Erle Gardner - The Case of the Runaway

“Well,” Mason said, “let me drive the car. You ask questions and take notes and I’ll answer questions, because the minute we get to the airport we’re taking off.”

The reporter stopped the car, opened the door, and ran around to get in on the other side. Mason slid across under the wheel.

“All right,” he said, “start asking questions.”

“What happened?” Ingram asked.

“To begin with,” Mason said, “the district attorney said it was going to be a formal interview, so it was conducted on that basis. Every time he asked a question, for instance, referring to the house in Paradise as Ed Davenport’s house, I argued the question of title.”

“On what basis?”

Mason outlined the point under discussion and then went on while he was driving to the airport to give Ingram a fair summary of the interview.

At the airport Mason and Della Street disembarked from the car and went over to where the aviator was listening to a radio.

“Okay,” Mason said. “Let’s put this show on the road.”

“Right away,” the aviator said. “Say, did you folks hear the news broadcast that just came in?”

“What about it?” Mason asked.

“You’re interested in that case down in Fresno,” the aviator said. “They’ve found the body.”

“Whose body?”

“This man Davenport whose wife killed him.”

“Where was the body?”

“Buried in a shallow grave just two or three miles out of Crampton. At least they think it’s Davenport’s body. It was clad in pajamas with red dots or figures. It was just discovered a few minutes ago. They’re still digging at the grave. A news service put it on the air.”

Mason glanced at Ingram. Ingram grinned.

Mason said to the aviator, “Get that plane warmed up and get it warmed up fast. Taxi down the field just as soon as you can get under way. Warm up your motors at the far end of the field and then take off. No matter who tries to stop you, take off. Come on. Let’s go. There’s a hundred extra for you if you take off before anyone stops us.”

They climbed aboard the plane. The aviator started the motors and after a few seconds moved slowly down to the far end of the field where he swung the plane around and warmed up the motors.

Mason leaned forward and said over the roar of the engines, “How are you coming? Ready to take off?”

“Just a few seconds now.”

Mason said, “There’s a car turning in. I want to get off before it arrives. I don’t want any more delay.”

“Oh, he’s just stopping there to—”

“He isn’t stopping,” Mason said.

“Neither am I,” the pilot said, gunning the motors.

The plane started down the field.

The car swung so that its lights cut across the path of the plane. A blood-red spotlight blazed into brilliance and a siren screamed its warning.

The pilot grinned as he gently picked the wheels off the ground.

“These motors make such an awful racket,” he said, “that it’s hard to hear a thing when you’re taking off. For a minute I almost thought I heard a siren.”

“I didn’t hear a thing,” Mason told him.

“Back to Sacramento?” the pilot asked.

“Not Sacramento,” Mason said. “Fresno. And if you can drop me in there without filing a flight plan so that no one knows just where we’re landing, it’ll suit me fine.”

“You don’t want to stop at Sacramento?”

“Go right over Sacramento,” Mason said, “just as high as you can get this crate into the air.”

Chapter 7

The plane approached the lighted area which marked the location of Fresno.

“You can go on to Los Angeles?” Mason asked the pilot.

“Sure. I have to get gasoline, that’s all.”

Mason said, “Land at Fresno just as though you were making a routine stop for gasoline. I’ll get out. You fill up with gas and take Miss Street on into Los Angeles.”

“How about you?”

“I’ll stop off here.”

“Okay by me.”

“When you get to Los Angeles,” Mason said, “I’d just as soon you didn’t talk with a lot of newspaper people. If you can land and manage to keep from being interviewed I’ll appreciate it. Miss Street will settle up with you by check just before you land. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Mason said to Della Street, “I’ll be in touch with you, Della. Try and get some sleep if you can.”

“How about Paul?”

“I’ll get in touch with him from here.”

She slipped her hand in his. He squeezed it gently. “Good girl,” he said.

“When will you be in?”

“Tomorrow morning perhaps. There’s work to do here.”

“How much?”

“I don’t know.”

“Better fasten your seat belts,” the pilot said. “We’re coming in.”

He swung in a wide circle and landed at the airport. As soon as he had taxied up and stopped the motor Mason jumped out, hurried into the administration building and into a telephone booth, where he hunched over with his right hand at his head so that his face wasn’t visible from the outside.

Mason put through a collect call to Drake’s office and within a few minutes had Paul Drake on the line.

“What are you doing up there in Fresno?” Drake asked.

“Looking around.”

“Have they caught you?”

“Who?”

“The Fresno authorities.”

“No.”

“They’re looking for you.”

“On what grounds?” Mason asked.

“The authorities think you slipped over a fast one.”

“How come?”

“That letter that Davenport left to be opened at the time of his death.”

“What about it?”

“They think you have the original sheets that were in there and that you stuffed it with six sheets of blank paper.”

“And what does that make me?” Mason asked.

“According to the district attorney up there it may make you an accessory after the fact.”

“Go on,” Mason told him. “What’s next? Where’s Mrs. Davenport?”

“Apparently she’s in Fresno.”

“I understand they found the body.”

“That’s right.”

“No question of identification?”

“None whatever. It was buried in a shallow grave. Now here’s a funny one, Perry. The grave had been dug for two or three days. It was all in readiness.”

“You’re sure?”

“That’s right.”

“How do they know?”

“Some kids had found it and had been playing around in it, using it for a fort. That’s how they happened to find the body so easily. The kids reported that somebody had filled up their fort. Then they went ahead and described it to their parents—an oblong hole that had been filled in. The father of one of the kids went out to take a look. He became curious. The soil was easy to dig. He dug down two or three feet and struck the foot of a corpse. He went back and got the authorities and they uncovered Ed Davenport.”

“How long had he been dead?”

“Since yesterday. Apparently Dr. Renault had the right idea and the authorities are now busily engaged in begging his pardon.”

“What about the man who saw the corpse climb out the window?”

“Police are acting on the theory a male accomplice loaded the body into a car, then climbed out the window.”

“Wearing pajamas?”

“They think so—as a blind just in case anyone saw him.”

“What else?”

“You had the right hunch on the alias. I think we’re ahead of the cops on that. Frank L. Stanton was registered at Welchburg’s Motel there in Fresno. Evidently it was Davenport all right. The description fits him and he even gave the right license number on his automobile, but he wasn’t drinking. He had someone visit him and there was a conference rather late at night. One of the couples in an adjoining cabin complained.”