or even on the strength of a tip, they have to disclose the source of their information if they want to use the evidence they've picked up. For that reason, there's quite a turnover in informers.
«After an informer becomes too well known, he can't do any more work because the underworld has him spotted as a stool pigeon.
«Now, my best guess is that the man we want has been an informer, has had his identity disclosed to some defense lawyer who, in turn, has tipped off the dope peddlers, and the stool pigeon finds himself temporarily out of a meal ticket.»
«If that's the case,» Drake said, «I can probably find out who he is with the description we have.»
Mason gestured toward the telephones. «Get busy, Paul. We're going down to my office.»
«How strong can I go?» Drake asked.
«Go just as strong as you have to to get results,» Mason told him. «This is a matter of life and death. I want the information and I want it just as fast as I can get it. Put out a dozen men if you have to; get calls through to everybody you know; tell them it's a matter of law enforcement and offer a reward if you have to.»
«Okay,» Drake said, wearily, pushing the paper coffee container to one side, picking up the telephone with his left hand, opening a drawer in the desk with his right, and taking out a bottle of digestive tablets.
«I'll call you as soon as I get anything or, better yet, come down to the office and report.»
Mason nodded. «Come on, Della,» he said, «we'll wait it out.»
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Mason and Della Street were in the lawyer's private office.
Della had the big electric percolator filled with coffee, waiting for Paul Drake.
Mason paced the floor restlessly, back and forth, his thumbs hooked in his belt, his head thrust slightly forward.
At length he stopped from sheer weariness, dropped into a chair and gestured toward the coffee.
Della filled his cup.
«Why did you make all this to-do about the handbag?» she asked. «Do you have any information I don't?»
Mason shook his head. «You know I don't.»
«But I haven't heard anything about fifty thousand dollars in cas
h.»
Mason said, «There's something mighty peculiar about this case, Della. Why wasn't the handbag found in the car?»
«Well,» Della Street said, «with a wild surf, a stormy night, a car toppled into the ocean-«
«The handbag,» Mason said, «would be on the floor of the car. Or, if it fell out, it wouldn't drift far. I didn't say the handbag had fifty thousand dollars in cash; I asked Eagan if he didn't know it had fifty thousand dollars in cash. I wanted to inspire a host of amateur divers to search for that bag. I-«
Drake's code knock sounded on the door of Mason's office.
Della Street jumped to her feet, but Mason beat her to the door and jerked it open.
Drake, his face showing lines of fatigue, said, «I think I've got your man, Perry.»
«Who is it?»
«A character by the name of Hallinan Fisk. He has been a long-time stoolie for the police in one of the suburbs but there was one case where the police had to disclose his name and one case where Fisk had to testify. Now he's a known informer. He thinks his very life is in danger. He's trying to get sufficient money from the police undercover fund to leave the country.»
«Any hope of success?» Mason asked.
«Probably some,» Drake said, «but the police don't have that kind of money. This is a dog-eat-dog world. It's not generally known, but the police in this outlying town sometimes pay off their informers by letting them cut corners.
«Fisk has been giving the police information on big-time stuff and also on dope. He's been making his money out of being a runner for a bookmaker. The police closed their eyes to this in return for tips on dope. Now that his occupation as a stoolie is out in the open, the bookmaker is afraid to have him around even though Fisk told the bookmaker he can virtually guarantee him freedom from arrest.
«The bookmaker is afraid that hijackers are going to lift his cash and that he may get himself bumped off. He's had a couple of anonymous telephone calls telling him to get rid of Fisk, or else; and in that business, that's all that is needed to make Fisk as desirable as a guy with smallpox.»
The Case of the Horrified Heirs pm-75 Page 15
