Erle Gardner - The Case of the Half-Wakened Wife

“Then he must have fired one more shot after that. There was one empty shell in the gun when you picked it up off the bedside stand.”

“Yes — that is, I don’t know there was an empty shell in there then. The police say there was an empty shell in the gun.”

Mason thought that over. “I wish we knew more about your husband’s life, his friends, his enemies.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Mason. I can’t help you a bit. We had no social life at all. He was very secretive. I hardly know a thing about him... his business, his interests, his associates.”

There was another period of thoughtful silence.

“How do things look, Mr. Mason?” she asked at last.

“I can’t tell you yet,” he said.

She laughed nervously. “That’s because you don’t want to tell me, isn’t it?”

“They don’t look any too good, I’ll tell you that,” Mason conceded.

She sighed. “Well, do the best you can, Mr. Mason. Good night.”

“Good night,” he said and picked up his brief case, leaving the courtroom without once glancing back.

Mason paced back and forth across the carpeted floor of his private office, his thumbs hooked in the armholes of his vest, his head slightly bowed.

Della Street sat patiently at her desk, an open shorthand book in front of her. The page was about half covered with notes. She was holding her pencil waiting for any other instructions Mason might choose to give.

Paul Drake had assumed his favorite position in the big overstuffed leather chair, sitting sideways with his knees draped over one of the rounded leather arms, his back propped against the other.

From time to time Mason made comments, more to himself than to the others, never pausing in his steady methodical pacing.

“You’d better give up, Perry,” Paul Drake said, “there’s no use butting your head against a brick wall. There isn’t any solution. This is once where even your agile mind can’t pull a rabbit out of the hat. Marion Shelby is guilty.”

“I’m working on a theory,” Mason said. “It’s so far just a weird theory, but...”

“I’ll say it’s weird,” Drake interrupted. “Now you let me tell you something about practical jury psychology, Perry. Something you know but which you won’t admit. You’ve forgotten it, lost sight of it. You let this woman keep quiet, and Hamilton Burger is going to cut you up into hamburger. The jury will be sore because they got a run-around. You put her on the witness stand, and he is going to make her and you the laughing stock of the city and he’s going to get a conviction of first-degree murder.”

Mason said, “I know. The way things are now I’m licked, but because this is Friday, I have a week end to...”

The telephone rang.

Mason frowned, then said to Della Street, “All right, Della. See who it is.”

Della Street picked up the telephone, said, “Hello, yes... All right.”

She said to Mason, “It’s the matron at the jail. Marion Shelby says she has to talk to you. The matron is going to let her talk on the phone.”

“All right,” Mason said, and picked up the phone. “Yes?” he said patiently. “What is it?”

Marion Shelby had evidently been crying. She said, “Mr. Mason you’re nice. You’re splendid. You’re just a marvelous man. You’re good. I’m afraid perhaps you’re too good for... for this kind of a case. I want to spare you any personal embarrassment. I’m... I... I am going to relieve you of all responsibility.”

Mason said, “Are you trying to tell me that you don’t want me to represent you any more?”

“That’s right.”

“You mean you’re going into court by yourself?”

“No, I’m going to have another lawyer. One who... one who understands this sort of case. A lawyer Mr. Lawton Keller is getting for me. He’s going to call on you. He’ll... he’s on his way up there now. He’ll explain everything but I wanted you to know... to understand... you’re relieved of responsibility. You understand, Mr. Mason? I need a lawyer who understands this sort of case.”

“You mean I’m being fired. Is that it?” Mason asked grimly.

“Not exactly fired, but I want to have a substitution of attorneys. I want you to be out of this mess. You’ll consent to it, won’t you?”

“You’re damn right I will!” Mason said and slammed up the phone.

“What is it?” Della Street asked anxiously.

Mason said, “She’s fired me. Lawton Keller has called on her. He’s persuaded her to get another lawyer, one who, to use her own words, ‘understands this sort of case.’ ”

Della Street jumped up, ran to Mason and threw her arms around him, kicking her right foot back from the floor in her excitement. “Oh, Chief, I’m so glad. I’m so darn glad!”

Paul Drake grinned, “After all, Perry, it’s a break.”

“A break?” Mason said angrily. “It puts me in the most humiliating position I ever occupied. I get taken for a ride and then...”

“Take it easy, Perry, take it easy,” Paul Drake said. “Look at the thing the way it should be looked at. You made a swell job cross-examining those witnesses. The facts in the case are all against you. The cards were completely stacked, but you made a swell job. You didn’t intimate what your defense was to be, you simply went into court and did a darn good job of cross-examining the witnesses of the prosecution.

“Now then, this smart guy, this Keller, enters the picture. He’s one of these masterminds, these know-it-alls from way-back. He talks the sort of language that your client is accustomed to. It’s a break. You’re out of it. Now we can square things with Ellen Lacey and wipe the slate clean.”

Mason flung out his hand in a gesture of disgust. “All right, the hell with it,” he said. “Let’s go eat.”

“It’s about time,” Della Street said. “Gosh but I’m starved.”

Mason walked over to the hat closet, put on his hat. He said, “We take the deposition of Ellen Lacey at this office tomorrow, Della. I have a stipulation from her lawyer — old Attica, the shyster!” Mason was just getting into his coat when knuckles pounded on the outside of the door.

“See who it is,” Mason said to Della Street, “and tell them to come back next Christmas.”

Della Street called through the door, “The office is closed.”

“Let me in, this is Lawton Keller. I want to see Mr. Mason.”

Mason paused, grinned at Paul Drake and said, “All right, this is going to be good. We may as well let the situation have its last ironical touch of humor. Open the door and let him in, Della.”

Lawton Keller was quite evidently well pleased with himself. A cigar was pushed up from a corner of his mouth at an angle of self-satisfied smugness. He entered the room with the utmost assurance, nodded, removed his hat, said, “Evening, everybody,” walked over and sat down.

Mason, perched on the corner of his desk said, “It’s got to be brief, Keller, because I’m going out.”

“It’ll be brief, all right,” Keller said. “I am sort of interested in this whole business.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“You’re a fine lawyer, Mason.”

“Thank you.”

“For a certain type of case, you can’t be beat.”

“You can’t believe how much I’m thrilled at hearing you say so,” Mason observed.

“Now don’t get sore, Mason. Keep your shirt on. This is a case that’s different from the kind you’re accustomed to handle. I’ve got a lawyer that’s a friend of mine that knows these things up one side and down the other. He’s been wringing his hands all day, talking about how the defense was being butchered up. He says you’re a swell lawyer to defend an innocent guy but when it comes to... Well, you know, a case of this kind...”