Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Long-Legged Models

“And what about you?”

“I’ll take care of myself. But I want to know something about my rights.”

“What about them?”

Garvin said, “I’m over here at the Double-O Motel. I’m registered under my own name. I haven’t resorted to flight. I can prove that I have business here. I expect police to locate me at any moment.

“Here’s what I’d like to do, Mason. I’d like to simply sit tight and refuse to answer any question on the grounds that I have no information that would be of value and that I do not intend to volunteer any statement until my attorney can be with me.”

Mason said, “That might put you in an embarrassing position as far as the public is concerned. It wouldn’t endear you to the police, and they’d pin something on you if they had a chance.”

“Let them pin,” Garvin said.

“You know,” Mason told him, “there’s some evidence in this case that points toward you.”

“There’ll be more before I get done,” Garvin told him. “You represent Stephanie. She’s the one who is going to need the representation. Do you understand?”

“I think so.”

Garvin said, “Do anything you can to keep police from building up a case against her. I’ll take care of myself. Now here’s what I want to do. I want to refuse to make any statement to the police...I don’t have to talk, do I?”

“Not if you tell them you won’t make any statement except in the presence of your attorney.”

“And you’re my attorney,” Garvin said. “Also I take it it’s very inconvenient if not impossible for you to come to Las Vegas, Nevada.”

“I have very urgent matters in my office here at the moment,” Mason said.

“That’s what I thought,” Garvin said. “I’m willing to make a statement, but only in the event that you are present at the time. Now then, I want to know what will happen if they try to get tough with me.”

“You’re out of the State,” Mason said. “They can charge you with murder, and try to extradite you.”

“I take it,” Garvin said, “that, since I’m out of the State, they won’t be in such a hurry to try to arrest me on a definite charge.”

“They’ll want to feel they have a pretty good case before they do anything,” Mason said.

“That’s what I thought.”

“But they may feel they have a pretty good case,” Mason warned.

“In which event, we’ll sit tight and make them prove it beyond all reasonable doubt.”

“Don’t waive extradition,” Mason warned.

“I won’t waive anything except my hands.”

“I’m afraid police are interrogating Stephanie Falkner right now.”

“Sure, they are. They’re also interrogating my son and his bride. You know, Mason, the more trails they have to follow the more confused they’ll get. I don’t know just how you did what you did, but you did a wonderful job. Now if you want to get in touch with me, just ring the Double-O Motel and leave any message you want with Lucille.”

“Okay,” Mason told him, “and if you should call me and I’m not in, or if you want to call me at night, get in touch with the Drake Detective Agency. You’re going to have a bill to pay on this, Homer.”

“I don’t expect something for nothing,” Garvin said.

“I’m keeping some private detectives on the job. I just want to be sure that...”

“You do anything you see fit,” Garvin interrupted. “Spend as much money as you want. I’ve never kicked about your charges yet, and I’m not going to begin now. But whatever you do, be sure to protect Stephanie Falkner. Good-bye.”

Mason was just dropping the receiver into its cradle when he heard the sound of a key at the lock of the door to his private office.

Mason whirled just as the door opened, and Della Street stood in the doorway.

“Now what?” Mason said. “I told you to go home and rest, Della, to take a sleeping pill and...”

“I didn’t need one, Chief,” she said. “I got some headache medicine downstairs. I went home and relaxed and feel a lot better... I got to thinking about what Mr. Garvin had said to us about buying cars.”

“Go on,” Mason said, suddenly straightening in the chair.

“Well,” Della Street said, “after all there is a terrific depreciation in buying new cars, and if you know someone who is in the used car business and who will give you a good deal...”

“Della,” Mason interrupted, “do you mean to say that instead of sleeping you went out to Junior Garvin’s used car lot and...”

“But I wasn’t sick, Chief. I simply had a headache and I hadn’t slept well last night, but the headache medicine quieted my nerves and made me feel all right.”

“Go on,” Mason said, “what did you do?”

“Well, I just kept thinking about what Garvin had told us. You see my car didn’t seem to be running right. I stopped by the used car lot. After all, it’s right on my way to the office. Well, only a few blocks out of the way.”

“All right,” Mason said, “what did you do?”

“Junior Garvin wasn’t there,” she said, “but I met one of the nicest salesmen, and he knew that Junior Garvin was your friend. I told him that Junior had offered to make either or both of us a good deal. He had a car there that was just a dream of a car.”

“You bought it?” Mason asked.

“Well,” she said, “I’m giving it serious consideration. I tried to telephone you to ask you what you thought about it, but there was something wrong with the line. I couldn’t seem to get a connection.”

Before Mason could say anything, Paul Drake’s code knock sounded on the door of the office.

“Let Paul in, Della,” Mason said.

Della Street opened the door.

“Hi, Della,” Drake said. “Well, Perry, you’d better get ready to receive official visitors.”

“Why?” Mason asked.

“Police are biting their fingernails, tearing their hair, and raising hell generally,” Drake said, “but I have one tip that may help you. That’s why I dashed in, to tip you off to something that may help.”

“What?”

“Police overlooked a bet. It didn’t occur to them to go down and dig the bullet out of the desk at young Garvin’s place until just a few minutes ago. Sgt. Holcomb went down there with the ballistic experts, and what do you think they found?”

“What?” Mason asked.

“Some souvenir hunter had made off with the bullet. It had struck the desk at an angle, glanced into the wall, and hit a steel girder. Somebody had made just a little hole in the plaster and lifted the bullet out as neatly as could be.”

Mason frowned for a moment, then whirled to face Della Street.

“Can you imagine that!” Della exclaimed. “Now who in the world could have done that, Paul?”

“Some souvenir hunter,” Drake said, and then added, “It may louse up the whole case.”

“I don’t see just how,” Della Street said, her manner demure, her eyes innocent.

“It makes one link in a chain of proof turn up missing,” Drake explained. “Police don’t like that. Also they’re mad because it will now appear they were caught napping.”

“How did you get the information, Paul?” Mason asked.

“It came in a roundabout way,” Drake said evasively.

“All right,” Mason said. “Give.”

“Well, this columnist Crowe ran that paragraph in his column, and naturally it attracted a lot of interest. So it was only natural that he’d want to keep in touch with things and get a follow-up if possible.”

Mason nodded.

“Well,” Drake went on, “he’s quite friendly with the head salesman at Junior Garvin’s place. So when the police came out there searching for the bullet and found that someone had beat them to it, this salesman learned about it and of course relayed the information on to Crowe. Crowe is running quite a paragraph on it tomorrow morning, although of course the police don’t know that. I have a confidential source of information in Crowe’s office. I’d advised this source of information that I was interested in any follow-up material and I received this tip on the phone just a few minutes ago.”