Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Reluctant Model

“What?” Della Street asked.

Mason turned back the coat slightly. “Look at that inside pocket,” he said, “filled with hundred-dollar bills. And this is the boy who lost a couple of cars because he couldn’t keep up the payments, the man who was two months behind in the rent on his apartment, the fourflushing playboy who didn’t have any ready cash.”

“How much is in there?” Della Street asked.

“Heaven knows,” Mason said, “and I don’t want to take the responsibility of counting it. We’re not supposed to touch anything.”

The lawyer straightened.

“How long does it take rigor mortis to develop?” Della Street asked.

“It’s a variable,” Mason said. “It depends on temperature, on the activity of the body just prior to death, on the degree of excitement. It usually takes eight to twelve hours, but it can last for eighteen hours after it develops. Notice that rigor has fully developed in this body and hasn’t as yet begun to leave.”

Della Street said, “Good heavens! This changes the complexion of the entire case, doesn’t it?”

“It not only changes the complexion,” Mason said slowly and thoughtfully, “it changes the case. Come on, Della, we’ve got to telephone Homicide and let our friend, Lieutenant Tragg, interrogate us as to how it happened we discovered another body.”

They started for the door. Abruptly Mason said, “Della, I’m going to have to put you out on the firing line.”

“What do you mean?”

“ You’re going to have to telephone Homicide and tell them the story.”

“What story do I tell them?”

“Tell them that Maxine Lindsay was a witness in a case, that while I was not an attorney of record I was interested in the case, that she told you last night she was leaving and gave you the key to her apartment and asked you to see about the canary.”

“Heavens, yes, the canary,” Della Street said. “I almost forgot about it. Where is it?”

“And that’s a good question,” Mason said, looking around the place. “There isn’t any sign of a cage, no sign of a bird — no sign that there ever was a bird — nothing to indicate that she ever owned a canary.”

Della Street exchanged glances with the lawyer. “And what would that mean?” she asked.

“That might mean lots of things,” Mason said. “Della, be very, very careful. Tell the police the exact truth about the time that we met Maxine. Don’t tell them about the time she telephoned us, about the number she gave us, the place where she said she was.”

Della Street said, “Gosh, Chief, I just made a note of that number long enough to call her and then tossed it in the wastebasket because she said it wasn’t her apartment but was a phone booth.”

Mason’s eyes were thoughtful. “Tell them she gave you the key to her apartment,” he said. “Tell them that you don’t feel that you can tell anyone what reason she gave until you have an okay from me. She gave you the key to her apartment and that’s all — that’s it, period. You took the key and came up here with me. You can’t tell them anything about the case until you have my permission. You must, however, tell them everything connected with the discovery of the body, all about the time and how we happened to be here, and that we found the door unlocked.”

“Do I tell them you were here with me?”

“Sure.”

“And where do I tell them that you are? They’ll want to know.”

“Tell them I couldn’t be detained at the moment, I had to go out on business. They’ll be furious but with me, not with you.”

“Aren’t you supposed to report a body just as soon as you find it? Aren’t you supposed to hold yourself available and—”

“I’m reporting it,” Mason said. “That is, you are, and you’re my employee. What I do through my agents I do myself. On the other hand, I can’t afford to stick around for a lot of police questioning right at the moment. I’m going to have to go places.”

“Where?” Della Street asked.

Suddenly before Mason could answer she said, “Oh, I know. You’re taking a plane north.”

“Exactly,” Mason said, “and you’re not to tell anyone where I’m going and we aren’t going to let the police know anything about Paul Drake being on the job and putting a lot of shadows on Maxine. We’ll tell them that later.”

“Can you get there in time?” Della Street asked.

“I think so,” Mason said. “I’ll get a plane to San Francisco and then charter a plane if I have to. I may be able to get a through plane to Sacramento and then pick up a Pacific Airlines plane or charter one. — Anyway, I’ll get there, Della.”

“And I’m to tell no one where you are.”

“That’s right,” Mason said. “You don’t know.”

“And I telephone the police now?”

“Right now,” Mason said. “Ask for Lieutenant Tragg at Homicide — and you’d better lock up here and use the phone in the lobby. There may be fingerprints on that telephone the police would like to save.”

Mason gently turned the knob and held the door open for Della Street.

“Take the elevator,” he said. “I can beat it going down the stairs. You’ll have to take a cab back to the office.”

The lawyer hurried to the stairway, took the stairs two at a time.

It was three-thirty in the afternoon when the taxicab Perry Mason had taken at the Redding Airport deposited him at the Western Union Telegraph office.

Mason, with his most disarming smile, said, “My name is Stigler. I had twenty-five dollars wired to my wife’s sister, Maxine Lindsay, from Eugene with identification waived. I’m wondering if she’s picked up the money yet.”

The clerk hesitated a moment, then consulted files and said, “No, No, Mr. Stigler, she hasn’t.”

“Thank you,” Mason said. “I hoped I could get here ahead of her. She may need more than that. Thanks a lot. I’ll wait outside. She should be here any minute.”

Mason went out to the street, found a phone booth at a service station where he could keep an eye on the telegraph office and put through a call to Paul Drake.

“Hello, Paul,” Mason said. “I’m up in Redding. She hasn’t picked up the wire yet. Do you know where she is?”

“She should be there almost any minute,” Drake said. “My man reported from Chico. She stopped there and had something to eat, had her tires checked, had gas put in the car. She didn’t have the tank filled. She only had enough gas put in to get her through to Redding. She’s evidently right down to her last penny but she should be showing up.”

“Thanks,” Mason said. “I’ll get in touch with her here.”

“What about my operatives?” Drake asked. “Do you want them to keep on after you take over?”

“I’ll have to let you know on that,” Mason said, “but have them stay on the job unless I give you instructions to call them off. And of course they aren’t supposed to give me a tumble in case they recognize me.”

“Hell’s bells,” Drake said disgustedly, “these are professionals. Don’t worry. You may not even be able to spot them.”

Mason hung up the telephone, walked out to stand at the curb. He had been there about twenty minutes when Maxine Lindsay, her eyes slightly bloodshot, her face gray with weariness, drove up and slowed to a crawl as she looked for a parking place.

Eventually she settled on the service station from which Mason had been telephoning. She drove the car in and said, “Can I leave my car here while I go to the telegraph office long enough to get some money? Then I’m going to want my tank filled up.”

“I’ll fill it now, ma’am, and you can pay when you get back,” the attendant said.