Erle Gardner - The Case of the Runaway

“Of course the doctor thinks we hid the body and disposed of it, that it even might have been Myrna who got in through the window, put on pajamas and climbed out again.

“If you ask me I think this doctor saw Ed’s heart had stopped and gave him this injection of adrenaline or whatever it is and then went out.

“Ed regained consciousness and that powerful stimulant gave him strength enough to get up and go to the door. When he found it was locked from the outside he got in a panic, crawled out through the window, jumped in the first car he found and drove away.

“It’s absurd to think a frail little thing like Myrna could have moved the body. Anyway why would we be afraid of an autopsy? He’d been taken sick long before we got there.”

“Where are his things?” Mason asked. “His clothes, his baggage.”

“The sheriff’s office took charge of everything. The deputy sheriff was still making an official investigation when we left. He had the key to the place and the place was locked up. We drove to Fresno and called you from there. You told us to get to San Francisco, which we did. We’d previously told the deputy sheriff where he could send Ed’s belongings when they got done with them.”

“Where do you suppose Ed Davenport is?”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“He certainly can’t be driving around in his pajamas, with no money, no driving license—”

“They’ll do funny things when they’ve been drinking,” she said. “Myrna tells me she’s seen Ed just go as crazy as anything when he’s coming out of one of those drinking spells.”

“He’ll be picked up somewhere,” Mason insisted.

“Of course he will. The sheriff’s office put out an alarm to the State Highway Patrol. They’re alerted to be looking for a man in pajamas driving a car. He isn’t safe to be on the road.”

“Does the doctor think he’ll collapse or—?”

“The doctor,” Mrs. Ansel said firmly, “thinks he’s dead.”

“And Ed Davenport made some statement to the doctor that caused him to become suspicious about Myrna?”

“Evidently he did. The doctor asked Myrna about the candy.”

“What candy?”

“Well, Myrna tells me Ed had these drinking fits. Ordinarily he doesn’t care for candy, but he found out that when the craving for alcohol comes on him, if he’ll eat a lot of candy sometimes he can get over the awful craving for liquor.

“Now, as nearly as I can figure things out, before he got to Fresno he felt this craving for liquor coming on and he started eating candy. He carried his candy in his bag just in case of having that craving overtake him.”

“What sort of candy?” Mason asked.

“Chocolates—the kind that have liquid in the centers—liquid and cherries. Myrna says he’d eat a few of those, and then sometimes the craving for liquor would leave him. But after he once started drinking he’d drink until his system got saturated with alcohol.”

Mason said, “All right, I’m going to make a suggestion. There are some seats up in the front of the plane. Miss Street and I are going up there. When we get to Los Angeles I want you and Mrs. Davenport to get off the plane before we do. I want you to take a taxicab out to your home.”

“Why? Why not go in the limousine and then take a taxi?”

Mason shook his head. “I don’t want you to follow the same route that is taken by the limousine. I want you to take a taxicab.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Mason told her, “I want to see if you’re being followed.”

“But why should we be followed?”

“Because you may have been traced to San Francisco, and because the sheriff’s office at Fresno may have decided to keep an eye on you.”

“But why should they? What business is it of theirs? Why, that’s absurd! After all, if Ed Davenport went on a binge and some cutie slipped him knockout drops they can’t hold Myrna responsible.”

“There may be some other angles,” Mason said. “From what you tell me the man is in very poor health. From what Dr. Renault says he must have been in a state of shock, a state of shock which caused the doctor to believe the man was dead. Now then, let’s suppose Ed Davenport started driving around in his pajamas. He was very apt to collapse and die, or he might have become involved in an accident. If he gets injured, with his resistance down to such a low ebb, the injuries may prove fatal.”

“Well, I still don’t see how they expect to hold us responsible for his climbing out of that window. That was the doctor’s fault. Ed was in this state of shock or exhaustion or whatever it was, and that fool doctor shot that adrenaline or something right into his heart. That’s dynamite. They only do that to dead people when there’s no hope. It’s a last desperate gamble. You’d think the fool would have had sense enough to be sure before he left the room.”

Mason nodded thoughtfully.

“Of course,” she went on, “it made a pretty kettle of fish. And you up there in Paradise thinking Ed was dead. Just think what would have happened if he’d headed back to Paradise and found you going through his things. Crazy as he was he might have done anything! We were terribly afraid you might get into trouble up there.”

“I did,” Mason said.

“What was it?”

“Nothing particularly serious,” Mason said. “I’ll tell you both about it when I see what happens after we get to the airport at Los Angeles. In the meantime quit worrying and try and comfort Mrs. Davenport.”

“Oh, she’s all right now. But, Mr. Mason, we’re going to have to do something for her. I’m completely satisfied that Ed Davenport has been going through her money just as fast as he can. She doesn’t care a thing in the world about money just so she can grow flowers, and—”

“How much of Delano’s estate has been distributed?” Mason interposed.

“Well, there was a partial distribution and—it amounts to something over a hundred thousand, I guess, and there’s more money coming in all the time. In addition to all that Ed Davenport raised some money on a note that she signed with him. He told her it was just a matter of form, but you can’t tell me any of that sort of stuff! I wasn’t born yesterday. I think I know something about men!”

“I dare say you do,” Mason said, “but in the meantime we’ll relax until we get to Los Angeles. Then you get in a taxicab and go home, and, if there’s nothing new, be at my office by two-thirty in the afternoon.”

Mason got up, tapped Della on the shoulder and led the way to two vacant seats in the front of the plane.

“Well?” Della Street asked when Mason had seated her by the window and dropped into position in the seat beside her.

“Did you get the story?” Mason asked.

“Most of it,” she said. “Apparently Ed Davenport was on one of his toots and was rolled. He got sick and passed out. The doctor gave him a shot. Davenport came to and found the door locked, so he thought someone was trying to restrain him. He got out of the window, got in somebody’s car and went places.”

“What places?” Mason asked.

“Probably he started home.”

“Not with all of the Highway Patrol being alerted to look for a man driving a car, clad only in pajamas.”

“Well,” she said, “what do you think?”

Mason smiled. “A little bit depends on what Paul Drake has found out about that San Bernardino motel, and a great deal depends on what happens when we get to Los Angeles.”

“You think they were followed to San Francisco?”

Mason nodded.

“You think that man reading the newspaper was interested in them?”

“I think he had cop written all over him,” Mason said. “However, we may as well get a few minutes’ sleep before we land.”