Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Velvet Claws

“All right, if you’ve looked me up, you know I never go back on my friends. Sidney Drumm is a friend of mine. I got him in on this. If it had been any kind of a frameup, I’d have got somebody I didn’t know.”

Sergeant Hoffman admitted grudgingly, “Well, I’m going to stick around a little while, but don’t try any funny stuff. I want to know what you’re getting at.”

Mason stood staring at the bathroom. There were chalklines on the floor, marking the position in which the body of George Belter had been found.

Suddenly Mason laughed aloud.

“I’ll be damned!”

“What’s the joke?” asked Drumm.

Mason turned to Sergeant Hoffman.

“Okay, Sergeant,” he said, “I’m ready to go ahead and show you something. Will you send for Mrs. Veitch and her daughter?”

Sergeant Hoffman looked dubious. “What do you want with them?”

Mason said, “I want to ask them some questions.”

Hoffman shook his head.

“No,” he said, “I don’t think I want you to—not until I know more about it.”

“This is on the level, Sergeant,” Mason insisted. “You sit and listen to the questions. Any time you think I’m getting off the reservation, you can stop me. Hell’s fire, man! If I wanted to slip over a fast one, I’d run you in front of a jury and then pull my stuff as a surprise. I certainly wouldn’t go out and take the police in on the ground floor of what my defense was going to be.”

Sergeant Hoffman thought a minute.

“That’s logical,” he said. He turned to Drumm. “Go on down and round up the two women, and bring them up here,” he said.

Drumm nodded and left the room.

Paul Drake stared at Mason curiously. There was not the faintest trace of expression on Mason’s face, nor did he say anything during the few minutes which elapsed after Drumm left the room and the time when shuffling steps were heard outside of the door. Then the door opened, and Drumm bowed the two women into the room.

Mrs. Veitch was as sombre as ever. Her dull black eyes stared incuriously at the men in the room. She walked with her peculiar, long, flatfooted stride.

Norma Veitch wore a tight fitting dress, which accentuated the curves of her figure. She seemed proudly aware of her ability to catch the masculine eye as she stared from face to face, with a half smile on her full lips.

Mason said, “We wanted to ask you a few questions.”

Norma Veitch said, “Again?”

“Mrs. Veitch, do you know anything about your daughter’s engagement to Carl Griffin?” asked Mason, ignoring Norma’s comment.

“I know they’re engaged.”

“Did you know that there was any romance there?” asked Mason.

“There’s usually a romance when people get engaged,” she said, in her husky voice.

“I’m not talking about that,” he told her. “Please answer my question, Mrs. Veitch. Was there any romance between the pair, that you know of, prior to the time that Norma came here?”

The dark, sunken eyes shifted for a moment toward Norma, then came back to Mason’s face.

“No,” she said, “not before they came here. They got acquainted afterwards.”

“Did you know your daughter had been married?” asked Mason.

The eyes stared full in his face without any change of expression.

“No,” said the woman wearily, “she hasn’t been married.”

Mason shifted quickly to Norma.

“How about it, Miss Veitch? Were you ever married?”

“Not yet,” she said. “I’m going to be. And I don’t see for the life of me how that’s connected with the murder of George Belter. If you folks want to ask questions about that, I presume we’ve got to answer them, but I don’t see that that means I have to go into my private affairs.”

“How could you marry Carl Griffin when you were already married?” Mason asked.

“I’m not married,” Norma Veitch said, “and I don’t have to stand for these insulting comments.”

“That isn’t what Harry Loring says,” Mason told her.

The girl’s face didn’t change expression by so much as the flicker of an eyelash.

“Loring?” she said, in a calmly inquiring tone. “Never heard of the man. Did you ever hear of a man named Loring, Mumsey?”

Mrs. Veitch puckered her forehead. “Not that I can recall, Norma. I’m not very good at remembering names, but I don’t know any Loring.”

“Perhaps,” said Mason, “I can refresh your recollection. He’s a man that lived in the Belvedere Apartments. He had apartment 312.”

Norma Veitch shook her head hastily, “I’m certain there’s some mistake.”

Perry Mason pulled the copy of the summons and complaint in the divorce action from his pocket. “Then perhaps you can explain how it happened that you verified this complaint, in which you swore on your oath that you had gone through a marriage ceremony with Harry Loring.”

Norma Veitch flashed one quick glance at the paper, then shifted her eyes to her mother. Mrs. Veitch’s face was quite expressionless.

Norma spoke rapidly.

“I’m sorry that you found that out, but since you did, I may as well tell you. I didn’t want Carl to know anything about it. I was married and had trouble with my husband and left him. I came here and took my maiden name. Carl met me, and we fell in love with each other at first sight. We didn’t dare to do anything about announcing our engagement because we knew that Mr. Belter would be furious. But, after Mr. Belter died, there wasn’t any reason why we should keep it secret.

“I found out my husband had another wife living. That’s one of the reasons we separated. I talked to a lawyer. He said the marriage wasn’t any good. He told me I could get an annulment. I was going to do it quietly. I didn’t figure that anybody would know a thing about it or connect the name of Loring with that of Veitch.”

“That isn’t what Griffin says,” Mason told her.

“Of course not,” she said. “He doesn’t know anything about it.”

Mason shook his head.

“No,” he said. “You see, Griffin has confessed. We’re trying to check up on his confession, trying to find out if you’re criminally responsible as an accessory or if you were just the victim of circumstances.”

Sergeant Hoffman moved forward. “I think,” he said, “that right here is where I’m going to stop the show, Mason.”

Mason turned on him. “Listen for one more minute, Sergeant,” he pleaded. “You can stop the show then if you want to.”

Norma Veitch looked swiftly and nervously from one to the other. Mrs. Veitch’s face was a mask of weary resignation.

“What happened,” said Mason, “is that Mrs. Belter had an argument with her husband, and fired the shot at him. Then she turned and ran, without waiting to see what had happened. Womanlike, she supposed, of course, that because she had shot at a man, she had hit him. As a matter of fact, at that distance, in her excitement, the chances were very strongly against her hitting him.

“She turned and ran down the stairs, grabbed a coat, and went out into the rain. You, Miss Veitch, heard the shot and you got up, dressed, and came to see what the trouble was. In the meantime Carl Griffin had driven up to the house, and had come in. It was raining and he had put his umbrella in the rack, and went upstairs to the study.

“You heard Griffin’s voice and Belter’s voice, and listened. Belter was telling Griffin about how his wife had shot at him, and that he’d uncovered proof of her infidelity. He mentioned the man’s name to his nephew and asked his nephew what should be done about it.

“Griffin became curious as to the shooting, and got Belter to stand in the door of the bathroom, just as he’d been standing when Mrs. Belter shot at him. When Griffin had him in that position, he raised the gun and shot Belter through the heart. Then he put the gun down, ran down the stairs, out through the front door, jumped in his car, and drove away.