Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Counterfeit Eye

"I'm glad you think so," Mason told him. "Your predecessor in office didn't think so."

"I think an attorney has a right to work any legitimate trick in order to bring out the truth," Burger went on. "I notice that your tricks aren't for the purpose of confusing a witness, but for the purpose of blasting preconceived notions out of his head, so that he can tell the truth."

Mason bowed and said, "I'll thank you when you've entirely finished. Experience has taught me that words of praise like this are generally preliminary to a slap."

"No slaps this time," Burger went on. "I just want you to understand my attitude."

"If that's your attitude," Mason said, "I understand it."

"Then you'll appreciate what I'm going to say."

"Go on and say it."

"District attorneys have a habit of wanting to get convictions. That's natural. The police work up a case and dump it in the lap of the district attorney. It's up to him to get a conviction. In fact, the reputation of a district attorney is predicated on the percentage of convictions he gets on the number of cases tried."

Mason said in a very casual voice, "Go ahead, I'm listening."

"When I took this job," Burger said, "I wanted to be conscientious. I have a horror of prosecuting an innocent person. I have been impressed by your work. You probably won't agree with the conclusion I have reached concerning it."

"What's the conclusion?" Mason asked.

"That you're a better detective than you are a lawyer, and that isn't any disparagement of your legal ability, either. Your courtroom technique is clever, but it's all of it founded on having first reached a correct solution of the case. When you resort to unorthodox tricks as a part of your courtroom technique I'm opposed to them, but when you use those tricks to bring about a correct solution of a mystery I'm for them. My hands are tied. I can't resort to unorthodox spectacular tactics. Sometimes I wish I could, particularly when I think a witness is lying to me about the identity of a criminal."

Mason said slowly, "Since you're being frank with me, which is something no other district attorney has ever done, I'll be frank with you, which, incidentally is something I've never bothered to be with any other district attorney. I don't ask a man if he's guilty or innocent. When I start to represent him, I take his money and handle his case. Guilty or innocent, he's entitled to his day in court, but if I should find one of my clients was really guilty of murder and wasn't morally or legally justified, I'd make that client plead guilty and trust to the mercy of the Court."

Burger nodded his head heartily. "I had an idea you would, Mason."

"Remember what I said," Mason warned him, "that there was no moral or legal justification for the homicide. If a person is morally justified in killing, I'll save that person from the legal penalty if it's possible to do so."

"Well," Burger said, "I can't agree with you on that. I believe the law is the only machine of justification, but I want you to understand I'm not prejudiced against you and I would like to be friendly with you. Therefore, I want you to produce Hazel Fenwick."

"I don't know where she is."

"That may be true, and yet you may be able to produce her."

"I tell you I don't know where she is."

"You spirited her away."

"I sent her to my office."

"Your action in doing that is open to grave suspicion."

"I don't know just why," Mason said evenly. "If you'd been the first one on the scene you'd have thought nothing of sending her to your office so you could get a statement out of her."

"I'm a public official and it's my duty to investigate murder," Burger said.

"That doesn't prevent me from making an investigation on behalf of my client, does it?"

"It depends on how it's done."

"There's no secret of how it was done in this case," Mason told him. "I did what I did in the presence of witnesses."

"What happened after that?"

"Hazel Fenwick took my car and disappeared."

"I have reason to believe," Burger said, "that the woman's life is in danger."

"What makes you think so?"

"She is the only person who can positively identify the murderer."

"Not the murderer," Mason said. "The man who was seen coming out of the room."

"They're one and the same."

"You think so?"

"It stands to reason."

"Nothing stands to reason until it can be proven."

"Well, let us express it this way, then: It's a matter of opinion. You're entitled to yours and I'm entitled to mine. At least, the man may be the murderer. That man is desperate. I think that Hazel Fenwick either has met with foul play, or will meet with foul play."

"Therefore, what?"

"Therefore, I want to put her where she'll be safe."

"And you think I can tell you where she is?"

"I feel quite certain of it."

"I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"Can't."

Burger got to his feet and said slowly, "I wanted you to understand my attitude. If your clients are innocent I want to know it, but, by God, if you think you can pull a stunt like the one you pulled in concealing that witness in a murder case and not get into trouble you're crazy."

Mason said slowly, "I tell you I don't know where she is."

Burger jerked open the door to the corridor and paused in the doorway to deliver an ultimatum. "You've got fortyeight hours," he said, "to change your mind. That's final." The door shut.

Della Street glanced apprehensively at the lawyer.

"Chief," she said, "you've got to do something about that woman."

Mason nodded moodily, then grinned and said, "I can do a lot in fortyeight hours, Della."

Paul Drake's eyes showed loss of sleep.

"Whenever a detective gets to digging around in people's lives," he said, "he finds skeletons."

Mason nodded moodily and said, "Who is it this time, Paul?"

"Hazel Fenwick," the detective said.

The lawyer motioned to Della Street to make notes.

"What about her?" he asked. "Did you get anything out of those fingerprints?"

"I'll say I did," the detective said. "I got ten perfect fingerprints, pulled a few wires to get the dope I wanted, and found out all about her."

"Her prints are registered then?"

"I'll say they are. She's suspected of being a female Bluebeard."

"A what?"

"A female Bluebeard."

"All right, go ahead and spill it."

"The police haven't anything very definite," the detective said, "but this woman marries men, the men then die, and she inherits the property."

"How many men?" Mason asked.

"I can't find out. The police aren't sure, but they've got some pretty strong suspicions. One of her husbands had arsenic in his stomach. They started an investigation. They exhumed another husband and found more arsenic. They arrested her, took her fingerprints, questioned her, and didn't find out anything. While they were collecting more data, some kindhearted friend slipped her a couple of saws. She sawed through the bars of the county jail, where she was being held, and disappeared."

Mason gave a low whistle, and said, "Any living husbands?"

"Yes. There's Stephen Chalmers. She married him and he walked out on her two days after the marriage. She didn't get a chance to feed him arsenic."

"Does he know about her past record?" Mason asked.

"No. I think he lied about his property when she married him. She found out the truth and there was quite a scene. Chalmers called her a gold digger and walked out. He hasn't seen her since."

"Are you sure of the identification?" the lawyer asked.

"Yes," Drake said. "I managed to copy the photograph from the back of Dick Basset's watch."

"I didn't know there was any photograph," Mason said.

"Neither do the police. Basset has the only photograph. He hasn't said a word about it."