They trooped out to the automobile. The dog, having accepted them now as visitors who had been given the approval of his master, stood to one side, gently wagging his tail. Over brook, in the doorway, beamed at them with a broad, good-natured smile.
Mason opened the door of the automobile.
Fleetwood hesitated.
Gertie gave him a swift push that sent him scrambling into the machine.
“Come on,” Gertie said. “Don’t think you’re going to get away from me again. You poor darling.”
Mason said to Della Street, “You’d better drive the car, Della,” and climbed in the back seat with Gertie and Fleetwood.
Della Street turned the car, blatted the horn in three quick blasts by way of salute, waved at Overbrook, and started back along the dirt road.
“Just what do you folks want?” Fleetwood asked.
“We want you,” Mason said.
“Well what right have you got to take me with you? I don’t want to go with you. Let me out of the car!”
Mason said, “Why, William, do you want to leave your wife?”
“She isn’t my wife!”
“How do you know she isn’t?”
Gertie leaned over and kissed him affectionately. “Just wait, darling.”
“Say, what is this?” Fleetwood asked.
Mason said, “Of course, there could be a mistake.”
“I’ll say there’s a mistake!”
“In case you aren’t William Raymond,” Mason said, “then your name is Robert Gregg Fleetwood, and there are a few things the police want you to explain. Now tell me, William, do you think you’re William Raymond, or do you think you’re Robert Gregg Fleetwood?”
“I tell you I don’t know who I am!”
“Well, we’ll do the best we can to straighten you out,” Mason said.
“Who is this Fleetwood?”
“Oh, just another man who disappeared, the victim of amnesia. The police are looking for him.”
“Well, I’ll tell you one thing. I’m not going to stay with you until I know who I am. I don’t like the idea of this woman claiming I’m her husband.”
“Do you think you’re Fleetwood?”
“No.”
“Then you must be William Raymond.”
“You stop the car and let me out of here, I guess I have some rights.”
Mason said, “Let’s look at it this way. Either you’re William Raymond or you’re Fleetwood. Now if you think that you’re being abused, we’ll take you right to police headquarters, and you can tell your story there. They’ll have a psychiatrist who will do the best he can for you. They’ll either hypnotize you or give you a good dose of scopolamine. That’ll start you talking and make you tell the truth. The drug lulls the conscious mind into oblivion and is the same as a hypnosis. It makes the subconscious take over. You’ll answer questions just as a person talking in his sleep will answer questions.”
“I don’t want to go to any police station,” Fleetwood said, in sudden panic.
“Well, you’re either going to a police station or going home with Gertie. Just make up your mind which.”
Fleetwood said to Gertie, “Okay. This is a game two can play at. If you want to play married, it’s okay by me. You’re a nice looking dish at that.”
Mason said, abruptly, “Did you murder Bertrand Allred, Fleetwood?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“When did you last see Allred?”
“I don’t know any Allred.”
Mason said, suavely, “Now, this was after you had lost your memory, Fleetwood. Amnesia victims remember everything that happened after their initial loss of memory. In other words, you remember starting out with the woman who said she was your older sister and then you both took her car and drove off—and then you met her husband. Do you remember that?”
“I don’t remember anything.”
“Since when?”
“I don’t have to answer your questions. Who are you, anyway?”
Mason said, “You’d have to answer police questions.”
“Why do you keep calling me Fleetwood?”
“Because you’re either Fleetwood, in which event you’re going to police headquarters; or you’re William Raymond, in which event you’re going home. Now just who do you think you are?”
“I guess I’m William Raymond if this girl says so,” Fleetwood said.
“I certainly should know my own husband,” Gertie said in mock indignation.
“Now look,” Fleetwood said, suddenly suspicious. “I’m not going through any marriage ceremonies with any woman and I’m not going to register anywhere with any woman as husband and wife. I’m not going to get trapped into any common law marriage, or anything of that sort!”
“Listen to him,” Gertie said reproachfully. “He wants to get away from me. Why, darling, before we were married, you told me I was the only woman in the world for you, that …”
“For God’s sake, will you shut up!” Fleetwood shouted.
“And then, of course,” Mason went on suavely, “if you are Fleetwood, there’s a man by the name of George Jerome who wants to talk with you, and another man named Keith, who is very anxious to get in touch with you. I could probably get myself a piece of change by delivering you to either one of them. Keith, in particular, is very anxious to get in touch with you. Nice fellow, Keith. Do you know him?”
“I don’t know anyone!”
“Now, William, don’t be difficult,” Gertie said chidingly.
“God, but you get in my hair!” Fleetwood said.
“I’m being rebuffed,” Gertie said archly, “and by my own husband. That wasn’t the way you talked five years ago, that moonlit night on the lake, William.”
Della Street reached the paved highway, turned back down the mountains, sent the car gliding smoothly along the curves.
“I could bust my way out of here, you know,” Fleetwood said. “I don’t see anyone who’s going to stop me.”
“Look again,” Mason told him.
“This is kidnapping. You know what that means.”
“It’s not kidnapping. I’ve simply found a victim of amnesia. I’m taking him to police headquarters.”
“Me? Police headquarters?”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t want to go to police headquarters.”
“If you want to make the situation entirely legal,” Mason said, “that’s the place for you.”
“Who said anything about making it legal?”
“You didn’t want to come with me of your own free will,” Mason said. “You called it kidnapping. You’re mentally sick. You admit that you don’t know who you are. Perhaps, after all, Gertie has made a mistake, and police headquarters is the best place for you.”
“Suppose I remembered who I was? Then you’d have to turn me loose.”
“Then,” Mason admitted. “I’d have to turn you loose. Who are you, Fleetwood?”
Fleetwood hesitated for nearly ten seconds. “I don’t know,” he said at length.
“Well,” Mason told him, “if you’re William Raymond, you go with Gertie. If you’re Robert Fleetwood, you go to police headquarters.”
Fleetwood settled back in the cushions and said, “Okay, I go with Gertie. I guess it won’t be so bad, after all. Give me a kiss, sweetheart.”
“Not now,” Gertie said, suddenly cold. “You’ve repulsed me in public. I don’t know but what perhaps I’ll get a divorce.”
Fleetwood, suddenly beginning to enjoy the situation, said, “But I didn’t know who you were then, darling.”
“Do you now?”
“No, but I’m willing to take your word for it. I don’t give a damn whether you love me or not. You’re married to me.”
“No,” Gertie said, drawing away from him. “I’ve had a stroke of amnesia myself. I can’t remember who you are. I think you’re a stranger.”
Fleetwood said, “The whole outfit is nuts. Let me
out of here!”
Della kept driving smoothly.
Mason gave himself to silent smoking.
After a while Fleetwood said, “Who’s this Allred you’ve been talking about?”
“I thought you might recognize the name.”
“It sounds sort of familiar. Tell me more about him.”
“What do you want to know about him?”
“Who was he?”
“What makes you think he’s dead?”
“I didn’t say he was dead.”
“You asked who he was.”
“Well, I don’t know.”
“But why didn’t you say, ‘Who is he?’”
“I don’t know. Maybe you gave me the impression he was a dead relative or something.”
“Do you think he’s dead?”
“I don’t know, I tell you! I don’t know a thing in the world about him. Now shut up and stop cross-examining me!”
They drove for more than an hour, then Fleetwood, who had apparently decided on a course of action, said, “I don’t want to go with you.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“Home!”
“Where’s your home?”
“I tell you I don’t know, but I don’t want to go with you. You are going to deliver me to this man you were talking about—what’s his name—Dixon Keith? Yeah, I think that’s it.”
“You know Keith?”
“You mentioned his name. Where did you get all this about a doctor saying that I needed to be kept quiet?”
“That’s the standard treatment of victims of amnesia,” Mason said.
They had another long period of silence, Fleetwood thinking in scowling concentration.
They entered the city. Della Street turned to look questioningly at Mason.
The lawyer nodded.
“Now the interesting part about amnesia,” Mason went on, “is that when you do get your memory back and remember who you are, if you have had genuine amnesia, you won’t be able to remember a thing that happened during the period you were suffering from amnesia. Remember that, Fleetwood.”
“My name’s not Fleetwood.”
“Maybe it isn’t,” Mason admitted. “Anyway, remember one thing—when you get your memory back, and do know who you are, if you have had a genuine amnesia, you won’t be able to recall anything that happened during the period when your mind was a blank. During your period of amnesia, you remember everything except who you are in your past life. Once the memory of your past life comes back to you, you can’t recall anything about the interval of amnesia.”
“Why are you giving me all that good advice?”
“Oh, I just want you to make a good job of all this,” Mason said.
Della Street said over her shoulder, “How am I doing, Chief?”
“Keep crowding the signals,” Mason said.
Della Street nodded.
From time to time she jockeyed the car through signals after the red light had flashed, but before oncoming traffic, which was not particularly heavy at that hour of the night, engulfed her.
The fourth time she did this there was the low wail of a siren, and a motorcycle officer said, “I guess you’d better pull in to the curb, Ma’am! What’s your hurry?”
Mason rolled down the window on his side. “We’re going to police headquarters, Officer,” he said. “That’s the hurry. If you’ll escort us, we have a man to take there.”
“No, you don’t!” Fleetwood yelled. “You’re not taking me any place. You … Let me out of here!”
The officer kicked the prop under his motorcycle as Della Street brought the car to a stop. Fleetwood struggled with the door, trying to get past Gertie.
The officer said, “Wait a minute, buddy. Let’s take a look at this.”
“No, you don’t!” Fleetwood yelled. “You can’t arrest me! I haven’t done anything.”
“What’s this all about?” the officer asked.
“Police want this man,” Mason said calmly, “for questioning in connection with the murder of Bertrand C. Allred.”
Fleetwood jerked the door open.
“Hey, you!” the officer shouted. “Hold it!”
Fleetwood hesitated.
“Come on back here!” the officer said. “I don’t mean maybe! Hold it. What is this?”
Mason said, “This man is Robert Gregg Fleetwood. He was the last man to see Bertrand Allred alive.”
“Who are you?” the officer asked.
“I’m Perry Mason.”
Fleetwood shouted, “You’re Perry Mason!”
“That’s right.”
“Why, you dirty shyster!” Fleetwood shouted. “You’ve tricked me. You’re Lola Allred’s lawyer. I know all about you.”
“And how did you know I was a lawyer?” Mason asked. “And how did you know that Mrs. Allred’s first name is Lola?”
Fleetwood paused for a moment, took long breaths, and suddenly clapped his hand to his forehead, “I’ve got it now!”
“Got what?” the officer asked.
“The whole thing,” Fleetwood said. “It all comes back to me! For a minute my mind was going around in circles and now I suddenly know who I am. I’m Robert Gregg Fleetwood!”
“And where have you been?” Mason asked.
“I can’t remember,” Fleetwood said. “The last thing I can remember is a rainy night. I was talking with Bertrand Allred and I started to go home to get dressed for dinner and something hit me. I can’t remember a thing after that. My mind is a blank!”
Mason grinned at the officer, flashed him a broad wink, but his voice was sympathetic as he said, “Poor Fleetwood! He’s subject to fits of amnesia. Now when we picked him up in the mountains, he didn’t know who he was. He couldn’t remember his name at all.”
“It’s come back to me now,” Fleetwood said.
“And where have you been in the last two or three days?” Mason asked.
“I don’t know,” Fleetwood said. “I feel sick. I’m nauseated. My mind is a blank as far as the last few days are concerned.”
Mason said to the officer, “You want to use the siren and clear the way to police headquarters? I think Lieutenant Tragg of the homicide squad wants to talk with this man.”
The traffic officer said, “This is going to be a feather in my cap, Mason. I guess I owe you one for this. Come on, let’s go! Can this girl follow the siren?”
“You get your siren going good and loud,” Mason said, “and don’t look behind you. She’ll have the radiator pushed right up against the rear wheel of your motorcycle.”
“Let’s go!” the officer said.
Gertie slammed the car door shut Fleetwood settled back into sullen silence, between Mason and Gertie.
The officer kicked on his red spotlight and the siren. Della Street threw the car into second gear and then after the second block, slammed it into high.
They screamed their way through the frozen night traffic of the city, until, within a matter of minutes, the officer flagged them to a stop in front of police headquarters.
He walked back to the car, said to Fleetwood, “Okay, buddy, you come with me!”
Fleetwood opened the door of the car, crowded past Mason.
“Right this way,” the officer said to Fleetwood.
Fleetwood gave Mason a venomous look, turned and followed the officer.
Chapter 13
Mason waited until the officer and Fleetwood had entered police headquarters, and then he, himself, entered the building and found a telephone booth, dialed the number of Paul Drake’s office and said to Drake’s night secretary, “Perry Mason talking. I have to get in touch with Paul immediately. Where can I locate him?”
“He’s home, getting some shut-eye,” she said.
“Okay. I’ll call him there.”
Mason hung up, dialed the number of Drake’s apartment, and after a few moments heard Drake’s voice, thick with sleep, on the wire.
“Wake up, Paul,” Mason said. “We’r
e in the middle of a mess!”
“Oh, Lord,” Drake groaned. “I should have known it. You spend all day sleeping in Gertie’s apartment, and then …”
“Sleeping, hell!” Mason interrupted. “Playing cards, trying to keep awake sitting in a chair, and dozing. A more unsatisfactory day’s sleep I’ve never had!”
“All right, all right!” Drake said. “What’s wrong now?”
“We got Fleetwood,” Mason said. “I got him to police headquarters. He didn’t know who I was. Then I suddenly sprung it on him in front of some witnesses. That trapped him. He started cussing me for being Mrs. Allred’s lawyer, and then realized he’d trapped himself into a betrayal of the amnesia business. So he clapped his hand to his head and said his memory had come back with a rush.”
“Good stuff!” Drake said.
“A lot depends on what happens in the next sixty minutes,” Mason said. “Have you got someone you can use here at headquarters to …”
“That’s easy,” Drake said. “One of the men I use is accredited as a special correspondent and has the privileges of the pressroom. Unless there’s quite a hush-hush …”
“Get him on the job quick,” Mason said. “I’m going to need some co-operation. And get dressed and get up to your office, Paul. We’re going to have to do something fast.”
“How come?”
“I think this fellow, Fleetwood, may be half smart,” Mason said, “and we may either win or lose this case, as far as my client is concerned, within the next sixty minutes.”
“Okay,” Drake said, “I’ll get my man on the job and have him up there. Anything else?”
“That’s all for now,” Mason said. “Well, wait a minute! This rancher, Overbrook, looks like a big, good-natured, rugged individual, but I’d like to find out something about him.”
“Didn’t you talk with him, Perry?”
“Sure, but I couldn’t talk with him the way I wanted to because of Fleetwood being there and because I had to pretend Fleetwood was Gertie’s husband.”
“I see. Okay, I’ll try and get everything I can lined up. I’ll start working on the telephone from here, and then I’ll be up at the office in fifteen minutes.”
The Case of the Lazy Lover Page 12
