Erle Gardner: The Case of the Perjured Parrot

Mason’s eyes showed keen interest. “You’re certain?” he asked.

“Absolutely certain.”

“May I ask how you know?”

“In the first place,” Sabin said, “the parrot in the cabin is given to profanity, particularly in connection with requests for food. Casanova had never learned to swear.”

“Perhaps,” Mason said, “a change of environment would have been responsible for that. You know, a parrot can pick up...”

“Moreover,” Sabin said, “—and you’ll pardon me if I interrupt you, Mr. Mason, because I am about to mention a point which is irrefutable — Casanova had one claw missing, a claw on his right foot. This parrot does not.”

Mason frowned. “But why the devil,” he asked, “should anyone want to substitute parrots?”

“The only reason I can think of,” Sabin said, “is that the parrot is more important than would at first seem to be the case. I am quite certain that Casanova was with my father in the mountain cabin when my father was murdered. He, perhaps, saw something, or heard something, so he was removed and another parrot substituted. My father returned home on Friday, September second, long enough to pick up Casanova. We hadn’t expected him until Monday, September fifth.”

“But it would have been so much simpler and easier for the murderer to have killed the parrot,” Mason said.

“I realize that,” Sabin replied, “and I know that my theory is bizarre. Nevertheless, it is the only explanation I have been able to make in my own mind.”

“Why,” Mason asked, “didn’t you tell the police about this?”

Sabin shook his head. This time there was no attempt to disguise the weariness in his eyes or his voice. “I have come to realize,” he said, “that it is absolutely impossible for the police to keep matters from the newspapers, and I don’t have any great confidence in the ability of the police to solve a crime such as this. I think you will find that it has very deep ramifications, Mr. Mason. I’ve told the police no more than was absolutely necessary. I have not volunteered information. I am giving this information to you. I would suggest that you keep it from the police. Let them build up their own case.”

And Sabin indicated that he had told everything he knew by getting to his feet and extending his hand. “Thank you very much, Mr. Mason,” he said. “I’ll rest a lot easier in knowing that the matter is in your hands.”

Mason, pacing back and forth across his office, jerked out comments. Paul Drake, head of the Drake Detective Agency, his tall form draped crosswise across the overstuffed leather chair, made notes in a leather-backed notebook.

“That substituted parrot,” Mason said, “is a clue which we have in advance of the police... It’s a profane parrot... Later on, we’re going to find out why the murderer wanted to substitute parrots. Right now, we’re going to try and trace the profane parrot, which should be easy... We can’t hope to compete with the police, so we’ll ignore the commonplace factors.”

“How about the pink silk nightie?” Paul Drake asked, in his slow, drawling voice. “Do we do anything about that?”

“Not a thing,” Mason said. “That’s something the police are working on tooth and nail... How much do you know about the case, Paul?”

“Not very much more than what I’ve read in the papers,” Drake said, “but one of my friends, who’s in the newspaper game, was asking me something about weapons.”

“What did he want to know?” Mason asked.

“Something about the murder gun.”

“What about the gun?”

“It’s some sort of a trick weapon,” Drake said. “One of those short-barreled guns, with a trigger which folds back out of the way. It’s small enough to be carried anywhere.”

“What caliber?”

“A forty-one.”

“Try and find out about ammunition for it,” Mason said. “See if the shells are carried in stock... No, forget it. The police will do all that. You stick to parrots, Paul. Cover all pet stores. Find out about parrot sales during the last week or two.”

Paul Drake, whose efficiency as a detective depended in large part upon the fact that he looked so completely innocuous, closed his leather-backed notebook and dropped it into his pocket. He surveyed Perry Mason with slightly protruding eyes, the expression of which was habitually masked by a glassy film.

“How far do you want me to check up on Mrs. Sabin and the son, Perry?” he asked.

“Everything you can find out,” Mason said.

Drake checked off the points on his fingers. “Let’s see now, if I have everything straight. Get the dope on the widow and Steve Watkins. Cover the bird stores and find out about the profane parrot. Get all the information I can about the mountain cabin and what happened up there. Get photographs of the interior, and... How about the exterior, Perry, do you want them?”

“No,” Mason said, “I’m going to drive up there, Paul, and give it the once-over. The only photographs I want are those which were taken when the police discovered the body.”

“On my way,” Drake told him, sliding out of the chair.

“And incidentally,” Mason said, as the detective was halfway to the door, “here’s another hunch. Let’s suppose the murderer substituted parrots, then what became of Casanova?”

“I’ll bite,” Drake said, with a grin, “what do you do with a parrot? Make a parrot pie, or do you broil ’em on toast?”

Mason said, “You put them in cages and listen to them talk.”

“No, really!” Drake exclaimed in mock surprise. “You don’t tell me.”

Mason said, “Get it through that droopy mind of yours that I’m not joking. That’s exactly what you do with a parrot, and whoever took Casanova, may have done it because he wanted to listen to something Casanova had to say.”

“That,” Drake admitted, “is a thought.”

“Moreover,” Mason went on, “the murderer probably has moved into a new neighborhood. You might make a check on any new parrots.”

“What do you want me to do?” Drake asked. “Take a bird census, or put a bird bath on the roof and watch for parrots... My God, Perry, have a heart! How the devil can a man find a new parrot?”

“I think,” Mason told him, “you’ll find there aren’t so many parrots. They’re a noisy pet, and they aren’t particularly apartment pets. People who have parrots are apt to live in the suburbs. Parrots are something of a nuisance as far as neighbors are concerned. I think there’s a city ordinance on parrots in apartments. I have an idea you may find something from talking to pet stores. Trace the sale of new cages. Find out people who have been inquiring about the care and feeding of parrots. And incidentally, Paul, remember there’s a pet store here in the block. Karl Helmold, the chap who runs it, is a client of mine. He’ll probably have some trade lists, which will give you the names of the larger pet stores in the vicinity, and he may be able to tell you quite a bit about parrots. Put every available operative on the job.”

“Okay,” Drake said. “I’ll be on my way.”

Mason nodded to Della Street. “Come on, Della, let’s go take a look at that cabin.”

The road wound up the sides of the long canyon, turning and twisting on itself like a snake in pain. Through the windshield Mason caught occasional glimpses of purple mountains. Below, a threadlike stream tumbled whitely over granite boulders. Back of the car the heat haze of the valley country showed as a gaseous blanket, heavy, oppressive, shimmering.

It was dry up here, and the air was impregnated with scent which oozed from the tips of pine needles. It was hot, too, but the dry balsam-laden heat was kind to the nostrils. High overhead the southern California sky was so blue that it almost seemed black in contrast with the bright sunlight which beat down upon the sheer granite ridges where there was not enough soil to support trees.