Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Lonely Heiress

“And you want me to destroy that letter?”

Mason said, “That letter will crucify you. In a way it’s evidence. It’s evidence against you. As a lawyer, my only advice to you would be to turn that letter in to the police. If, however, you choose to ignore that advice, and destroy that letter, make a damn good job of destroying it. Burn it up where you can grind the ashes into a powder. And dispose of the ashes somewhere! Do you understand?”

“I... I think I understand.”

Mason said, “Come on, then. Let’s go down the stairs and get out of here. We’ll leave the door unlatched, so we can push it open.”

“You’re going to do all this for me?” Marilyn Marlow asked.

Mason said, “When you look me in the eyes and tell me you had nothing to do with the death of Rose Keeling.”

She came close to him, put her hands on his shoulders; her eyes looked up into his. “Mr. Mason, I tell you by all that I hold sacred I had nothing to do with her death. I’m telling you the truth. I’m telling you exactly what happened.”

Mason nodded. “All right,” he said, “I’ll take your word for it. Let’s go.”

She glanced dubiously at Della Street.

Mason laughed. “Don’t worry about Della. She’s been under fire before.”

“What will happen,” Marilyn Marlow asked, “if they should put two and two together? If they should find out what had happened?”

Mason said, “If they’re that clever, they’ll find out who really killed Rose Keeling.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” she said in a tone that failed to show any indication of enthusiasm.

“The question is,” Mason said, “will you back up my play? I’m risking a lot for you. Will you?”

“Mr. Mason, I’ll never, never tell a soul. You can count on my loyalty one hundred percent. One thousand percent!"

“One hundred is enough. Let’s go.”

Lieutenant Tragg came out of the bedroom and said to Mason, “You haven’t touched anything?”

“Just the telephone receiver.”

“How did you happen to be here?”

“Rose Keeling is a witness on a will.”

“Who’s the beneficiary under the will?”

“A woman by the name of Marlow. She’s dead.”

“When did she die?”

“A couple of months ago.”

“Whom are you representing?”

“Her daughter.”

“What’s the name? What’s the address?”

Mason gave him Marilyn Marlow’s name and the address of her home.

“Know her telephone number?”

“Sure. I called her.”

“What do you mean, you called her?”

“I called her at the same time I called you.”

“From here?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve got a crust!”

“Notifying my client of a development like this? Don’t be silly.”

“Telephone anyone else?”

“No.”

“Just the two calls?”

“That’s all.”

“Who came here? How did you get in?”

“The door must have been unlocked. We rang the bell and waited for the buzzer to sound, unlatching the door. I pushed. The door opened. I thought the buzzer had done it. I must have been mistaken. The latch must not have been caught.”

“So you walked right up?”

“That’s right.”

“And started prowling through the woman’s flat?”

“Della Street was with me.”

“Who found the body?”

“I did.”

“Did Miss Street go in the bedroom?”

“No. She stayed here in this room.”

“What did you do?”

“Backed right out.”

“And then called me immediately?”

Mason said sarcastically, “What did you think we did, sit here and soak up atmosphere for fifteen minutes and then call you?"

Tragg chewed meditatively on his cigar. “Any theories about it?”

Mason said, “Sure. She was all packed to go away. She was taking a bath. The clothes she was going to wear were all laid out on the bed.”

“That’s quite obvious.”

“She’d done everything she needed to do to get started, done all the packing and stuff of that sort. Taking the bath was the last thing she’d planned to do before dressing and leaving the flat.”

“Even a cop knows that!” Tragg said, grinning.

“Therefore,” Mason went on, “she must have intended to be on her way within a reasonable time after she took her bath. If you call the airport, you might find there was a reservation in her name on a plane going somewhere. Unless, of course, there was a railroad ticket in her purse, and if there wasn’t, there might be a ticket held in her name at one of the ticket windows.”

“You think she was making a long trip?”

“Just taking a glance at those suitcases, I’d say she had been planning to take quite an assortment of clothes.”

“No other ideas?”

“No.”

“What did this Marilyn Marlow say when you telephoned her and told her Rose Keeling had been murdered?”

“She wanted to ask me a lot of questions. I didn’t have time to answer them, so I hung up.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to call you.”

“You mean you called her first?”

“That’s right.”

“You’re supposed to notify the police immediately, at a time like this.”

“That’s why I only took a second or two to give her the information that Rose Keeling had been murdered, and then hung up.”

Tragg said, “It’s a damn good thing you’ve got Della Street with you.”

“Isn’t it?”

“What did you want with Rose Keeling?”

“I wanted to see her about the will. I wanted to get a statement.”

“About what?”

“Her testimony in the will case.”

“What about it?”

“I wanted to check with her, that’s all.”

“Ever met her?”

“No.”

“Why the sudden rush to get her statement?”

“No sudden rush. I’d been putting it off.”

“Know what her testimony would have been?”

“Sure. She’d already testified when the will was admitted to probate. Now there’s going to be a contest after probate. I was just checking up as a matter of routine, to see if there were any new angles that hadn’t been covered in her previous testimony. I wanted to get the general background.”

Tragg stroked the angle of his jaw with the tips of his fingers. “The more I think of it, Mason, the more I think I’ll just keep you and Della Street out of circulation for a while.” He turned to one of the plainclothes officers and said, “Take Mason and Della Street downstairs and put them in a police car. Keep them there until I tell you to let them go. Be sure they don’t do any telephoning, don’t have any communication with anyone else, and don’t let them do any whispering. If they want to talk with each other, listen in on what they have to say.”

Mason said, “That’s a damn outrage, Tragg. I’m busy; I’ve work to do!”

“I know you have,” Tragg said soothingly, “but I want to make certain the work you have to do doesn’t interfere with the work I have to do.”

“And how long do we have to stay in custody?” Mason asked.

“Until we finish our investigation here.”

“When will that be?”

“When I feel that I’ve found out all there is to know.”

Mason and Della Street sat in the rear seat of the big police sedan. The chunky, uniformed cop who occupied the front seat had enormous shoulders, a thick neck, heavy forehead, small, deep-set eyes, a huge chin and a battered nose that had apparently been flattened and left largely to its own devices, so far as healing was concerned.

Mason leaned over to Della Street, said in a low voice, “Della, there’s one thing...”