Erie Gardner - The Case of the Lazy Lover

“That’s right.”

Mason said abruptly, “Yesterday night, Monday, you took your automobile out, didn’t you?”

She looked at him for some twenty seconds. “Is it any of your business?”

“It might be.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with it.”

“It depends on where you went.”

“I drove out to the apartment of a girl I know, picked her up and drove her out here. She spent the night with me.”

“Why did you do that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you think you might need an alibi?”

“Don’t be silly! I wanted someone to talk to. So I got my friend and drove her over here. We talked until the small hours and then we went to sleep.”

Mason said, “Bob Fleetwood is being a little foolish.”

“Is he?”

“Yes.”

“In what way?”

“I don’t think this amnesia business is really doing him any good.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean he could have thought up something better.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand you, Mr. Mason.”

“Amnesia has come to be pretty much of a racket. It happens quite frequently that when a person wants to escape the responsibility for something, he says his mind was a blank.”

“Have you talked with Bob?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you believe he really had amnesia?”

“No.”

“Then why should he pretend that he did?”

“It gets him out of rather an embarrassing situation.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Telling what he knows about what happened to Bertrand Allred.”

“He doesn’t know anything about that.”

“How do you know he doesn’t?”

“I’m certain he doesn’t.”

“What course in telepathy did you take?” Mason asked.

She said, “I don’t have to study telepathy to know what happened. Obviously Mrs. Allred killed her husband.”

“And what makes you so certain?”

“I’m not exactly stupid, Mr. Mason. When you come out here and tell me what you think Bob should do, I know you’re Mrs. Allred’s lawyer. Therefore, what you want Bob to do is what you think would be for the best interests of Mrs. Allred, not for the best interests of Bob Fleetwood.”

“Not necessarily. I try to protect my client’s interests, but I still think Bob should throw this amnesia business overboard. He’ll have to, sooner or later.”

“And you came here hoping you could sell me on that idea, so I, in turn, would sell Bob on it. Is that right?”

“Only in part.”

“My, my, what splendid consideration you show for a man who is almost a stranger to you, Mr. Mason. Running around at three o’clock in the morning, a high priced lawyer, getting me out of bed to tell me what Bob should do. It’s touching!”

“Have it your way,” Mason said.

“I intend to. And now let me tell you something.”

“What?”

“Get rid of Mrs. Allred as a client. Let some other lawyer handle her case.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t stand a chance, not a chance in the world.”

“You think she murdered her husband?”

“I know she murdered her husband!”

“There’s a motorist who can give her a perfect alibi. She hitchhiked a ride with him.”

“Before or after her husband died?”

“Before.”

“How do you know?”

“I know.”

She laughed. “Because she told you so. That’s the only way you have of knowing. And that’s not good enough. Mr. Mason, I wish I could tell you what I know, but I don’t think I should. I don’t think the police would want me to, but I can tell you this much: Don’t represent that woman. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to go to bed and get some sleep.”

Mason looked at the bed, and said, “You’ve already been to bed.”

“That’s right.”

“Do you always put on stockings and shoes when you answer the telephone?” Mason demanded.

She looked at Mason steadily without answering.

“You had another caller?”

“A caller, Mr. Mason?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Mason, but I’m not accustomed to receiving people in my apartment at this hour.”

“How about George Jerome?” Mason asked.

She looked at him with eyes that were suddenly hard and narrow. “Are you having my apartment shadowed?” she asked.

Mason said, “Before I answer that question, tell me whether you have been talking with George Jerome.”

By way of answer, she walked over to the telephone, picked up the receiver, dialed Operator and said, “Get me police headquarters, please. This is an emergency.”

A moment later she said, “I want to talk with someone who is in charge of the investigation of the murder of Bertrand C. Allred.”

“Ask for Lieutenant Tragg,” Mason interposed. “He’s the one you want to talk with.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mason,” she said, and then into the telephone, “I think the officer I want is Lieutenant Tragg.”

There was a moment of silence, then she said, “Hello, is this Lieutenant Tragg? I am Bernice Archer — that’s right, the girl that Bob Fleetwood telephoned to a little while ago. I think I am a witness in the case. I have some information which may be of importance. There’s a Mr. Mason, a lawyer, and a Mr. Drake, a detective — yes, that’s right, Perry Mason — yes, it’s Paul Drake — how’s that? Yes, they’re here in the apartment. Mr. Mason is very insistent that I should tell him what I know, and... thank you very much, Lieutenant, I just wanted to be sure. I thought that would be what you’d want me to do.”

She hung up the phone, turned to Mason with a smile and said, “Lieutenant Tragg says to say absolutely nothing to anyone until I’ve talked with him, that I’m to come to police headquarters at once, and if you try to stay on here or interfere that he’ll send an escort. And now, if you gentlemen will get out of here, I’ll dress.”

“Come on, Paul. Let’s go.”

“Mr. Mason, please do what I told you to. Please get rid of that woman as a client.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s guilty, and even you can’t get her off.”

Mason grinned. “You were sarcastic over my concern for Bob Fleetwood. You insisted on questioning my motives. Now I’ll turn the tables. Your concern over getting me to drop my client — for my own good, of course — is touching indeed. Do you suppose it could be that you’re trying to cut your boy friend a piece of cake?”

She walked across the apartment, to the door. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I won’t.”

She held the door open for them. “Good night,” she said sweetly.

They walked silently down the corridor. It wasn’t until they were in the elevator that Mason said, glumly, “There’s the brains of the outfit.”

“Are you telling me!” Drake said. “Gosh, Perry. Think of a woman with looks like that and brains thrown in.”

“Don’t make any mistake about her, she’s dynamite!” Mason admitted. “She knows that it has to be either her boy friend or Mrs. Allred, and she’s playing ball with her boy friend.

“Jerome called on her. Jerome is mixed in this thing in some way that isn’t apparent, as yet. All of these people are too damned anxious to get in touch with Fleetwood. Jerome undoubtedly posted her on everything the police know, to date.”

“Providing Jerome knows,” Drake said.

“I think he does,” Mason said. “Anyhow, Paul, here’s a job for you. Get hold of the telephone company, impress upon them how important it is. Get access to their records, look up and see if Bernice Archer’s number that you got was called sometime Monday from Springfield, or from some of the service stations along that mountain highway.”