Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Duplicate Daughter

“You mean about the—?”

“About any of them,” Mason interrupted firmly.

“No, Mr. Mason, they didn’t ask too many questions. They were asking about Daddy and I told them that he was in Las Vegas and was due in on the early-morning plane.”

“Well, I’ll be calling you back,” Mason said. “Just hang around the telephone so you don’t miss my call. I am sorry that I’ve been interrupted because I had hoped to clear this matter up with you on this telephone conversation, but, as I say, the police insist on having the right-of-way.”

Mason hung up the telephone and turned to Lt. Tragg. “What can I do for you this morning, Lieutenant?”

Tragg turned to the plain-clothes man and said, “I guess you know Perry Mason. That’s Paul Drake, his detective, and Della Street, the very estimable secretary who chaperones his affairs. Don’t underestimate the intelligence of any one of them, particularly don’t be misled by that look of innocence on the part of Miss Street or those very, very beautiful eyes which somehow seem to get your thoughts off things you’re trying to accomplish.

“Would you mind telling me with whom you were talking, Perry?”

“A client,” Mason said.

“Good heavens!” Tragg exclaimed in mock surprise. “I thought from what I heard of the conversation it was a total stranger, someone who rang you up and wanted to know how to get to the post office from here or if you happened to know what the bus fare was to San Diego.”

“It just goes to show a person can be misled jumping at conclusions. A good detective should never jump at conclusions,” Mason said.

Tragg said, “Mason, I understand you have a client by the name of Gilman, Carter Gilman.”

Mason said, “If you say you have a certain understanding, I see no reason to doubt the statement.”

“Well, then, let me ask you — do you have a client by the name of Carter Gilman?”

Mason frowned as though trying to prod his memory. “Gilman... Gilman,” he said, “Carter Gilman. Do you happen to know his address?”

“6231 Vauxman Avenue,” Tragg said.

“Well,” Mason said, “we could look it up and... no, Tragg, I don’t think I should answer that question.”

Tragg turned to the man in plain clothes and said, “Notice the cleverness of the guy. He acts as though he hadn’t heard of Carter Gilman in a month of Sundays and then, having put on that act, he tells me that he isn’t going to answer the question. In that way, he hasn’t lied to me, he hasn’t said anything that wasn’t so, he simply played it cute.”

Tragg turned back to Mason. “Mason,” he said, “I am asking you now an official question. Have you removed any incriminating evidence from the premises at 6231 Vauxman Avenue — from any part of the premises?”

“Incriminating evidence,” Mason said. “Now, let’s see what we mean by that. Evidence, of course, is something that is legally admissible in the way of proof, and that, of course, calls for legal definition.

“Now, incriminating is something else again. I would have to ask incriminating to whom.

“You see, Tragg, since you want to play games this morning, there are lots of things that you might consider evidence which a court wouldn’t technically consider evidence because it wouldn’t be admissible.”

“I know,” Tragg said. “Hearsay, for instance.”

“Well, there again,” Mason said, “you are up against certain exceptions. For instance, if a man asked you how old you were and you’d say fifty-five, perhaps — now, of course, you have no way of knowing that you’re fifty-five except because of something someone has told you. So you’d be testifying to something that was purely hearsay. Yet that is one of the exceptions to the hearsay evidence rule which the layman never stops to think about.”

“Well, now,” Tragg said, “I see we’re going to have rather a prolonged visit. I—”

The telephone rang again. Della Street picked up the receiver, said, “Yes,” then gave Mason a meaning glance. “Perhaps you’d better take this call in the law library,” she said.

“Oh, now, you don’t have to do anything like that,” Tragg said. “We’re not trying to eavesdrop, but we are in something of a hurry and the business might be described as official, so perhaps you’d just better answer the phone, Perry, and tell whoever is calling to call back.”

Mason caught the expression on Della Street’s face, picked up the telephone, said, “Hello,” and heard the voice of Carter Gilman.

“Mr. Mason, this is Carter Gilman. I am being held on suspicion of murder. They’ve interrogated me at the district attorney’s office and I am now being booked. They told me that I had a right to call my attorney, so I’m calling you.”

Mason said, “I’ll be right down to see you. Now, in the meantime, I don’t know what you’ve said to anybody, but from now on you aren’t to say a thing unless I’m there. Do you understand? You’re not to open your mouth unless I give you permission — not even to talk about the weather. Don’t give anyone the time of day. I’ll be there just as soon as I can get there.”

Mason hung up the telephone.

Tragg turned sadly to the man standing beside him and said, “That’s what comes of all these recent decisions about depriving a man of due process of law; when you restrain him without taking him before a magistrate, when you don’t give him an opportunity to call his attorney before you’ve even talked with him.

“The whole law-enforcement business has gone completely cockeyed. They’re taking the handcuffs off the wrists of the criminals and putting them on the wrists of the law-enforcement officers.

“Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag, Mason. I presume that you’re not going to answer any more questions, that you’re going to clap on your hat, shoot out of that door and dash down to the jail to confer with your client. Well, we can’t stop you, Mason. So far, we don’t have anything on you, but we’re looking around, Perry, we’re looking around.”

Mason said, “Keep on looking, Lieutenant. By the way, I presume you have your official car out here and you’re probably on your way to the jail. Now, if you wanted to be really hospitable and a good sport about this thing you’d give me a ride with you and I’d save quite a bit of time.”

“To say nothing of taxi fare,” Tragg said. “It’s quite all right, Perry. Just to show you that we’re good sports, we’ll take you right through traffic and right up to where you can visit your client.

“Of course, you understand, Perry, I can’t use the code signal that calls for red light and siren. I’ll have to go just as an ordinary law-abiding citizen, but we know our way around and we can expedite things for you. It will look nice in case you should claim your client was deprived of due process of law or that the police restrained him unduly trying to get a confession out of him.

“Come right along with us, Perry, and we’ll see that you’re delivered F.O.B. the county jail, where you can talk with your client, who is being held on suspicion of murdering Vera Martel. And I don’t mind telling you privately and confidentially, Perry, that this time we have an ironclad case, and unless you’re very, very careful you’re going to find yourself involved along with your client — right up to your necktie.”

Mason bowed. “Thank you for the warning and the ride, Lieutenant.”

Mason turned to Della Street and said, half jokingly, half seriously, “If you don’t hear from me within an hour make an application for a writ of habeas corpus.”

Della Street nodded solemnly.

Paul Drake, who had been a silent spectator, held the door open for the three men to go out.