Erie Gardner - The Case of the Lazy Lover

“Good heavens,” Mrs. Allred said. “Who’s that?”

The knuckles pounded again, harder, more authoritatively.

Mason said, swiftly, “Both of you get this. Don’t do any talking. Let me do the talking.”

“But won’t it be worse if we don’t explain?”

“Don’t say anything,” Mason warned. “Let me do the talking.”

The chimes sounded, and again there was the sound of knuckles. Mason walked across and opened the door.

Lieutenant Tragg of the city homicide squad and Frank Inman of the sheriff’s office seemed far more surprised to see Mason than the lawyer was to see them.

“Come in,” Mason invited.

“What the hell,” Tragg said.

Mason said, “Mrs. Allred, this is Frank Inman of the sheriff’s office, and Lieutenant Tragg of the homicide squad. Gentlemen, this is Mrs. Bertrand C. Allred and her daughter, Patricia Faxon. Miss Faxon has rented this apartment under the name of Maurine Milford, because she is intending to become an authoress. She wanted a place where she could write without being disturbed.”

“Mrs. Allred, eh? Well, well, well,” Lieutenant Tragg said sarcastically. “And we have a Master of Ceremonies too! Suppose you let the women do the talking for a while, Mason.”

“Mrs. Allred has a cold,” Mason said, “and her daughter has a slight impediment of speech. Suppose you do the talking first.”

Tragg said, “You’re sure this is Mrs. Allred, Mason?”

“Her daughter should be sure.”

Tragg said to Mrs. Allred, “You ran away with Bob Fleetwood, didn’t you, Mrs. Allred?”

She started to answer the question.

Mason held up his hand, said, “Tut, tut, gentlemen. Can’t we be more diplomatic?”

Inman said, “What the hell are you doing in this, anyway?”

Tragg said, “He’s the mouthpiece. The fact he’s here at all is the best indication of guilt I know.”

Mason laughed and said, “As a matter of fact, I’m here on a civil case.”

“How do you know we aren’t?” Inman demanded.

“Merely from the personnel,” Mason said. “Suppose you tell us what’s happened?”

“We’d like to have some questions answered first.”

Mason said, “We’re allergic to questions until we know what happened.”

Inman said, “What the hell! I can take these women down and throw them in the hoosegow if I have to.”

“Sure you can,” Mason said, “and I can get a writ of habeas corpus if I have to.”

Tragg said, “This isn’t getting us anywhere. All right, if you want it the hard way, we’ll take it the hard way. When did you see Bob Fleetwood last, Mrs. Allred?”

“I... I...”

“Find out the reason for the question before you answer it, Mrs. Allred,” Mason said.

Tragg flushed. “All right, I’ll give you the reason for the question. Mrs. Allred’s automobile was found down at the bottom of a canyon on a mountain road. Bob Fleetwood was in it, and he was quite dead. Now suppose you do some talking, Mrs. Allred.”

“Bob Fleetwood dead!” she exclaimed.

“That’s what I said.”

“Take it easy,” Mason cautioned.

“Why,” she exclaimed, “he must have had too much to drink, then. He...”

“What was he doing driving your car in the first place?”

She said, “I don’t know. He simply took my car and drove away.”

“Without your permission?”

Mason stepped behind Tragg, frowned at her, and placed a finger to his lips.

She said, “That must explain everything. He was trying to get away. I thought he was suffering from amnesia, but I knew it might be just a gag. I told him I was his sister and he seemed to believe that and seemed perfectly willing to wait for his mind to clear.”

“This is a hell of a mixed up statement,” Inman said.

Tragg motioned him to silence and glanced significantly at Perry Mason. “We’re lucky to get anything,” he said, in a low voice.

Mrs. Allred said somewhat defiantly, “Mr. Mason, under the circumstances, I don’t see why we should run the risk of being misunderstood. I think that these people are entitled to a frank statement of what happened. Mr. Fleetwood was suffering from amnesia. I tried to bring him back to familiar surroundings by posing as his sister. I told him my husband was his brother-in-law. We thought that would keep him quiet and keep him from worrying, and would give his mind a chance to clear.

“We were staying at a motor court, and I was waiting for my husband. I had a flask of whisky and Bob Fleetwood had several drinks. He kept loading them pretty heavy. I tried to get him to stop, but he stayed with it until he emptied the flask.”

“You drink anything?” Lieutenant Tragg asked.

“I drank just as much as I felt that I could. I knew that after he got started, Bob was going to empty the flask, and I didn’t want him to do that. I mean I didn’t want him to get tight. I knew that every drop that I drank would leave that much less for him. I...”

“How many drinks did you have?”

“I had two. He had three.”

“Then what?”

“Then he took my car and started back to town.”

“Without your permission?”

“Yes.”

“Without your knowledge?”

“Yes.”

“And then what happened?”

“That’s all I know, but if he had an accident — well, it was on account of the liquor he’d been drinking. You can check that in some way, can’t you? Can’t you analyze his blood and find out?”

“Sure, we can,” Lieutenant Tragg said, “but we’d like to know a few things first.”

“What?”

“Well, in the first place,” Tragg said, “we came up here on sort of a blind lead. The officers who investigated the automobile accident found a key to these tourist cabins in the car. They went up to the tourist cabins and found they were empty. Then they got the manager out of bed and she told them about renting the cabin to Fleetwood and his sister and said you’d put through a couple of calls from the office just before the place closed up. The boys checked the numbers of those calls. One of them was to the Allred residence and the other one was here. They phoned us to investigate. There was no one at the Allred residence, so we came up here. We hardly expected to find you.”

“Well, I can explain everything. That’s exactly the way it happened.”

“Is it customary for the homicide squad to investigate automobile accidents?” Mason asked drily.

“Shut up, wise guy,” Inman said.

Tragg kept his eyes on Mrs. Allred, held her attention so that she failed to appreciate the significance of the lawyer’s remark.

“And you think Bob Fleetwood drove your car off the road?”

“I’m quite certain he did.”

“You think he was drunk?”

“He’d been drinking. I didn’t think he was drunk. No. But if he drove the car off the road, he must have been.”

“Well,” Tragg said, “there are a couple more things you’d better explain. One of them was why the car was locked in low gear when it was driven off the road.”

Mason said, “After all, Mrs. Allred, why don’t you wait until you know exactly what Tragg wants, before you...”

“Don’t try to lock the stable door after the horse has been stolen,” Tragg said.

Mason said, “I merely wanted to...”

“And while you’re explaining that,” Tragg said, “you might also explain how it happens that there’s blood on the carpet of the luggage compartment in your automobile.”

“Blood on the luggage compartment in my automobile?” she asked incredulously.

“That’s right.”

“Why, I... I haven’t the faintest idea how... you’re sure?”

“Of course, I’m sure.”