Erle Gardner - The Case of the Lame Canary

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Don’t involve Rossy,” she said.

“Suppose I have to drag Rossy in to get you out?” he inquired, watching her narrowly.

“Then don’t get me out.”

“Do you know what you’re saying?”

“Of course I do.”

“You’re in bad,” Mason said, “Plenty bad. Anything may happen. With your looks, your brain and your figure, a jury isn’t apt to hang you. You may get life imprisonment. You may get a first-degree murder verdict without any recommendation, which will automatically mean the death penalty. It’s all right now for you to stick your chin up and tell me to keep Rossy out of it, but what’ll happen when the zero hour comes? Will you reproach me for letting you tie my hands?”

She got to her feet then, stood facing him across the screened table. “Mr. Mason,” she said, “when I do anything, I do it wholeheartedly, and I’m not inclined to regret it afterwards, no matter what the circumstances are. That’s my code of life. Lots of people live namby-pamby littles lives, in which they try to blame their mistakes on someone else. I don’t. You’ve asked me if I can take it. Now I’m asking you if you can take it.”

Mason grinned, said, “Okay, Rita, I’m going places.”

Rita Swaine watched the jail matron moving toward her, smiled gamely and said, “I’m not.”

Rosalind Prescott sat in Perry Mason’s office, clenched her little gloved hands until the soft leather grew tight across the knuckles, and said fiercely, “No, I didn’t kill him! I tell you I didn’t. I didn’t! I didn’t! I didn’t!”

“Who did?”

“I don’t know. I wish I did.”

“Suppose you did know, then what?”

Her eyes were hard, as they met Mason’s. “I’d tell the police.”

“Suppose Rita did it?”

“What makes you think Rita did it?”

“That isn’t what I said. I asked you what your attitude would be if Rita had killed him.”

“If Rita killed him,” she said, “she isn’t entitled to any consideration from Jimmy or from me. She put us both in an awful spot.”

“Suppose Jimmy killed him?”

“If Jimmy killed him he isn’t entitled to any more consideration — well, hardly any more — well—”

Mason nodded and said, “So it’s different if Jimmy killed him, is it?”

“Well,” she said hotly, “if Jimmy killed him, he had some reason. He had plenty of reason.”

“Did Rita have any reason?”

“I don’t know. If she did it, it was probably in self-defense.”

“Isn’t that a good reason?” Mason asked.

“Yes. The reason’s all right, but it’s the way she handled it, sneaking out and leaving the body in such a way that Jimmy would be blamed for it.”

“And if Driscoll did it, then what?”

“Jimmy did it to protect me — but he didn’t do it — that is, I don’t think he did it.”

“Did Mrs. Anderson have any grudge against Walter Prescott?”

Her eyes opened wide with surprise. “Why, Mr. Mason! What makes you ask that?”

“I’m just trying to cover every angle of the case,” he said. “Also, I’m trying to cover every possible defense which we might raise. Did she have anything against him?”

“I don’t think so. Of course, Walter had objected to her snooping around. He’d told her a couple of times to mind her own business and quit peering into our windows, and she told him he could keep the shades drawn if he didn’t want her to see him. She said she wasn’t going around her house and pull down all the shades at night.”

“Was it much of a battle?” Mason asked.

“Not particularly. She’s snippy, and Walter was very sarcastic.”

“And that’s all she had against him?”

“All that I know of, yes.”

“Now, your husband had threatened to kill you?”

“Yes.”

“Many times?”

“Twice. The first time was a couple of months ago over something which needn’t make any difference here. The last time was the morning when I ran away.”

“Why did you go to Reno?”

“I had an idea of establishing a residence there and getting a divorce. I thought if I were out of the state Walter wouldn’t do anything right away, and after he’d had a chance to cool off, I might be able to fix things up with him so there wouldn’t be a scandal.”

“You went with Driscoll?”

“Yes.”

“You knew he was jealous of Driscoll?”

“He wasn’t jealous of anyone. He was just a coldblooded, selfish, calculating—”

“Wait a minute,” Mason interrupted. “That isn’t going to be the attitude you’ll take on the witness stand. Cut out that vicious hatred when you speak of Walter Prescott. Remember, he’s dead.”

“I don’t care whether he’s dead or alive. He was—”

“He was your husband,” Mason interrupted. “You had differences of opinion with him. It had occurred to you for some time that you no longer cared for him; that you’d been tricked into marrying him, but you felt sorry for him. Understand that. Your attitude was one of sympathy and compassion. You realized that, while at times he was intensely disagreeable, it was because of his peculiar nervous temperament.”

“It was because he had a cold heart and a selfish, calculating disposition,” she said.

“And,” Mason went on, heedless of her comment, “it was a great shock to you when you learned he was dead, just as it would be a shock to hear that anyone who had been close to you had passed away. You weren’t overcome by grief because you realized you didn’t love him, but you were shocked, and deeply grieved. Hundreds of thousands of marriages go on the rocks every year, but that doesn’t mean that either or both parties to the divorce action are not ordinary likeable human beings. It simply means that emotions don’t remain static; that love, like any other fire, will burn itself out unless fresh fuel is added, and many people don’t understand the art of adding fresh fuel to romance, once the romance has culminated in marriage.”

She said, “You want me to say that?”

“Words to that effect,” he told her.

“On the witness stand?”

“You probably won’t be asked on the witness stand. But long before you get into court you’ll be interviewed by newspaper men and—”

“I’ve already been interviewed,” she said. “Plenty!”

“What did you tell them?”

“Nothing. You told me to say nothing, and that’s exactly what I did.”

“All right,” he told her. “We’re going to change that now. You’re going to talk, and you’re going to talk freely. You just can’t believe that Rita could possibly have done any such thing, although you didn’t have an opportunity to discuss with Rita exactly what had happened after you left the house. Remember, you’re to tell all the newspaper people that you and Rita didn’t discuss what occurred while she was there in the house.”

Rosalind Prescott nodded.

“You’ll admit frankly that you love Jimmy Driscoll. In fact, you’ll spread that on rather thick. Remember, all the world loves a lover. But be sure that it’s romance and not the marital transgression of a restless woman. You had loved Jimmy; then you had quarreled. You had resolutely put Jimmy out of your life and endeavored by every means to make your marriage a success. Gradually the veneer had worn off. You came to see that you and Walter weren’t suited for each other. No matter how much he might have meant to others, he couldn’t fill your life. And he didn’t try. Your married life became sort of a cat-and-dog existence. You were desperately unhappy. During all of this time the thought of Jimmy Driscoll hadn’t come to your mind except as a friend. Then he wrote to you, not as a lover, but as a friend, a friend who had handled all your financial matters. He told you that it would be better to make the break and get it over with and not try to prolong a hopeless situation. Then, when Jimmy came to the house and you looked in his eyes, you suddenly realized that you loved him and always had loved him. But that was after you had realized that you could never continue living with Walter Prescott: after you had both agreed to split up and obtain a divorce. Do you understand that?”