Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Long-Legged Models

“At the moment I’m not concerned where it leaves me , but where it leaves my clients.”

“And,” Della Street asked, “who do you suppose fired the fatal bullet from the gun in question into the body of George Casselman?”

“Now there,” Mason said, “you raise quite a question.

“In the minds of the police, Junior’s new wife now becomes a prime suspect, or perhaps Junior himself. Police won’t credit me with good faith. They’ll naturally think I was trying to take the heat off Junior and his wife by implicating Stephanie Falkner.

“I have an idea that Junior and his wife are going to be very, very angry. They’ll feel I went out there with the murder weapon, that I asked Junior for his gun, that I did a little sleight-of-hand substitution, and under cover of the confusion resulting from the apparently accidental discharge of the weapon managed to substitute the murder gun in place of the one Junior had given me. Junior thereupon walked into my trap, took the gun up to Stephanie Falkner and left it with her.

“I can also imagine that when Garvin, Sr. reads the papers he’s going to be cursing me for a clumsy lout.”

“And the police?” Della Street asked.

“The police will naturally assume that whatever I did was designed to confuse the issues. They will now be able to prove that I had the fatal gun in my possession. Once having reached that point they’ll drag me into it as deep as they can drag.”

“Can they prove it was the fatal gun?”

“They can now.”

“How?”

“By that bullet which was fired into Junior Garvin’s desk. If it wasn’t for that bullet, they’d have one hell of a time proving that I ever had the fatal gun.

“Once they recover that bullet, which eyewitnesses can testify was fired by me, they can show it came from the fatal gun. Remember, Della, I went out there to see Casselman. It’s not too utterly improbable that the D.A. may try to claim I committed the murder.”

“Then if it wasn’t for the bullet you fired into Junior’s desk, they couldn’t absolutely prove that the gun you had in your possession was the fatal gun?”

“They could prove it by inference,” Mason said, “but that’s all.”

“Chief, couldn’t I get Paul Drake to go out there and get that bullet? If police don’t think of it in time and that bullet has disappeared...?”

Mason shook his head.

“Why not?”

“Because, Della, Paul Drake has a license. He doesn’t dare to cut corners. They’d take his license away. The minute you suggested anything like that to Paul Drake he’d be in a panic.”

Della Street thought the situation over. “Just where did that bullet go, Chief?”

Mason said, “I fired the gun at the desk on an angle, hoping that the bullet would glance up into the wall.”

“Did it?”

“I think it did.”

“And just why did you fire it?” she asked.

Mason grinned. “So that the gun the police found in Stephanie Falkner’s apartment would have one discharged cartridge case in the cylinder. Then in case the police should have been looking for a gun with one discharged cartridge, they’d quit looking as soon as they found this gun I’d had Junior leave there.”

“So what do we do now?” Della Street asked.

“Right now,” Mason said, “we can’t do anything except wait.”

“That,” Della Street said, “is the most difficult thing I know of. I’m afraid my nerves are giving out. I’m going to skip down and get something for my head. I’ll be right back.”

“What’s the matter?” Mason asked sharply.

She averted her eyes. “I didn’t sleep much last night. I kept thinking about Stephanie Falkner and Garvin, Jr. I don’t know why — I guess I’m just getting...”

Mason said, “You’re overworked, Della. You’re putting it altogether too much time at the office and taking too many responsibilities. You can’t keep on supervising the work that goes out of here, handling mail, apportioning work to the stenographers, and checking the work they do, running the office, and at the same time trying to keep up with me on these cases.”

“Well, it is something of a strain,” she admitted, “but it’s never bothered me before. It was just last night, I... I just couldn’t sleep. I guess it was the romantic angle. Imagine how Stephanie must have felt when she picked up the paper and found Garvin, Jr. had married without telling her. And Garvin, Sr. was so anxious to have her in the family.

“I went to sleep and then woke up crying. I... I couldn’t get back to sleep.”

Mason said, “Della, get out of here. Jump in your car. Go on out to your apartment and forget about this whole business. You take a sleeping pill and get to bed. I’ll call you if any emergency comes up. Tomorrow may be a hectic day but nothing much is going to happen today because police won’t dare to make any definite move with things all mixed up the way they are now. Police will try to unscramble the mess before they do anything.”

“And when they make a move, they’ll make it against you?” she asked.

“They will if they have a chance,” Mason said. “Hamilton Burger, the District Attorney, will see to that. And Sgt. Holcomb would back him up in it.

“Hang it!” he said irritably, “it shows how circumstances can betray you and how coincidences can make a mess. You go on home, Della.”

“You’ll promise to call me if anything urgent develops?”

“Cross my heart,” Mason said.

“Well,” she surrendered, “I think I will. I feel like a wet dish rag.”

“You may be coming down with something,” Mason said. “You’d better see a doctor before—”

“No,” she said, “I just feel that if I could get some sleep it would be all I needed. I should have taken a sleeping pill last night, but I waited so long that I knew if I took one I wouldn’t be much good today.”

“You go take a sedative right now, and go to bed,” Mason said. “What’s more, watch yourself. If you develop any fever, call a doctor. I’m inclined to agree with you. I think all you need is a good rest, but make sure.”

“All right,” she told him, “and you remember, you’re to call me if anything urgent develops.”

Mason nodded and resumed pacing the floor.

Homer Garvin, Sr. called just before noon.

“Good work, Perry!” he said.

“What are you talking about?” Mason asked.

“You should know,” Garvin said.

“Where are you?”

“Las Vegas, Nevada.”

“I’m afraid,” Mason said, “there have been some developments that you don’t know about, Homer, some complications that...”

“I know all about them,” Garvin said. “That’s why I’m calling. I’m over here in Nevada, but I’m keeping in touch with developments. I have my own sources of information.”

Mason said, “Did you know about the police picking up your son and his wife for questioning? Did you know about the gun I accidentally discharged and which turned out...?”

“I know all about it,” Garvin said. “You’re doing all right, Mason. Now remember this: it’s your duty to protect Stephanie Falkner at all costs.”

“What about your son and his wife?”

“Do what you can,” Garvin said, “but don’t bother about them. Police can’t make any case against either one of them, and they’ll drop them like hot potatoes when they finish their investigative work.”

“Do you want me to represent them?” Mason asked.

“Go ahead. Represent everybody,” Garvin said, “but primarily you’re representing Stephanie Falkner.”