Erle Gardner - The Case of the Postponed Murder

“I wasn’t there,” Eversel said.

Mason arched his eyebrows. “After that, you took this airplane and flew to San Diego.”

“What if I did? This is a private plane. I go where I damn please.”

“An amphibian, I notice,” Mason said casually. “While you were flying to San Diego, did you, perhaps, happen to fly over the Pennwent and look down into the lighted interior of the cabin?”

“What the devil are you talking about?”

“Just asking questions,” Mason said.

“Don’t do it. It isn’t healthy.”

Mason said conversationally, “Do you know, Eversel, I have a peculiar idea about what happened aboard that yacht. You’re quite an amateur photographer. It’s a funny thing about that shot. No one heard it.”

“Well, what’s strange about that?” Eversel asked belligerently. “People in the other boats were making whoopee. If they heard a noise, they’d take it as the backfire of a truck or a boat engine.”

Mason said, “Do you know, Eversel, I was wondering if it couldn’t have been a flashlight bulb that Mae Farr thought was a shot. Wentworth knew he was trapped as soon as the picture was taken. He ran back to the after cabin and held the door tightly shut while he was getting into his clothes. He thought perhaps it was a raid.”

Eversel said, “I suppose you’d like to cook up some cock and bull story like that in order to get your client, Mae Farr, acquitted of murder.”

“She’s a little adventuress,” Mrs. Wentworth said.

“It was just an idea I had,” Mason observed almost apologetically.

“Well, it’s an idea that didn’t pan out,” Eversel said sharply, “and if you make any insinuations like that in court, I’ll sue you for slander.”

“Of course,” Mason went on conversationally, “you hoped that as soon as Wentworth realized the full import of what had happened, he would decide to get in touch with his estranged wife and meet her terms on a property settlement. He knew that photograph would put him in rather a bad light.”

“You’re crazy,” Eversel said.

“You and Mrs. Wentworth wanted to get married,” Mason said. “You’d been just a little too eager. Wentworth wouldn’t let his wife have an uncontested divorce. You were pretty desperate. You couldn’t afford to have your name dragged into a scandal.”

“I tell you you’re crazy.”

Mason went on calmly, “I don’t think it was only a question of money. It was probably also a question of jealousy on Wentworth’s part. He was fascinated by the woman he had married and who had grown to despise him.” The lawyer turned to Mrs. Wentworth and made a little bow. “Seeing Mrs. Wentworth, one can well appreciate how he felt.”

Eversel said, “You’re not only crazy, but you’re insulting. By God, I won’t stand for it.”

Mason said, “The preliminary hearing is tomorrow morning. Through an understanding with the justice of the peace, witnesses whom I think important are subpoenaed.”

“Juanita is going to be there,” Eversel said.

“So I understand,” Mason observed, taking a folded subpoena from his pocket and extending it to Eversel, “and so are you, Eversel.”

Eversel dashed the subpoena from the lawyer’s hand to the floor. “Not by a damn sight,” he said.

Mason shrugged his shoulders and said, “Suit yourself. You can figure whether it’s better for you to be there and answer routine questions, or to make yourself conspicuous by your absence and force the Justice to take proceedings to enforce your attendance.”

“This is outrageous,” Eversel stormed. “It’s the work of a shyster criminal lawyer.”

Mrs. Wentworth said, “Let me talk with him, Sidney. Please,” and then to Perry Mason, “What is it you want, Mr. Mason?”

“I want a square deal for my client,” Mason said. “I want you to attend that preliminary hearing and tell the truth.”

“What do you mean by the truth?”

“That it wasn’t a shot which was fired when Mae Farr was aboard the yacht, it was the taking of a flashlight photograph.”

“By whom?” Mrs. Wentworth asked.

Eversel said, “Juanita, don’t—”

“Please, Sidney,” she interrupted.

Mason said, “By Eversel.”

She said, “Mr. Eversel holds several important positions. He’s on the board of directors of a bank, a trust company, and other important corporations. He simply can’t afford to have any scandal connected with his name.”

“Taking a picture doesn’t necessarily mean a scandal,” Mason said.

“It would in this instance.”

“Was fear of scandal,” Mason asked, “the hold that Wentworth had over you?”

She met his eyes steadily and said, “Yes.”

“And what were you holding out for?”

She said calmly, “Money for my parents. Sidney offered... I could have secured it elsewhere, but I was just as obstinate as Penn was. My parents lived on a large hacienda in Mexico. The government took their land and gave it to the peons. They were impoverished. It was only fair that Penn should make some financial settlement. He took an unfair advantage by threatening to drag Sidney’s name into the case. I knew Sidney couldn’t afford to have the publicity, and Penn knew it too. Penn threatened to sue Sidney for alienation of affections. I knew how to handle Penn. There was only one way. I had to fight him and master him. Otherwise, there would never have been any peace for us.”

“How about Eversel?” Mason asked Mrs. Wentworth. “How did he feel about it?”

“He was impulsive,” she said. “He was...”

“Juanita, please don’t drag me into this,” Eversel said. “He’s a shrewd lawyer, and he’s just trapping you.”

“The truth can’t hurt us,” she said, and then added, after a significant moment, “now.”

“Were you,” Mason asked, “glad that your husband was killed?”

“I am not glad to have anyone killed.”

“You were relieved?”

She met his eyes and said, “Naturally. It was a shock to me of course. There was much about Penn that was good, and a lot more that was all bad. He desired to dominate people. He wanted to get them in his clutches and in his power. He was a brute — particularly as far as women are concerned.”

Mason said, “Well, there’s your subpoena, Eversel. You can’t say I didn’t give you a chance to play fair. If you’re going anywhere, you can drop me at an airport where I can pick up a car, and,” Mason added with a smile, “when I say drop me, I use the term figuratively.”

Eversel said, “To hell with you. You can go back the way you came.”

Mason said, “My friends have left. I thought I might have to wait all night to serve the subpoena.”

Eversel eyed him suspiciously.

Mrs. Wentworth said, “Please, Sidney. We could leave him in Los Angeles. You don’t want to go away and leave him here, do you?”

That idea appeared suddenly disquieting to Eversel.

“Please,” Juanita Wentworth asked, flashing him a glance from her limpid, dark eyes. “This is once, Sidney, when I think I know best.”

Eversel hesitated a moment, then shoved his gun into a hip pocket, moved over to the pilot’s seat in the plane, fastened the seat belt in sulky silence, and operated the starting mechanism which sent the motor roaring into life. He taxied out to the level field and sat grimly silent while he warmed up the motor of the plane.

Mrs. Wentworth, raising her voice so it could be heard above the sound of the motor, said, “Don’t you think, Mr. Mason, it would be better for your client to tell the truth and face the consequences instead of trying to drag us into it?”

Mason, pushing his hands down deep in his trouser pockets, sunk his chin on his chest and stared moodily at the floor of the plane. “That,” he said musingly, “is something that’s been running through my own mind.”