Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Long-Legged Models

For some time I have been intending to dedicate a book with a suitable foreword to Michael Anthony Luongo, a quietly competent, exceedingly thorough expert in the field of legal medicine.

I first met Dr. Luongo several years ago when I attended a seminar on homicide investigation given under the auspices of Captain Frances G. Lee of New Hampshire in the Harvard Medical School.

At that time I was impressed with Dr. Luongo’s complete intellectual honesty, his sincerity, his self-effacing devotion to his profession.

Dr. Luongo is still a comparatively young man, yet he is a senior member of the Department of Legal Medicine in the Harvard Medical School. For many years he has been a teacher in the Harvard seminars on homicide investigation. He is an associate pathologist for the Massachusetts State Police, and a forensic pathologist certified by the American Board of Pathology.

One of Dr. Luongo’s outstanding traits is his desire for truth and his refusal to be stampeded into jumping to conclusions. It is a well-known fact in police circles that when officers are enthusiastically building up a case against some defendant, Dr. Luongo is quite likely to take the other side of the argument just to make certain the police don’t get off on the wrong foot.

At such times, I am told, he presents the opposing case with a brilliance that would be a credit to any of the skilled defense attorneys who have national reputations.

One thing is certain: By the time Dr. Luongo has permitted himself to reach a conclusion, it is the result of logic, scientific reasoning, keen perception and honest appraisal of the facts.

For some years I have been watching Dr. Luongo progress in his chosen profession, earning the respect of those who work with him, and building a nationwide reputation for intellectual integrity and fairness.

Men like Dr. Luongo are pioneering a new field of forensic medicine where the expert witness, instead of being a partisan advocate for the side which has called him, appears as an absolutely impartial scientist with high ideals, representing neither the prosecution nor the defense but only Truth and Justice.

And so I dedicate this book to my friend:

MICHAEL ANTHONY LUONGO, M.D.

Erle Stanley Gardner

Perry Mason, feeling Della Street’s eyes on him, looked up from his lawbook to regard the trim, efficient figure in the doorway.

“What is it, Della?”

“What is the status of an unmarried woman who is quote, keeping company, unquote, with an unmarried male?”

Mason cocked a quizzical eyebrow. “There is no legal status, Della. Why do you ask?”

“Because,” she said, “a Miss Stephanie Falkner is waiting in the outer office. She says she has been quote keeping company unquote with Homer Garvin.”

“Homer Horatio Garvin?” Mason asked. “Our client?”

“Not with Homer Garvin, Sr.,” she said, “but with Homer Garvin, Jr.”

“Oh, yes, Junior,” Mason said. “He is in the automobile business I believe. And what seems to be Miss Falkner’s trouble?”

“She wants to see you about a personal matter and hopes her Garvin contact will open the door to your interest in her problem.”

“What’s the problem, Della?”

“She inherited a gambling place at Las Vegas, Nevada. Her problem seems to concern that.”

Mason slapped his hand on the desk. “Put a dollar on Number Twenty-Six, Della.”

Della Street made motions of spinning a roulette wheel, then of tossing an ivory ball into the perimeter of the wheel. She leaned forward as though watching the ball with complete fascination.

Mason also leaned forward, eyes intent on the same spot at which Della Street was looking.

Della suddenly straightened with a smile. “I’m sorry, Chief, you lost. Number Three came up.”

She reached over to the corner of the desk and picked up Mason’s imaginary dollar.

Mason made a grimace. “I’m a poor loser.”

“What about Miss Falkner?” Della Street asked.

“Let’s call Garvin Sr. and find out the exact status of this woman. How old is she?”

“Twenty-three or twenty-four.”

“Blonde or brunette?”

“Brunette.”

“Curves?”

“Yes.”

“Looks?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s talk with Garvin before we get our feet wet.”

Della Street moved over to her secretarial desk, asked the switchboard operator for an outside line, dialed the number, waited a moment, then said, “Mr. Garvin, please. Tell him Miss Street is calling... Yes... Tell him Della Street... He’ll recognize the name... Yes, Della Street... I’m secretary to Mr. Perry Mason, the lawyer. Will you please put the call through to Mr. Garvin? It’s rather important.”

There was a moment of silence while Della Street listened to the party at the other end of the line.

“Well, where can I reach him on long distance?”

Again there was in interval of silence.

“I see,” Della Street said. “Please tell him that I called, and ask him to call me whenever he gets in touch with you.”

Della Street hung up the telephone. “That was Miss Eva Elliott, his very important secretary. She says that Mr. Garvin is out of town and she can’t give me any number where he can be reached.”

“Eva Elliott!” Mason said. “What’s happened to Marie Arden? Oh, I know. She got married.”

“About a year ago,” Della Street reminded him. “You sent her an electric coffee urn, a waffle iron, and an electric stewpan as a wedding present.”

“A year?” Perry Mason asked.

“I think so,” Della Street said. “I can look up the bill on the wedding presents.”

“No,” Mason said, “never mind. Come to think of it, we haven’t had any business dealings with Garvin since that new secretary came in.”

“Perhaps you aren’t even his attorney any more,” Della Street said.

“Now wouldn’t that be embarrassing,” Mason told her. “I guess I’d better talk with Miss Falkner and see what she has to say. Bring her in, Della.”

Della Street withdrew, returned a few moments later and said, “Miss Falkner, Mr. Mason.”

Stephanie Falkner, a long-legged brunette with gray eyes, walked calmly across the office, gave Perry Mason a cool hand, and murmured, “This is a real pleasure, Mr. Mason.”

The unhurried, well-timed precision of her motions indicated professional training.

“Please be seated,” Mason said.

“Now before you tell me anything, Miss Falkner, please understand that I have done Mr. Garvin’s legal business for years. There isn’t a great deal of it because he’s a shrewd businessman, and he keeps out of trouble. So he rarely has occasion to consult an attorney. But I consider him one of my regular clients and, in addition to that, I am his friend.”

“That’s why I’m here,” she said, leaning back in the overstuffed, comfortable chair and crossing her knees.

“Therefore,” Mason went on, “before I could even consider handling any matter which you might want to consult me about I would want to take it up with Mr. Garvin, make a complete disclosure to him, and then make certain there would be no possibility of conflicting interests. Would that be satisfactory?”

“Not only would that be entirely satisfactory but I am here because you are Mr. Garvin’s lawyer. I want you to get in touch with him.”

“All right,” Mason said, “with that understanding, go ahead.”

She said, “I inherited an interest in a place at Las Vegas.”

“What sort of a place?”

“A motel and casino.”

“Some of those are fabulously large and...”