Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Sleepwalker's Niece

Mason drummed his fingertips on the desk as he digested the information. “Comb your hair back, Perry, it’s driving me nuts,” Drake complained.

Mason absentmindedly drew a pocket comb through his hair. Della Street, who had slipped out of the office after Drake came in, returned to nod at Mason and said, “That party you asked me to call is coming in promptly at the time specified.”

“Okay, Della, thanks,” he said, without looking up, but continued to keep his eyes focused on the top of the desk as he drummed lightly with his fingertips. “The probabilities are,” he said to Drake, “Maddox will deny putting in that long distance call then.”

“Will Harris make a good witness?” the detective asked.

“I think so. He tells a straightforward story and he had the foresight to make notes. And he noted time to the second. He has every detail—and his notes show that the time coincides absolutely with the record of the telephone company.”

Drake nodded. “That’ll go a long way toward convincing a jury. Perhaps it would be better for you to let Maddox deny the conversation.”

Mason said slowly, “That would be a sweet position to get him in; have him absolutely deny the telephone conversation, then flash the record on him and back the record up with Harris’s testimony. What else do you know, Paul, anything?”

“Yes, you had the right hunch on Duncan.”

“What about?”

“About the oculist business.”

“Did he go?”

“I’ll say he did. He’s there now. He went directly from the district attorney’s office to an oculist’s office.”

“At this hour?”

“Yes, evidently the D.A.’s office made arrangements to have the oculist there.”

Mason chuckled and said, “Probably Duncan got to peering at the district attorney through the lower part of his bifocals and holding stuff out at arm’s length to read, and they realized what a rotten impression that would make on the witness stand.”

Drake nodded, said, “That’s all for the present, Perry. I’ll keep feeding you the facts as fast as I learn them.”

Mason had resumed his pacing of the floor by the time Drake reached the corridor door. “A hell of a case,” he said. “The facts dovetail together and yet they don’t mean anything after they’ve been dovetailed. It’s a crazy case any way you want to look at it.”

Edna Hammer’s fingers twisted the hem of her dress as she nervously crossed her knees and glanced from Della Street to Perry Mason. “What is it?” she asked.

Mason said, “I want you to do something for your uncle. Will you do it?”

“Anything on earth.”

“This may be ticklish.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You might get into trouble, if you get caught.”

She sat for a few moments, then laughed nervously and said, “How about you? Would you get into trouble, if I got caught?”

“Plenty of it.”

“Let’s not get caught, then.”

“That’s damn good philosophy,” he told her.

“What do you want me to do?”

Mason said slowly, “Edna, I want to talk a little law to you, and tell you where I fit into the picture.” She looked puzzled. “A lawyer looks at murders a little differently from the way other people do,” Mason explained. “Murders are just cases to a lawyer. He doesn’t know the people who are killed, he doesn’t know the people who are accused. He’s able to give better service that way. He’s not blinded by sympathies and his mind isn’t clouded by worries.”

She nodded. “Now then,” Mason said, “I want to ask you a few questions, just as the district attorney will ask them of you.”

“What are they?”

“You are familiar with the particular carving knife which was part of the set kept in the top drawer of the sideboard in the dining room of Peter Kent’s house?”

“Why, yes, of course.”

“When did you last see that knife actually in the drawer?”

“I don’t know… I guess it was the time I put it in there after taking it out from under Uncle Peter’s pillow. Do you want me to change my story? If you do, say so.”

“You’ll be asked that question in just about that way,” Mason said, “and the only thing to do is to tell the truth, that the last time you saw the carving knife in that drawer was when you put it in there on the morning of the day of the murder. That was yesterday, the day you consulted me and persuaded your uncle to come in to retain me.”

She nodded. “Now then,” Mason said, “when did you next see that carving knife?”

“Under Uncle’s pillow when you were with me.”

“You are certain it was the same carving knife?” She nodded. “Now then, that illustrates my point,” Mason asserted.

“What do you mean?”

“The district attorney will examine the witnesses just about that way and they are going to answer the questions just about that way. And in doing it, they are going to unwittingly commit perjury.”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“You don’t know that the knife you saw under your uncle’s pillow was the one you’d seen in the drawer. You surmised it was, because the knives looked the same and because you looked in the drawer for the knife, couldn’t find it, looked under your uncle’s pillow and found a knife there, which was of the same general appearance as the knife that was missing from the drawer.”

“Then it wasn’t the same knife?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he told her, “but it is up to the district attorney to prove that it was the same knife and that it was the knife with which the murder was committed.”

“Well, then,” she said quickly, “I could say I wasn’t certain it was the same knife.”

“You can,” he said, “but, before you get on the stand, he’ll have called four or five witnesses, including the butler, and asked them, ‘When did you last see the knife in the drawer?’ ‘When did you next see it?’ and ‘Where was it?’ Then, having shown by inference that it was the same knife, he’ll ask the question, casually—’Was it the same knife?’ or ‘You’re certain it was the same knife?’ or something of that sort. Now then,” Mason said, “I can talk with you frankly, but I can’t talk with the butler and the other witnesses because it would look as though I were trying to tamper with the prosecution’s witnesses. Subpoenas have been served on them.”

She gave a little gasp and said, “Come to think of it, that’s just the way they asked the questions of me when they took my statement.”

“Exactly,” Mason said. “What I am trying to do, Edna, is to point out a handicap under which I am working. No one knows that knife is the same. Everyone thinks it’s the same. It’s going to be important from our side of the case. The district attorney will sort of take it for granted that it’s the same knife and all of the witnesses will do the same thing. Then, when I start crossexamining, I’ll be the one who is trying to prove that it is not the same knife, and I won’t have a leg to stand on. Now, what I want to do is to make the district attorney prove that it is the same knife.”

“How are you going to do that?” she asked.

“By putting another knife in that sideboard drawer,” he said, watching her narrowly. “You’ll discover that knife tomorrow morning. Between us, we’ll see that the newspapers find out about this second knife. The district attorney will probably think I planted it. He’ll yell to high heaven that I’m guilty of unprofessional conduct, compounding felonies, tampering with witnesses and all that sort of stuff, but in order to counteract that, he’ll have to start bearing down with his witnesses on the question of identification. In other words, he can’t just make it a casual matter in which everyone will subconsciously take the identity of the knife for granted. You see what I mean, don’t you?”