Erle Gardner - The Case of the Shoplifter's Shoe

“Exactly,” Mason said, “and something happened to make him return to his office. Now, what was it?”

“I don’t know,” Sergeant Holcomb admitted. “That’s what I want to find out.”

“Don’t you think you’d get farther if you started investigating from that end before you browbeat Miss Trent simply because she happened to know that a gun was in that drawer and knew how to use it?”

“I’m not browbeating anyone.”

“The girl had hysterics last night,” Mason said. “You carried her up to headquarters and shot questions at her until she had to be put under the care of a doctor.”

“All right, we got a doctor and sent her home when she had hysterics the second time,” Holcomb said. “She’s all right this morning.”

Mason said, “I have reason to believe that the first and only gambling place George Trent went to was The Golden Platter on East Third.”

“All right, what of it?”

“Something happened there to make him go back to his office. Don’t you think it would be a good plan for you to try and find out what that something was?”

“I’m running my investigation,” Sergeant Holcomb said.

“Moreover.” Mason went on smoothly, “if you neglect this end of it, and the charge should be made that the officers are deliberately overlooking that angle because it suited their policy to close their eyes to a gambling establishment running wide open, don’t you think...”

“Who says there’s a gambling establishment there?” Sergeant Holcomb demanded belligerently.

“I do,” Mason told him. “Now, what are you going to do about it?”

Sergeant Holcomb thought for a minute and said, “I’m going to make it my business to investigate it.”

“All right,” Mason said, “and I’m going to make it my business to investigate your investigation. In the meantime, I’m going to account for every single minute of this young woman’s time on Saturday afternoon and Saturday evening... You closed the office at noon, Virginia?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you go?”

“I went out in the country.”

“For a walk?”

“Yes. My boyfriend and I were doing some...”

Mason said, “All right, I want to go into that with you in private. I think we’ll let Sergeant Holcomb conclude the other angle of his investigation before we...”

Holcomb said, “That answer sort of floored you, didn’t it, Mason?”

“What’s wrong with that answer?” Mason asked.

Holcomb said, “You don’t need to be so fast when it comes to covering up, Mason. I know what you’re afraid of. Now let me tell you something. This young woman told us all about that last night. I asked her if she took the gun with her, and she said yes. She and her friend were doing some shooting.”

Mason flashed a swift glance of inquiry at Virginia Trent. She nodded and said, “All right, what if I did? We’ve been doing it for the last six months. He can account for every minute of my time during the afternoon.”

“Just who is this boyfriend?” Mason asked.

“Lieutenant Ogilby. He’s in my psychology class at night school.”

Mason looked at Sergeant Holcomb. Holcomb nodded. “He checks,” he said shortly. “They went out about one-thirty. Trent was eating lunch at the counter next to his office building when they left. She arrived back here about six. They’d been together all the time.”

Mason said, “Excuse me, I’m going to put in a telephone call. Where’s the telephone, Miss Trent?”

“There in the hallway,” she told him.

Mason dialed Paul Drake’s office, said, “Is Paul in?... All right, let me talk with him... Hello, Paul. This is Perry Mason. What did your men find out from the janitor at Trent’s office building?”

Drake said, “I have a complete report on that, Perry. Trent closes his office at noon on Saturday, but there are lots of offices in that same building which stay open all Saturday afternoon, so they keep regular elevator service running until six-thirty Saturday night. After six-thirty, the elevators all shut down except the one operated by the janitor. The janitor has an In-and-Out Book that people have to sign when they ride in the elevator. Now, that In-and-Out Book shows that Virginia Trent went up to the office Saturday evening about eight o’clock and stayed until about nine-ten. Sarah Breel went to the office Sunday morning at ten-thirty, and stayed until twelve-five. That’s all. It doesn’t show Trent himself either in or out. That means Trent must have gone out some time Saturday afternoon, started to get drunk, and then returned to the office before six-thirty. Up until six-thirty, he could ride up and down in the elevators without anyone paying any attention to him.

“The janitor went into Trent’s office at seven-thirty to clean up. He was there half an hour. No one else was there. He saw Virginia Trent leaving the elevator just as he was leaving the office — so he left the door open for her. She was alone. Now then, here’s something else, Perry. One of the newspaper boys tells me the autopsy surgeon has checked up on the time of death pretty accurately. They’ve found out where Trent had lunch Saturday, and when. Their best guess is that he was killed about four-thirty o’clock Saturday afternoon, very probably not later than five. The police don’t like that, but those are the facts just the same.”

Mason said, “Thanks,” hung up and walked back to the dining room.

“Well, Sergeant,” he said, “let’s get down to brass tacks. If you want to put a charge against Miss Trent, go right ahead.”

“I’m not putting any charge against her,” Holcomb said. “I’m trying to get facts.”

Mason said, “In other words, George Trent was killed not later than five o’clock Saturday afternoon. Miss Trent had that gun in her possession Saturday afternoon, and she had a good alibi.”

Sergeant Holcomb leaned toward Perry Mason. “Mason,” he said, “you and I have been on the opposite sides of a few cases Let’s not let it keep us from talking sense on this case. I don’t know what we’re going to find out. But I do know that it’s a physical impossibility for Virginia Trent to have had that gun with her Saturday afternoon. She’s mistaken about it, that’s all, and if she persists in that mistake, it’s going to keep us from getting a conviction when we arrest Trent’s murderer. Now, I want this young woman to cooperate, that’s all.”

Mason grinned at Virginia Trent and said, “Go ahead and cooperate.”

“But I don’t see what you’re getting at,” she said, “I...”

“Sergeant Holcomb perhaps didn’t know as much when he was questioning you last night as he does now,” Mason told her. “If he did, he was holding out. Your uncle was killed before seven-thirty.”

“But he doesn’t need to have been shot with the revolver that was in that desk,” she said. “Good Heavens, there are plenty of thirty-eight caliber revolvers...”

“No, there aren’t,” Holcomb said. “Our ballistics department has made micro-photographs of the bullet which killed your uncle and a test bullet fired from that gun. The bullets came from the same gun. Now then, what time did you and Lieutenant Ogilby return?”

“I think we got here at the house at about six o’clock.”

“Your friend didn’t stay for dinner?”

“No.”

Sergeant Holcomb said, “Let’s get that Jap in here.”

One of the men stepped into the kitchen and brought in the Japanese, who stood squat, poised and inscrutable, his lacquer-black eyes returning Sergeant Holcomb’s glowering scrutiny. “What’s your name?”

“Itsumo.”

“You have another name?”

“Yes, sir. Itsumo Shinahara.”