Erle Gardner - The Case of the Postponed Murder

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The last of the Perry Mason mysteries features the headlong pace, wealth of red herrings, and sizzling courtroom scene characterizing the best of Gardner.
There was something phony about the girl her cheap coat didn’t go with her smartly tailored suit, her hair-do didn’t go with her beautifully kept hands — and her face didn’t go with her story.
It didn’t take Mason long to figure out that this so-called Sylvia Farr was no poor little girl from the country in search of her missing sister, but was indeed sister Mae herself — a girl in trouble of some sort, deep trouble.
So Perry went to bat and soon found himself in a hot ball game — one called murder.

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“I turned and ran from the yacht,” Eversel continued. “I drove home and developed the picture. It was a perfect negative. I could hardly wait. I knew that Mrs. Wentworth was in San Diego. I jumped in my plane and flew to San Diego, explained the circumstances to her, and brought her back with me. By the time we returned, the negative was dry. I put it in the enlarging camera and made a print. Naturally I felt very jubilant. Then I flew Mrs. Wentworth back to San Diego.

“Subsequently, that negative was stolen from my house. At the time of its disappearance, Perry Mason, the attorney representing Miss Farr, was prowling around the grounds. I demand that that negative be produced. When it is produced, I intend to prosecute him for burglary.”

Emil Scanlon pursed his lips thoughtfully and assiduously avoided glancing at Perry Mason. “Well,” he said after a moment, “if anything like that happened, it’s something that’s entirely apart from this case. As I see it, your testimony may show that the murder wasn’t committed at the time we had supposed. That’s all that relates to the present investigation.”

Oscar Overmeyer said, “May I ask a question if the Justice please?”

“Yes.”

“When you were flying to San Diego the first time,” Overmeyer asked, “did you take a direct course a part of the way over the water?”

“Yes,” Eversel answered. “My plane is an amphibian. The night was calm. The rainstorm hadn’t begun then, and the safety factor in night flying induced me to keep over the ocean.”

“While you were near the outer entrance of the harbour, did you notice by any chance a yacht?”

“I did.”

“What yacht was it?”

“It was the express cruiser Atina belonging to Frank Marley.”

“And who is Frank Marley?”

“A partner of Wentworth’s.”

“You know him?”

“I know of him, and I know him personally. I am quite familiar with his boat.”

“You were flying low?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do, if anything?”

“I circled the cruiser several times, thinking that it was rather significant that it was heading out to sea.”

“Did you have any means of illumination by which you could...”

“Yes, I have a pair of searchlights in the wings. I turned them on the cruiser.”

“What did you see?”

“I identified the Atina absolutely. I saw that someone was at the wheel. I could see that someone was a woman, and that she was wearing clothes of the identical color that had been worn by Mae Farr when she went aboard the Pennwent earlier in the evening.”

Overmeyer bowed and smiled. “If the Justice please,” he said, “that is all.”

Mason raised his eyebrows at the JP, and Emil Scanlon nodded.

“Did you fly over any other yachts while you were en route to San Diego?” Mason asked casually.

Overmeyer said, “If the Justice please, that has nothing to do with this case. It is an attempt to confuse the issues and—”

“I would have asked the question myself if Mr. Mason hadn’t,” the JP interrupted. “I said I didn’t want any purely technical objections. Let’s hear the answer to that question.”

Eversel squirmed uneasily in the witness chair. He glanced appealingly at Overmeyer, then averted his eyes.

“Answer the question,” Emil Scanlon said, his voice taking on the edge of authority, like a ballplayer telling the umpire that he missed the last call.

“Well,” Eversel said, “naturally in taking a course for San Diego, I was flying on just about the course a ship would have taken in going to Ensenada.”

“Never mind the explanations,” Scanlon said. “You can make those later. The question was whether you flew over any other yachts.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Did you,” Scanlon asked, “recognize any of those yachts?”

“I recognized one of them.”

“Was it the Pennwent? ” Scanlon asked sternly.

Eversel kept his eyes straight ahead. “Yes, it was,” he said in a strained voice.

“And did you circle over her?”

“Just once.”

“What did you see?”

“I saw her plugging along with the skylight in the cabin open.”

“Was there anyone at the wheel?” Scanlon asked.

“I don’t think this witness could see that distinctly,” Overmeyer objected. “It’s asking rather much...”

“No, it isn’t,” Scanlon said. “A witness who could look at one yacht and testify to the colour of the clothes worn by the person at the wheel could certainly see if anyone was at the steering wheel of another yacht. Answer that question, Mr. Eversel.”

Eversel said, “No one was at the wheel.”

“You only circled the yacht once?”

“Yes.”

“Are you certain no one was at the wheel?”

“Yes.”

“Where was the yacht then?”

“About a mile off shore and about ten miles below the breakwater.”

“And how far from Frank Marley’s boat?” Mason asked.

“About three miles, I should judge.”

Mason said, in a very conversational tone of voice. “You knew that Wentworth had a violent temper, didn’t you, Mr. Eversel?”

“I did.”

“And you knew that if he caught you aboard the Pennwent, he might resort to violence?”

“Yes.”

“You knew he was a powerful man?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose,” Mason said, “that’s why you went armed.”

“Well, I carried a weapon. I didn’t propose—” The witness suddenly broke off as the full significance of Mason’s question dawned upon him.

“And saw no reason for removing that weapon before you stepped into your airplane?”

“To tell you the truth, I forgot all about it.”

“So that at the time you were circling over Wentworth’s yacht, you were armed. Is that right?”

“I don’t like the way you put that question.”

“Never mind whether you like it or not,” Scanlon said. “Answer it.”

“Yes, I was,” Eversel snapped.

“What kind of a revolver?”

“A thirty-eight — a Colt.”

Mason smiled affably. “That,” he said, “is all.”

Scanlon frowned. “I am not certain that I care to have the examination concluded at just this point,” he said. “Well, perhaps we’ll let the matter rest temporarily. You’ll remain in attendance, Mr. Eversel.”

“Just one more question,” Mason asked. “You stated that you made an enlargement of that negative, Mr. Eversel?”

“I did.”

“Where is it?”

“I gave it to the deputy district attorney.”

“Mr. Overmeyer?”

“No, Mr. Runcifer.”

Mason smiled. “Would you mind producing that print, Mr. Runcifer?”

Runcifer said, “I certainly would. That’s a part of the confidential files of the district attorney’s office. I object to any such a demand. If you want that photograph in evidence, produce it yourself, and when you do so, account for the fact that you have that negative in your possession.”

Emil Scanlon, in a voice that was suavely courteous, said, “If there are no more questions of Mr. Eversel, he will be excused. But remain in attendance.”

Eversel left the witness stand.

Runcifer exchanged a triumphant glance with his associate.

“And now,” Overmeyer said, “we will call Hazel Tooms as our next witness.”

“Thank you very much,” Scanlon said, “but the Justice has his own ideas about who should be the next witness. Mr. Runcifer, will you please come forward and be sworn?”

“Me?” Runcifer exclaimed. “I most strenuously object on the ground—”

Scanlon nodded affably and cut Runcifer in mid sentence. “... Just step right up to the witness stand, Mr. Runcifer.”

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