“You can leave it to Tragg to slip that in very skillfully before anyone can make an objection. Then I’ll move to strike out the statement that she was packing, on the ground that that was a conclusion of the witness, and the D.A. will say wearily, ‘Oh, yes, that can go out if you insist that it’s a conclusion, Mr. Mason.’ And then he’ll turn to Tragg with a superior smile and say, ‘Just what did you find, Lieutenant? Since Mr. Mason objects to having you say that the girl was packing, just what did you find?’
“And then Tragg will say, ‘I found two suitcases in front of the dresser. There were some folded clothes on the dresser. The fold on the clothes was of exactly the right dimension to enable them to fit into the suitcase when they were placed on top of the clothes already in there. The suitcases contained articles of feminine clothing which we had identified as having belonged to Rose Keeling in her lifetime.’”
“Then what?” Della Street asked.
“Then,” Mason said, “the District Attorney will turn to the jury with something of a smirk, as much as to say, ‘You see what a technical chap this Mason is and how he’s trying to resort to all kinds of technicalities in order to keep his client from being convicted.’ Those are little tricks of courtroom technique but they can be used to put a defense attorney at a disadvantage.”
“And after we get in the flat? Then what?”
“Then,” Mason said, “after we get in the flat, we’ll know a lot more than we do now. We’ll let Tragg slip in the statement that she had been packing her suitcases at the time of her death, and make no objection to it. But when we start our cross-examination, we’ll say, ‘Lieutenant, your assumption was that this woman had been packing. How do you know she was packing? How do you know she wasn’t unpacking?’ And Tragg will sarcastically say, ‘She hadn’t been any place, had she? Or do you claim she kept her clothes in her suitcases and then once a week or so she put them in the bureau drawers just to give them a treat?’ And then the judge will frown, the jury smile, and the people in the courtroom laugh.
“And then I’ll start asking him specifically about the articles that were in the suitcase and will bring out the evidence that shows she was unpacking instead of packing. And that will make it appear that I knew what I was talking about all along, that the District Attorney has missed a bet, and, more important than all, it will keep from crucifying Marilyn Marlow with that story she’s telling. In other words, if Rose Keeling had been packing, she never would have invited Marilyn Marlow to come back and play tennis. If she had been unpacking, she could very well have done so. It’s just a little thing, but it may mean the difference between conviction and acquittal in a murder case. In one way Marilyn Marlow’s story has to be a lie, and in the other way it may be the truth. How about this block, Della? Have you seen anything that looks like a police car?”
“Not a thing so far.”
Mason said, “Well, we can’t comb the whole city. We’ve got the key. Let’s take a chance.”
“Okay by me,” Della said. “Where are you going to leave the car?”
“Right in front of the flat,” Mason told her.
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
“Sure it’s dangerous. The whole thing is dangerous. The minute we walk in there, we’re playing into Tragg’s hands. If he should spot us, he’ll arrest us for burglary.”
“But we aren’t taking anything.”
“Burglary,” Mason said, “is a matter of intent.”
“What do you mean?”
“A person who enters a building with intent to commit larceny or any felony is guilty of burglary.”
“You mean if we were caught inside the building, we wouldn’t have any defense?”
“We’d have to convince a jury that our intent in entering the building wasn’t to take anything. That might be quite a job. The police would claim we intended to take something out with us.”
“What, for instance?”
“They wouldn’t need to specify. They’d claim it was some bit of evidence we didn’t want to have found by the police. Oh, what’s the use, Della. We just can’t afford to get caught.”
She laughed. “I was just getting posted on the law.”
“Do you want to wait in the car and …”
“Don’t be silly.”
“I can go in and take a preliminary look around …”
“What would you know about fixing evidence so it would look as though a girl had been unpacking instead of packing? You’d botch it all up. Any man would. Don’t be silly, let’s go.”
Mason slid the car to a stop in front of the flat.
“Do we do any more reconnoitering?” Della asked.
“Definitely not. Anyone who might happen to be looking out from one of the adjoining houses would immediately think we were guilty of something. We walk right up to the place, just like we were police detectives getting evidence. Just like this.”
Mason led the way across the sidewalk, fitted the key to the door of the flat.
“And go right up?” Della Street asked.
“Right up,” Mason said. “After all, the housing shortage being what it is, the neighbors might think some friend of the chief of police had made a new lease on the flat before they had the body moved out. Just don’t turn on the lights, Della. We’ll use flashlights and keep the beams shaded.”
Mason produced two small flashlights which he had taken from the glove compartment of his car, and they moved cautiously up the stair treads.
“Keep a little to one side,” Mason warned. “The sides of the treads don’t creak as much. I don’t want the people in the flat below to hear steps moving around up here.”
“The building’s constructed rather substantially,” Della Street said.
“I know, but just take it easy.”
Keeping to the side of the stair treads, they moved cautiously up to the second floor. Mason, keeping the beam of his flashlight shielded, moved quietly through the living room, down the short stretch of corridor and into the bedroom.
The body had been moved, and where the red pool had been there was now only a sinister stain. Chalk marks on the floor outlined the general position of the body when it had been found.
“They’ve dusted everything for fingerprints,” Mason said, “but aside from that, they’ve left stuff just as it was.”
“Then they haven’t made an inventory of the things that were in the suitcases?”
“I don’t think so. They probably just lifted the edges of the various garments. They may intend to do some more photographing or bring in some more witnesses. Perhaps later on they’ll close these suitcases and take them up to the District Attorney’s office. All right, here you are, Della. Get busy.”
Della Street bent over the suitcases. Mason held his flashlight so it gave her a circle of illumination.
Della Street’s deft fingers ran through the garments.
“What do you make of it?” Mason asked.
Della Street said, “She was either going to get married or she was going on a trip of some importance. She certainly put her finery in here and lots of it. Looks to me as though she’s raided her hope chest. She went heavy on lingerie and nighties … expensive stuff.”
“How can you make it appear she’d been unpacking instead of packing?”
“Give me time, Chief, I’ll have to figure that one out.”
Her skillful fingers raised the folds of each one of the garments without disturbing the manner in which it had been packed.
“I’ll tell you one thing,” Della Street said in a low whisper. “The girl was a darn good packer and I don’t think there was anything hasty about the way she did this packing, either. It’s been done very carefully.”
“Stay with it,” Mason said. “See what else you can find.”
Della Street ran through the other suitcase, then said, “She evidently hadn’t packed one side of it. What are the clothes on the dresser?”
Mason raised the beam of his flashlight so Della Street
could inspect them. Suddenly she whistled.
“What’s the matter?” Mason asked.
Della Street said, “Chief, the theory of the police is that these garments were folded and placed on top of the bureau so they could be put into the suitcase?”
“That’s right.”
Della Street shook her head. “She couldn’t have folded them that accurately. You see, the edges are all uniform, just absolutely the dimensions of the suitcase.”
Della Street picked the garments up and eased them down into the suitcase. “See, they fit exactly!”
“Well?” Mason asked.
“Don’t you get it?” Della Street said, her voice excited.
“Get what?”
“Chief, we’re right! We had it all the time.”
“You mean she was unpacking?”
“She was! She had to be. See what happened? She folded these garments into the suitcase, one by one. That’s the reason they exactly fit the dimensions of the suitcase. As she folded them, they were inside the suitcase. Then when she started to unpack, she lifted out the garments that were on this side of the suitcase and put them on the top of the bureau…. Probably something she wanted out from underneath. Then she left them there on top of the bureau. There aren’t enough here to fill … Let’s take a look, Chief.”
Excitedly, Della Street opened the bureau drawers.
“Look,” she said breathlessly, “look at these garments! They’re folded exactly in the same way the others are. Let’s see.”
Della Street carefully picked up a blouse and super imposed it on top of the pile of garments on top of the bureau.
“You see what I mean? She had started to unpack! She really had, Chief! She’d taken these garments out of the suitcase, placed them on top of the bureau; and then she was proceeding to put them back in the bureau drawers, and because the dimensions of the suitcases were somewhere near those of the drawer, she hadn’t bothered to fold them again, but had left them folded just as they had been to go into the suitcase.”
Mason said dubiously, “You don’t think it could be just a coincidence? It …”
Della Street said, “If you think it’s a coincidence, just try it. Try to take a garment and fold it so that it is exact in the dimensions of its fold. You can’t do it, unless you have something to hold it, something that keeps it in size. You need a box or a suitcase, or …”
“Let’s get out of here,” Mason said abruptly. “Well get a court order demanding that the property be undisturbed. We’ll get photographers. The thing now is to get official access to these premises before the police have mixed everything up.”
Della Street said, “But even if they do, we could testify. I could say that …”
Mason’s laugh was harsh. “A fat chance!” he said. “You’d get on the stand and testify to what you had seen and the District Attorney would take you on cross-examination and say sarcastically, ‘What sort of visibility did you have, Miss Street? What kind of light were you using?’ And you’d say, ‘A flashlight,’ and then the District Attorney would ask you what time of night it was, and you would say, ‘About one-thirty in the morning,’ and …”
“Well, what difference does it make what time it was?” Della Street demanded. “Facts are facts.”
“Sure they’re facts,” Mason said, “but the District Attorney would make it appear that you and I had entered the building so that we could refold those garments so they would just fit into the suitcase and …”
“But we didn’t do it.”
“You’d say we didn’t do it, Della, but when you come right down to it, what did we come in here for? Suppose we’d had to do it?”
Della Street thought that over for a moment, then said, “All right, let’s get out of here.”
“The irony of it is,” Mason went on, “that the evidence was actually here all the time. If I’d only used my eyes when I was in here. If I’d pointed it out to Tragg then … Oh, what’s the use? Let’s go.”
They tiptoed down the passageway, through the living room to the head of the stairs, then cautiously descended, once more keeping over to the side of the treads so as to avoid creaking boards.
They reached the lower landing.
“All ready?” Mason asked.
“All ready,” Della Street said.
Mason opened the door.
After the stuffy interior of the flat where the windows had been closed, the freshness of the cool night air fanned them with a sudden chill.
At that moment a light swinging around the corner of the building flooded the porch with blood-red brilliance.
Della Street said, “Good heavens, it’s …”
“A police car,” Mason said.
“Do we run back or …”
“Out!” Mason said, and pushed her out to the porch. He followed her and pulled the door shut behind him. He took the handkerchief from his pocket, held it in front of him and made rapid motions.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Polishing fingerprints off that key. Raise the front door mat with your foot. Hurry.”
She moved the front door mat with her foot. Mason dropped the key to the cement porch where it gave forth a metallic tinkle.
“All right,” Mason said. “Hold the rug up.”
Della Street’s foot held the rug and Mason kicked the key under the rug.
Mason, standing at the door, started ringing the bell. The blood-red spotlight on the police car now held them pinned in its pitiless red beam. The police car slid to a stop. A door opened and closed.
Mason turned and said casually, “We want to get in here. What’s wrong with the police guard? Is he drunk? We’ve been ringing for ten minutes.”
A radio officer, followed by a man who hung back in the shadows, came up the walk.
“What the hell’s coming off here?”
Mason said, “We want to get into this place.”
“You’ve been in it.”
“Been in it?” Mason said. “Of course I’ve been in it. That’s why I want to get back in.”
“How did you get in?”
“I was here with Lieutenant Tragg,” Mason said.
“I don’t mean then. I mean you were in just now.”
Mason said, “I want to get in. I’m ringing the bell. There must be some officer sleeping upstairs.”
“You’ve been in. You opened that door and went in.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Here’s a witness who saw you,” the officer said.
Robert Caddo stepped forward, said apologetically, “Hello, Mason.”
“Why, hello, Caddo,” Mason said. “What are you doing here?”
Caddo was awkwardly silent.
Mason said to the prowl car officer, “I certainly hope you’re not paying any attention to the word of this man.”
“What’s wrong with his word?”
“As far as I’m concerned, he’s a suspect in this murder case. He’s already told one bunch of lies to the police.”
Caddo said, “You can’t talk like that, Mason.”
“The hell I can’t!” Mason told him belligerently, stepping toward Caddo. “You heard your wife tell me she’d been to see Rose Keeling, and you tried to …”
“She didn’t tell you any such thing! She …”
The radio officer put a big hand on Mason’s chest, pushed him back from Caddo. “Keep your shirt on, buddy,” he said. “We’ll save all this stuff. What I want to know is what you were doing in that house.”
Mason said, “I want to get the evidence perpetuated. This man with you is trying his damnedest to get into this flat by some hook or crook, so he can remove some evidence which will implicate his wife.”
“That’s not true,” Caddo said.
Mason laughed sneeringly. “You’d give your right hand to get in there. You’ve worked up some cock-and-bull story to spring on this officer so he’ll let you in.”
“I tell you that’s not true!�
�� Caddo said. “I was watching this place because I felt certain someone would try to plant some evidence that would incriminate Dolores.”
“So,” Mason said sneeringly, “you came out here, parked a car and stayed all night so you could …”
“So I could watch the place,” Caddo interrupted. “I saw you driving around and around the block and then I saw you park your car, and you and your secretary went in that flat.”
“So you dashed out to find a cop. Is that right?”
“I went to the nearest telephone and put in a call to police headquarters. They contacted the radio car,” Caddo said.
“I see,” Mason said sarcastically. “And how long after you think we went in did you wait before you went for the radio car? Why did you sit there waiting? …”
“I didn’t wait. The minute I saw you at the door, I knew it was going to happen, and I made a dash to the telephone.”
“I thought so,” Mason said.
“What’s wrong with that?” Caddo asked.
“The minute you saw us coming up here to this door,” Mason said, his foot touching Della Street’s toe, “you went dashing off to the nearest telephone.”
“I’ve already told you that,” Caddo said.
“You certainly have,” Mason said. “I want you to get the significance of that, officer. The minute he saw us come up here on the porch, he dashed to the telephone.”
“Because I knew what you were trying to do. I knew you were going to get in here and plant some evidence on my wife. I’d had a suspicion all along that you’d do something like that. You … Hey, officer, that woman is taking this stuff down in shorthand.”
“Sure she is,” Mason said.
The officer turned. Della Street, standing back in the corner, had taken a shorthand notebook and fountain pen from her pocket and her hand was flying over the page, making dashes and pothooks.
The Case of the Lonely Heiress Page 17
