Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Duplicate Daughter

Mason gave no sign that he had heard, nor did he say anything as Drake said lamely, “Well, so long. I’ll see you folks later,” and left the office.

The lawyer continued pacing the floor, back and forth, back and forth, his head bowed slightly in thought, his eyes level-lidded with concentration.Della Street, knowing the lawyer’s moods, sat quietly, watching him with eyes that showed the depths of her concern and sympathy.

Twenty minutes later, Mason finished pacing the floor, moved over to sit down at the office desk. The tips of his fingers drummed silently on the blotter.

“Can you salvage anything out of the situation?” Della Street asked.

“I can go down fighting,” Mason said.

“How serious is it not reporting the finding of the ten thousand dollars?”

“I don’t know,” Mason said. “There aren’t any precedents for it. I assumed the money belonged to my client — either Gilman or his wife; that it had been intended as a blackmail payment and that they could give me title to it.”

“And as a blackmail payment it wouldn’t have been evidence?”

“It might have been,” Mason said, “but no one told me anything that indicated it was. Nobody would admit it. No one would admit getting that much money out of the bank. The reason for that is now apparent. They didn’t.”

“Then where did the money come from?” Della Street asked. “Why would Vera Martel leave her money there?”

“That,” Mason said, “is what I’m trying to figure out. This is a new angle. The blackmailer comes to pay money to the person who is being blackmailed. Now, figure that one out.”

The telephone rang again. Della Street picked up the receiver, said, “Paul Drake,” and Mason, picking up his own phone, said, “Yes, Paul, what is it this time?”

“I don’t know,” Drake said. “All I know is that we checked on the air travel card of Vera Martel. She took a plane to Redding, California on the fourth. She was gone two days.”

“Got a correspondent in Redding you can trust?” Mason asked.

“I have a good man there. He’s an ex-cop, private operator and—”

“All right, get him,” Mason said. “In a town the size of Redding, Vera Martel would stand out like a sore thumb. She got off the plane. She didn’t have a car. Either someone met her or she went to a hotel or a motel. Find out. Call me back. Tell your man he’s got two hours. We want the information by that time. Della Street and I are going out to dinner. You stay on the job. Get your man up in Redding working and get him working fast.”

Mason hung up the phone and looked thoughtfully at Della Street. “Now, why the devil would Vera Martel go to Redding on the fourth of the month and stay for two days?”

Della Street shook her head. “It’s all part of a puzzle — are you sure the solution lies with Vera Martel?”

“I can’t find a key to it anywhere else,” Mason said. “There’s no place else to turn and...”

“And?” Della Street asked, as the lawyer’s voice trailed off into silence.

“And,” Mason said, “we’re desperate.”

“Feel you can eat?” Della Street asked.

Mason’s grin was slightly forced. “I don’t know,” he said, “but I think I can. It isn’t eating, it’s taking on fuel, because we’re going to be in a dog fight tomorrow. I guess Hamilton Burger’s enjoying his dinner enough tonight for both of us. Let’s go.”

The lawyer and his secretary closed the door of the private office. Della Street slipped her hand into his and squeezed it, by the pressure giving him wordless assurance of her loyalty and sympathy.

The lawyer patted her shoulder, said, “It’s all right, Della, I’ve dished it out and I guess I can take it if I have to.

“It seems so terribly one-sided,” Della Street complained.

“I know,” Mason said. “Usually, when things turn against you they go all the way. Come on, let’s eat.”

They sought out the dim light of their favorite cocktail bar, had a cocktail, then moved into the restaurant and ordered dinner.

Mason ate slowly, methodically, and in silence. Della Street, after the second bite, found that she couldn’t touch the food and pushed her plate away.

There was no conversation. Della Street toyed with a water glass while Mason completed the task of eating.

When Mason had finished, Della Street walked over to the phone booth, called Drake’s office.

Paul Drake’s voice, seeming somewhat puzzled, said, “I’m striking some sort of pay dirt, Della, but I don’t know what it is. Can Perry come to the phone?”

“I’ll get him,” Della Street said.

She returned to Mason’s table and said, “Paul Drake is waiting on the telephone. He’s got something but he can’t evaluate it.”

Mason nodded, pushed back his chair, walked wordlessly to the telephone booth, closed the door, said, “Hello, Paul. What is it?”

“My man in Redding,” Drake said. “He’s a good man. He called in about ten minutes ago with a complete report. I have him waiting at the telephone.”

“All right. What’s the report?” Mason asked.

“Vera Martel arrived on a Pacific Airlines plane. She was met by Maureen Monroe. Maureen was waiting for her at the airport in a classy car and Vera Martel stepped into the car and went out to the Monroe home.”

“All right,” Mason said. “What about Maureen Monroe? Who is she?”

“Apparently she’s quite the upper crust in Redding. Her father owns a few thousand acres of timberland, a couple of sawmills. She’s the town’s most attractive dish.”

“All right. What did Vera do?”

“She went out to the Monroe residence. She was out there for a couple of hours, then Maureen drove her back to the hotel. Vera Martel got a room and took the first southbound plane.”

“Where to?”

“Back to Los Angeles.”

“Then what? Did she call on anyone we know?”

“I haven’t found out what she did there,” Drake said, “but her air travel card shows she took a plane to Las Vegas the next day.”

“Can your man find out anything about what happened up there?”

“No. Maureen Monroe is in San Francisco or Los Angeles. Her father is someplace in Oregon.”

Mason thought for a moment, then said, “Give me the number of the telephone where this guy is waiting in Redding, Paul. What’s his name?”

“Alan Hancock. I told him to wait at a telephone. I can call him and have him call you there at the booth. It may be easier than for you to try and put through a long-distance call.”

“Okay,” Mason said. “I’ll wait here. Tell him to call me at the restaurant.”

Mason returned to the table.

“What was it?” Della Street asked.

Mason told her.

“But, Chief,” Della Street said, “that was... gosh, that was more than a week before the murder. More than that. It couldn’t have had anything to do with the murder.”

“How do we know?” Mason asked.

“Well... we don’t,” Della Street said.

“When you start putting a jigsaw puzzle together,” Mason said, “you have to consider the sequence of events. The sequence may be equally as significant as the events themselves.”

“I don’t understand,” Della Street said. “What sequence...?”

A waiter approached the table and said, “There’s a long-distance call for you, Mr. Mason, from Redding. A gentleman named Hancock says you’re expecting the call. Do you wish to take it?”

Mason nodded. “Bring a telephone,” he said. “I’ll take it here at the table.”

The waiter brought a phone, plugged in the jack and handed the instrument to Mason.

Mason said, “Hello, this is Perry Mason... Yes, I’m expecting the call. Put him on.”