Erle Gardner - The Case of the Shoplifter's Shoe

Mason chose his words carefully. “Detectives working on the case reported a car had been parked near Cullens’ residence at about the time of his death. The car was described as a red convertible with yellow wire wheels. The license number, as given by the witnesses, may be wrong, in one figure. If it is, it coincides with your license number, and the description of the man who was seen hanging around Cullens’ place coincides with your description.”

“So you were here, trying to bully something out of my wife?” Chennery asked.

“We asked her questions.”

“And intimated I might have killed him?”

“She seemed to think that was what we had in mind,” Mason said.

Chennery grinned, a cold, mirthless grin. “All right,” he said, “go ahead, frisk me.” He elevated his arms so that they were horizontal, his hands outstretched, the thumbs held wide from the palms. Drake searched through the man’s pockets, patted him under the arms and said, “He’s clean, Perry.”

Mason said, “Yes, he’d hardly have been so foolish as to carry the gun around with him. He probably left it at the scene of the murder.”

Chennery said, “You boys can’t frame anything like that on me.”

“You weren’t home last night,” Mason said, “all night.”

Chennery turned to glower at his wife. Mason said, “Don’t blame it on her. She hasn’t spilled anything. We’ve had a detective watching the place ever since eleven o’clock last night.”

“All right,” Chennery said, “I wasn’t home last night. So what does that add up to?”

“I don’t know,” Mason told him. “I want to know where you Were.”

“You’re a lawyer?” Chennery asked. Mason nodded.

“And this other man’s a detective,” his wife said.

“Out of headquarters?” Chennery said, turning to Drake.

Mason said, “No. A private detective in my employ.”

Chennery walked over to the door, held it open and said, “Go ahead, roll your hoops, both of you.”

His wife put a pleading hand on his arm. “Listen, Pete,” she said, “you can’t do that to these men. They’re...”

He shook her off and said to Mason, “I said, go ahead and roll your hoops.”

Mason, for a moment, might not have heard him. He turned, thumbs still hooked in the armholes of his vest, his eyes, narrowed in thought, staring moodily out of the window. Drake said belligerently, “You talk big.”

“I’m talking big,” Chennery told him, “because I happen to have paid rent on this apartment. This is my home. You haven’t any search warrants. Get out!”

“We might have a warrant of arrest,” Drake said.

Chennery laughed. “A private detective,” he mocked, “with a warrant of arrest. Phooey!”

Abruptly, Mason turned from the window. There was a twinkle about the corners of his eyes. “Come on, Paul,” he said, “Chennery has all the aces.”

“You mean we’re leaving?” Drake asked. Mason nodded.

Chennery stood holding open the door. Wordlessly, Mason and the detective filed past him into the corridor. The door slammed shut behind them. Drake said protestingly, “Hell, Perry, that guy can’t push us around. When it comes to a showdown, we’re closer to solving the murder of Austin Cullens right now than we’ll ever be again...”

Mason linked his arm through the detective’s and pulled him toward the elevator. “You forget, Paul,” he said, “that we don’t want to solve the murder.”

“What the devil do you mean?” Drake asked.

“If we solve the murder,” Mason went on smoothly, “Detective Sergeant Holcomb, of the homicide squad, wouldn’t get the credit of solving the murder. Therefore, Sergeant Holcomb would be inclined to reject our solution as being a frame-up to get Sarah Breel acquitted. If, on the other hand, Sergeant Holcomb should decide that Pete Chennery should be investigated, he’d naturally...”

“My mistake,” Drake interrupted. “I’m sorry, Perry. The punch on my jaw probably kept me from thinking as fast as I otherwise would have.”

“Does it hurt?” Mason asked.

Drake half turned back toward the apartment. Mason could feel the detective’s muscle tense under his suit sleeve. “You’re damned right it hurts,” he growled.

Mason continued to pull him toward the elevator. “You can get an aspirin at the drug store,” he told him. “And here’s something to bear in mind. We’ve let Chennery know he’s being shadowed. He won’t have much difficulty in spotting your detective out in front. His next move will be to take it on the lam and try ditching that detective. We tip that man off so the ditching won’t be too difficult. But, in the meantime, we have three under-cover detectives rushed out to begin where this chap leaves off. Do you get me?”

“I get you,” Drake said. “It’ll be a pleasure to slip one over on that baby.”

“Okay,” Mason told him. “You can telephone from the drug store and then get an aspirin.”

“Then what?” Drake asked.

“And then,” Mason said with a grin, “you get busy checking all important gem robberies during the last five years. If Lone Bedford can’t identify those diamonds, there’s a good chance someone else can. Of course, Paul, I wouldn’t want to tell you how to run your business, but you might find some reward money if you checked up on the activities of one Austin Cullens, deceased.”

Drake slowly stroked his sore jaw. “For a detective,” he said at length, “I am dumb.”

Virginia Trent sat up in bed and regarded Mason with heavy eyes. “Good morning, Mr. Mason,” she said thickly.

“How do you feel?” Mason asked.

She made tasting noises with her mouth and said, “I don’t know. The nurse just woke me up.”

A nurse, standing by the side of the bed, said, “You were pretty much unstrung. The doctor gave you a sedative.”

“I’ll say he did,” Virginia Trent said, rubbing her eyes. “I’ll bet I look a fright. Give me a mirror and a drink of water.”

The nurse brought the water but not the mirror. Virginia Trent drank it petulantly, regarded the heavy flannel nightgown which came high up around her neck and said to the nurse, “That’s a nightgown I hardly ever wear? Where did you find it?”

“It was in the bottom drawer on the right-hand side. I...”

“Well, why didn’t you get the ones in the upper drawer on top?”

“You’d had quite a shock,” the nurse said. “I was afraid you might get chilled. Your resistance was lowered. The sedative started taking effect in the taxicab.”

Virginia Trent said, “I remember now — those officers. They’re a bunch of sadists. They love to torture the helpless.”

“What did they do?” Mason asked.

“Thundered questions at me and almost drove me crazy,” she said. “I guess I had hysterics again.”

“You did,” the nurse told her.

“Then what happened?”

“Finally a doctor gave you a sedative, and I was detailed to take you home and see that you slept.”

“You mean, to see that I didn’t try to escape,” Virginia Trent said. The nurse was tactfully silent. “Where’s my aunt?”

“In the hospital. She had only a very light concussion, and slept most of the night. The doctor didn’t let the officers know she was conscious until this morning.”

“How is she?”

Mason said, “Don’t worry. She’s quite able to take care of herself.”

“What was all this they told me about finding her bag with the gun which killed Austin Cullens?”

Mason said, “They haven’t been able to establish that it’s her bag yet.”

She yawned prodigiously. “You’re going to have to wait, Mr. Mason, while I wash my face in cold water and clean my teeth.”