Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Dubious Bridegroom

Mason said, “Good afternoon, señora.”

“Buenas tardes, señores, and you, too, señorita,” she said smiling, “and how goes eet weeth the case? You ’ave got your client acquitted, no?”

“No,” Mason said, “and I want to ask you a couple of questions. What about that last room you rented the night of the murder? Who rented it?”

“Eet was a señorita, a nice, sweet girl, with so beautiful curves,” and Señora Miguerinio swept her two hands in a series of curves indicating the contours of a feminine body.

“What color hair?” Mason asked.

“A beautiful blonde. The blonde that ees like platinum, no?”

Mason said, “Did she register? What name did she give?”

“I weel look up the register,” Señora Miguerinio said, and turning the pages of the register, said, “She was the Señorita Carlotta Delano, from Los Angeles.”

“When did she come in?”

“I do not know the time, señor. After all, here in Mexico we do not make so much importance of the time as do you yanquis. Eet was just before I turn out the lights and go to bed.”

Mason turned to regard Paul Drake with frowning concentration.

“What the devil,” Drake asked, “are you getting at?”

Mason said, “Let’s consider the time element, Paul. I left my room and went down to Edward Garvin’s room. During the time I was in his room, Señora Miguerinio must have rented the last room to this blond señorita. She then turned out the lights and went to bed. By the time I retraced my steps back to my room, the lights were out — but some girl was in the adjoining telephone booth putting through a phone call. As I remember it now, there was something significant about that phone call. Now it’s reasonable to suppose that this woman who was putting through the phone call was the woman to whom Señora Miguerinio had rented the last room.”

“Si, si, señor, that ees eet! She asked about the telephone and how she could make a call to Los Angeles.”

“Now then,” Mason said to Drake, “just suppose that this woman was actually our mysterious friend with the gun, the beautiful legs, and the habit of prowling the fire escape. Suppose this was Virginia Bynum telephoning to Los Angeles for instructions. Come on, Paul, we’re going to find out about that telephone call.”

Forty minutes later they had their answer. The call had been placed at nine fifty-five. A woman who gave her name as Miss Virginia Colfax had placed a call to Frank C. Livesey in Los Angeles.

Drake, regarding the sheet which contained the information, gave a low whistle.

Mason said, grimly, “Okay, Paul. Now I’m beginning to see daylight. I think I know who borrowed my automobile.”

Garvin, brought to the crowded courtroom by the deputy sheriff who had him in charge, whispered angrily to Mason, “What the hell is all this about you trying to frame my wife?”

“Shut up,” Mason whispered peremptorily.

“I won’t stand for it,” Garvin said. “I’ll ask permission of the Court to have another attorney substituted. Damn it, Mason, you can’t...”

Judge Minden entered, rapped court to order and gazed out over the crowded courtroom in which every available seat was occupied, every inch of standing room taken.

“People versus Garvin,” he called. “Are you ready to proceed, gentlemen? So is it stipulated that the defendant is in court, and the jurors are all present?”

“So stipulated,” Mason said.

“So stipulated,” Covington agreed.

Judge Minden looked at Covington, who started to get to his feet, but before lie could address the Court, Mason said, hurriedly, “If the Court please, there are one or two questions I would like to ask of Frank C. Livesey. May I be permitted to have him recalled for additional cross-examination?”

“What do you want to cross-examine him about?” Covington said sneeringly. “He was only called in a routine way in connection with the handling of the gun.”

Mason smiled, “Then there certainly should be no objection on the part of the district attorney to having him recalled.”

“There isn’t,” Covington said.

“Mr. Livesey, take the stand again for additional cross-examination,” Judge Minden said.

Livesey arose from the back of the courtroom, walked to the witness stand, his face twisted in a grin.

Mason waited until Livesey had seated himself, then said, suddenly,

“Mr. Livesey, do you know Virginia Bynum?”

Livesey frowned, “I’ve told you before, Mr. Mason, that I know so many people that I...”

“Yes or no?” Mason asked. “Do you or do you not know her?”

Livesey looked into the lawyer’s eyes, squirmed uncomfortably, said, “Yes, I know her.”

“Now then,” Mason said, “answer this question yes or no. Did you or did you not have a telephone conversation with Virginia Bynum shortly before ten o’clock on the night of September twenty-first of this year?”

Covington was suddenly on his feet, his expression puzzled, but his instinct as a trial attorney making him realize that some dramatic development was impending, a development which might bode no good for his side of the case. “Why, Your Honor,” he said, “this is not a routine cross-examination. This is going far afield. This is taking up matters which were not covered in the direct examination.”

“It is for the purpose of showing the interest of the witness,” Mason said.

“Well,” Judge Minden said, dubiously, “it seems to the Court the inquiry is certainly far afield, but counsel should have the widest latitude in a case of this kind, when it comes to showing personal interest or bias. I will overrule the objection and permit that question, but I warn counsel that I don’t intend to permit any fishing expeditions.”

“I’m not fishing,” Mason said.

“Very well, answer the question, Mr. Livesey.”

Livesey twisted his position in the witness chair, glanced appealingly at Covington, ran his hand over his bald head.

“Yes or no,” Mason said crisply. “Did you or did you not have such a conversation?”

Livesey cleared his throat, started to say something, then paused thoughtfully.

“Did you or didn’t you?” Mason thundered.

“Yes,” Livesey said, after a moment’s hesitation.

“Yes,” Mason said. “And at the time of that conversation Virginia Bynum was in Tijuana, wasn’t she?”

“Oh, I object, Your Honor,” Covington said. “That plainly calls for a conclusion of the witness. He couldn’t know where a party was telephoning from. All he could possibly know is what the other party said, and that would be hearsay.”

“Sustained,” Judge Minden said, but he was leaning forward now, looking over the edge of the bench, regarding Livesey with a thoughtful frown.

“And did you, over the telephone at that time, give Virginia Bynum substantially the following instructions? Did you tell her to take my automobile, which was parked at the Vista de la Mesa Hotel, and drive it to Oceanside?”

“Oh, Your Honor,” Covington said, “this is completely far afield. If Mr. Mason wants to make Mr. Livesey his own witness that’s one matter, but I only called Mr. Livesey in connection with a routine matter and...”

“Nevertheless, this might show his bias, his personal interest in the outcome of this trial,” Judge Minden said. “I may say that the Court is very much interested in hearing the answer to that question. Answer it, Mr. Livesey.”

Livesey’s hand was stroking his bald head now with rhythmic regularity.

“Yes or no,” Mason said. “Did you give her substantially those instructions?”

Livesey sat on the witness chair, his hand keeping an even tempo as it moved slowly and rhythmically across his forehead, back up over his head, down to the back of his neck, then back to his forehead again.