Erle Gardner - The Case of the Borrowed Brunette

“Oh, so you’re Perry Mason!”

“Yes.”

“And what’s your interest in this?”

“I tell you I’m trying to find out who murdered Robert Hines.”

“Go to the police, then,” she said sullenly.

“I think I will. Your story is very interesting.”

“I was a fool to spill it to you. You — you scared me.”

“What were you afraid of?”

“None of your business.”

“You thought we were the police, and you were afraid of the police.”

She said nothing.

“Come, come,” Mason said. “You’ve told us enough, Carlotta, so that there’s nothing to be gained by trying to clam up now.”

“I wish you’d get out of here,” she said. “I want to finish packing. And I haven’t anything to say to you.”

“Carlotta, what was the first thing you saw when you went into Helen Reedley’s apartment yesterday afternoon?”

“I didn’t go in. I tell you I followed Bob, and... and I’m not going to say anything else. You can talk to me until you’re black in the face — I won’t give you any more information.”

“But you did see him go into that apartment?”

She sat rigidly silent.

“And you knew there was a gun on the dresser?”

Again there was no answer. Carlotta Tipton sat with her lips pressed in a firm, angry line.

Mason caught Della Street’s eye and said, “Well, I guess that’s all of it. Come on, folks.”

Silently they filed out of the apartment, leaving Carlotta Tipton regarding them sullenly from tear-swollen eyes.

Out in the corridor Drake said, “Well, Perry, what do you make of it?”

Mason grinned. “I don’t make anything of it, because I don’t have to make anything of it. That’s up to the police.”

“You think she killed him?”

“Sure she did. Get the sequence of events, Paul. Remember that Bob Hines had given Adelle Winters the number of Carlotta’s apartment where he was to be called. You can see the whole scheme now. If someone phoned Helen Reedley, Adelle Winters would answer, would say Helen was in the tub or something and would call back. Then she’d relay the message to Bob Hines. He had Helen Reedley staked out some place near a telephone, and he’d relay the message to her. She’d call her friend back, and there was no way for the friend to know where Helen was calling from.

“Now, here’s what must have happened yesterday afternoon. Following my instructions, Adelle Winters and Eva Martell left the Reedley apartment. When they got downstairs, Adelle Winters thought she ought to notify Hines that they were leaving. I hadn’t told her to, but she thought it would be a good thing. She called me first to see if she could get my permission. My line was busy. She waited a while and tried again, but kept getting the busy signal. So then she called the number Hines had given her, and got no answer at all. Now, get the significance of all that. Carlotta didn’t answer the telephone — the Hines number — which means that at the very period when Adelle Winters was waiting in the lobby, a period of five or ten minutes, there was no one in Carlotta Tipton’s apartment; Carlotta having started to follow Robert Hines up to the Reedley apartment. She had been doing a little detective work on her own and had found out that the man she loved had a key to another apartment in the building — an apartment listed in the name of Helen Reedley.”

“On the evidence you’ve got so far,” Drake said dubiously, “you’d have a hell of a time proving she murdered him.”

Mason grinned. “The district attorney will have a hell of a time proving she didn’t murder him. He has to establish his case against Adelle Winters beyond all reasonable doubt. I may not be able to prove that it was Carlotta Tipton who pulled the trigger on that gun, but I certainly can use her to throw a reasonable doubt on any case against Adelle Winters and Eva Martell.”

“You can for a fact,” Drake agreed.

“And now, Paul, we’ve got to find Helen Reedley.”

“The police have probably been looking for her,” Drake said. “They seem content with the case they’ve got, but they’ll want to get the Reedley woman just to round it out.”

Frank Holt, chewing on his unlighted cigar, said matter-of-factly, “I was taking a gander around the joint while you fellows were giving the dame the works. The telephone had a clip with a memorandum pad attached to it. I swiped that pad — here it is. One of those numbers may mean something to you.”

Mason looked down the list of numbers gleefully. “Paul,” he said, “it’s almost certain that one of these numbers is that of the hide-out where Helen Reedley was staying and receiving reports from Robert Hines. Get to work on those numbers just as fast as you can. How long will it take?”

“How many numbers are there?”

“About a dozen,” Holt said.

“It’s going to be a job, Perry, but I think I can get the information in — say — well, if I’m lucky, half an hour.”

“I’ll be at my office,” Mason said. “Get the information to me there and keep shadows on Carlotta. I don’t want to lose her.”

Back in his office Mason had no more than settled himself at his desk when his phone rang.

Drake’s voice had lost its characteristic drawl. “We’ve checked on three of those numbers, Perry.”

“What did you find?”

“One of them’s an apartment hotel — permanent and transient. Helen Reedley’s staying there under an assumed name.”

“Where are you now, Paul?”

“I’m calling from a drugstore down at Tenth and Washington.”

“How far is that from the hotel where Helen Reedley is?”

“Eight or ten blocks.”

“Wait there,” Mason said. “I’ll be right down.” He hung up the telephone and grabbed his hat.

“You wanted me to call Harry Gulling?” Della Street asked.

“Not now,” Mason called over his shoulder. “I’ll call him when I get back.”

Joining Paul Drake, Mason drove with him to the Yucca Arms Hotel.

“How’s she registered?” Mason asked.

“As Genevieve Jordon.”

“You’re sure it’s the same one?”

“Seems to be — she answers the description. We have her number, no use bothering with the desk. Just act important and go on up. We can get by.”

They rode up to Apartment 50-B and Mason knocked.

“Who is it?” a woman’s voice called.

“Mr. Mason.”

“I... I think you have the wrong apartment.”

“I don’t.”

“Who is it?”

“ Perry Mason.”

“I... What? I don’t know you.”

“We can talk back and forth through the door, or I can come in. Which would you prefer?”

“Do whatever you please,” she said. “I don’t know you and I’m going to call the police if you don’t go away.”

Raising his voice, Mason called, “When your husband put detectives on your trail, and you decided to—”

There was the sound of a bolt being hastily thrown back. The door was flung open and indignant eyes blazed at Mason. She said bitterly, “I think you have the most obnoxious personality I have ever—” She broke off as she caught sight of Paul Drake.

“Walk right in, Paul,” Mason said.

“Yes, please do,” she said sarcastically. “Any friend of Mr. Mason is always welcome, any time of the day or night! Come right in, do! Won’t you stay for dinner?”

Mason and Drake entered the apartment. As Mason closed the door behind him he said, “If you’d quit playing ring-around-the-rosy with us, Mrs. Reedley, I think we’d all be better off.”

“Do you indeed?”

Mason went on affably, “There’s no reason why we can’t be friends. You have quite a temper, and when it flares up you’re savage: But I’ve noticed that when you realize you’re licked, you dish up a smile and try some other angle. You’d have made a good lawyer.”