Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Dubious Bridegroom

Mason’s eyes showed interest. “What sort of things?”

“I don’t think I should tell you all this, Mr. Mason. After all, I don’t know just what your position might be. You might — for all I know, you might be representing somebody on the other side.”

Mason said, “Nevertheless, you’re talking. You’ve already said enough. Let’s find out what actually happened. Just what did Denby do?”

She said, “For one thing, he did a lot of dictating. I thought at first it was only a little overtime work, but he sat there and dictated eighteen records to the Dictaphone dictating machine that he has by his desk. And I was kicking myself for being a sap — feeling that I was just stranded out there on the fire escape while this poor loyal company official was trying to catch up on the work that needed to be done before the stockholders’ meeting — and then I began to get suspicious.”

“Why?”

“Well, he started going through files, taking out papers and putting them in a brief case, and it was the way he acted, his manner. It was like that of an absconding cashier. And then he opened the safe and took out some more papers and put those in his brief case. Then he started going over the books and making notes of figures from different pages and — well, just the way he acted, Mr. Mason, it made me suspicious.”

“How long was he there?” Mason asked.

“He was there when I arrived, and he stayed there the whole blessed night, Mr. Mason, and I mean the whole blessed night. He kept up a steady stream of dictation.

“When it began to get daylight, there I was, plastered out there on the fire escape. I felt terribly conspicuous. People could see me from the other buildings. So I... well, I just climbed up the fire escape and walked up and down the corridors of the building, trying to get warmed up. Then I wrapped my extra clothes up in a bundle and about the time the elevator started running regularly, so that I wouldn’t be too conspicuous, I took the stairs down to the floor by Drake’s office, pressed the buzzer and when the cage came up for me I got in, went down and came home. I took a hot bath and swigged a lot of coffee and guess I managed two or three hours’ sleep. But I was so worried about that stockholders’ meeting today I... well, I set the alarm clock early. I’ve got to go up there and do something to protect mother’s interests.”

“You mentioned Idaho,” Mason said. “Do you live in Idaho?”

“I have lived there.”

“Worked there?”

She said, “Mr. Mason, why do you want to pry into all of my private affairs?”

Mason laughed, “You slapped my face. That gives me some rights.”

She said, “All right, if you want to know the truth, I’ve worked around quite a bit in Idaho. I’m a girl who likes adventure and variety. I’ve... I’ve worked in mining camps and I’ve worked in gambling places.”

“Do they have gambling in Idaho?”

“No more,” she said, “but they did up until a few years ago. They had it in the mountain districts, all sorts of gambling — roulette, crap games and things of that sort. I have a knack of being rather cool and collected and seeing what’s going on and yet I... well, I have what they call a pleasing personality, and they tell me I’m easy on the eyes.”

Abruptly she moved over, to sit on the arm of Mason’s chair, smiling down at him, “And I know a grand guy when I see one,” she said softly. “I guess working in those gambling places is what gives a girl an opportunity to know human nature. You get so you can size people up.

“And you’re all right, Mr. Mason. You’re just a darn good scout. Of course, being in gambling places that way, people feel that if — well, if a girl works in those places they can make passes at her, and it used to make me so damned mad when people would take liberties with me simply because I was trying to hold down a very exacting job — and believe me, Mr. Mason, those jobs are exacting.

“Well, that’s why I felt so angry when you said you were going to search me. And then you were so nice about it. I... really owe you something for that.”

She smiled at him, placed her hand on his shoulder, bent down so her face was close to his and said, “You know, really...”

She was interrupted by the banging of peremptory knuckles on the door.

She jumped off the arm of Mason’s chair, pulled her robe smoothly around her.

Knuckles again pounded on the door.

Virginia Bynum looked at Mason with dismay in her eyes.

The knuckles banged once more with heavy insistence.

“Who... who is it?” Virginia Bynum asked.

“This is Sergeant Holcomb of Police Homicide. We’re making a checkup. Open up.”

Virginia Bynum, her face drained of color, moved over to the door, turned the knob and opened it.

Sergeant Holcomb, pushing his shoulder against the door, shoved her back, entered the room, then stopped short at sight of Perry Mason.

Mason said, “Good morning, Sergeant,” then turning to Virginia Bynum, said, “Well, I guess this is where I came in.”

“Wrong again,” Sergeant Holcomb said, “this is where you go out!”

Paul Drake slid into his favorite position in Mason’s big chair and said, “Well, I’m gradually beginning to get some facts pieced together, Perry. It’s a mess.”

“What have you found, Paul?”

Drake said, “This man, Hackley, is going to be a tough nut to crack, Perry. Apparently the police don’t know anything about him, but to my mind he’s the key factor in the whole situation.”

“Anything about the time of death?” Mason asked.

“As nearly as the doctors can tell from a post-mortem examination, which, of course, hasn’t been completed as yet, it happened right around one o’clock. That’s taking body temperature of the corpse when it was found, considering rigor mortis and a few other things. Police are making a tentative guess on the time as one o’clock this morning.”

Mason said, “She left her apartment at ten-nineteen, is that right?”

“That’s right. Of course, the medical authorities can’t fix the time of death with stop-watch precision. She could have been killed as soon as she got to Oceanside or it could have been an hour later.”

Mason said, “She had her tank filled with gasoline. A murderer would hardly have killed her and then filled the car with gas. She must have done it, herself.”

Drake nodded.

“And because she didn’t get any windshield service, it wasn’t done at a service station.”

“You think she stopped at this ranch?” Drake asked.

“I’m virtually certain of it.”

Drake lit a cigarette, studied the smoke which drifted up from the end of it with thoughtful, contemplative eyes, said slowly, “The police have some theories about the killing, Perry.”

“What are they?”

“They don’t think she was killed at the place where the body was found.”

“No?”

“No. They think she opened the door and let someone get in. He was driving the car. She was sitting over in the right-hand seat. Then this person picked an advantageous moment, whipped a revolver out, shot her in the side of the head, pushed the body over to the far side of the car and then drove it down to the place where the body was found. Then this murderer, whoever he was, got out and, after he’d left the automobile, pulled Ethel Garvin’s body over so that it was behind the steering wheel, making it look as though she’d been shot while she was driving the car.”

“Wait a minute,” Mason said. “That doesn’t coincide with the facts, Paul. Your man looked around for tracks when he got there and couldn’t find any leaving the automobile. Of course, it wasn’t the best ground in the world for tracking but, nevertheless, he should have been able...”