Erle Gardner - The Case of the Drowning Duck

“About the duck,” Lois said.

A deputy sheriff, coming forward, said, “John Witherspoon wants to talk with you, Mr. Mason. And he also wants to see his daughter and—” here the sheriff grinned broadly — “his new son-in-law.”

Mason said to Adams, “This might be a good time for you to go and talk things over with him. Tell him I’ll try and see him shortly before court convenes this afternoon.”

Mason caught Paul Drake’s eye, and motioned him to join them.

“Have you been able to find out anything about that letter, Paul?” Mason asked in a low voice.

“Which one?”

“The one that I gave you — the one Marvin Adams received, offering him a hundred dollars to show the writer how to make a duck sink.”

Drake said, “I can’t find out a thing about it, Perry. The telephone number is just as you surmised, that of a big department store. They don’t know anyone named Gridley P. Lahey.”

“How about the letter?”

“Absolutely nothing you can find out about it. It’s mailed in a plain, stamped envelope and written on a piece of paper which has been torn from a writing pad, one of the sort that is sold in drugstores, stationery stores, five-and-ten-cent stores, and so many other places that it’s impossible to try and trace it. We have the handwriting to go by, and that’s all. It isn’t doing us any good now.”

Mason said, “It may help later, Paul. See if you can locate the woman who was employed as nurse — the one Burr fired, will you? She—”

“She was here in court,” Drake interrupted. “Just a minute, Perry. I think I may be able to locate her.”

He strode out through the swinging gate in the mahogany rail, to thread his way through the crowd that was slowly shuffling its way out of the courtroom. A few minutes later, he was back with a rather attractive young woman. “This is Miss Field,” he said, “the nurse who was on the job the morning Burr was murdered.”

Miss Field gave Mason her hand, said, “I’ve been very much interested in watching the way the case developed. I don’t think I should talk to you. I’ve been subpoenaed by the district attorney as a witness.”

“To show that he asked Witherspoon to get him a fishing rod?” Mason asked.

“Yes. I think that’s one of the things he wants.”

Mason said, “You don’t do any fishing, do you, Miss Field?”

“I don’t have time.”

“Do you know very much about fishing rods?”

“No.”

“Is there any chance,” Mason asked, “any chance whatever, no matter how remote, that Burr could have got up out of bed?”

“No chance on earth. Not without cutting the rope which held that weight on his leg, and even then, I doubt if he could have made it. If he had, he’d have put the fracture out of place.”

“The rope wasn’t tampered with?”

“No.”

Mason said, “He didn’t want you touching that bag of his. Is that what caused your discharge?”

“That’s the way the trouble started. He kept that bag by the side of the bed, and was always delving into it, pulling out books and material to tie flies, and things of that sort. I stumbled over that bag every single time I went near the bed. So finally I told him that Id arrange the things out on the dresser where he could see them, and he could point out whatever he wanted, and Id bring it over to him.”

“And he didn’t like that?”

“It seemed to make him furious.”

“Then what happened?”

“Nothing right then, but a half hour later he wanted something, and I stumbled over the bag again. I stooped to pick it up, and he grabbed my arm and almost broke it. I can ordinarily get along with patients, but there are some things I won’t stand. However, I probably would simply have reported it to the doctor and stayed on the job, if it hadn’t been that he ordered me out of the room and told me he’d start throwing things at me if I ever came in again. He even tried to club me with a piece of metal tubing.”

“Where did he get the tubing?” Mason asked.

“It was one he’d had me get for him the night before. It had some papers in it, some blueprints. It was one of those metal tubes such as maps and blueprints come in.”

“Had you seen that on the morning of the murder?”

“Yes”

“Where?”

“He had it down by the side of the bed, down with the bag.”

“What did he do with it after he tried to club you with it?”

“He put it — let me see, I think he put it under the bedclothes. I was so frightened by that time that I didn’t notice — I have never seen a man so absolutely furious. We have trouble with patients once in a while, but this was different. He actually frightened me. He seemed beside himself.”

“And you telephoned for the doctor?”

“I telephoned and reported to the doctor that he was exceedingly violent and was insisting that a new nurse should come on the case; and I told the doctor I thought it would be better if a new nurse came out.”

“But the doctor came out without bringing another nurse?”

“Yes. Doctor Rankin thought he could fix everything all up with a little diplomacy. He just didn’t realize the full extent of what had happened, nor how absolutely violent the patient was.”

“Now, he told you the day before that someone was trying to kill him?”

She seemed embarrassed, said, “I don’t think I should talk with you about that, Mr. Mason, not without the district attorney’s consent. You see, I’m a witness in the case.”

“I don’t want to try to tamper with your testimony,” Mason said.

“Well, I don’t think I should talk with you about that.”

Mason said, “I appreciate your position. It’s all right, and thank you a lot, Miss Field.”

Despite the fact that the night had been cold and that the season was early spring, the midday sun sent the thermometer climbing up toward the top of the tube, and Judge Meehan, sitting in Chambers, had relaxed into the comfortable informality of shirt sleeves and a plug of tobacco.

Mason entered just a few moments before Copeland arrived. Judge Meehan, teetering back and forth in a squeaky swivel chair behind a littered desk, nodded to them, sent a stream of tobacco-stained saliva into a battered brass cuspidor, said, “Sit down, gentlemen. Let’s see if we can find out what this is all about.”

The two lawyers seated themselves.

Judge Meehan said, “We don’t want to throw away any evidence, and if there’s something in this case that makes it look like the district attorney was barking up a wrong tree, we’d like to find out about it, wouldn’t we, Ben?”

The district attorney said, “I’m barking up the right tree, all right. That’s why you’re hearing so many squeaks.”

Mason smiled at the district attorney.

Judge Meehan said, “Personally, I’d like to know what this is all about.”

Mason said, “Around twenty years ago, Marvin Adams’ father was executed for the murder of his business partner, a man named Latwell. Latwell’s widow married a man named Dangerfield. The murder took place in Winterburg City. Adams’ father said that Latwell told him he was going to run off with a girl named Corine Hassen, but authorities found Latwell’s body buried under the cement floor in the basement of the manufacturing establishment.”

“So that’s where this Corine Hassen entered into the case?” Judge Meehan said.

“I never knew her name,” the district attorney announced. “I couldn’t understand what Mr. Mason was getting at when he was asking questions about Corine Hassen.”

“Witherspoon know anything about this?” Judge Meehan asked, the tempo of his tobacco chewing increasing somewhat.