Erle Gardner - The Case of the Half-Wakened Wife

“Attica said the compromise figure would be two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and slammed the phone up.”

Mason frowned. “Naturally he would. You can see what a sweet spot he’s in, now that he represents both Ellen Lacey in her suit and Marion Shelby in the murder case. He isn’t going to let anything adverse happen. One will now back up the other. He’ll go ahead with Ellen Lacey on Monday, making Scott Shelby out the biggest heel in the state.

“After all, Attica can now...”

The telephone rang. Della Street picked up the receiver, said, “It’s Paul. He just came in.”

Mason took the telephone, said, “Hi, Paul.”

“Don’t say ‘high’ to me. I was high last night. This morning I’m lower than an income tax exemption. I feel as though my plumbing had stopped up and somebody was running a pneumatic riveter inside my skull.”

“That bad?” Mason asked.

“Worse.”

Mason said, “Pursuant to stipulation we’re taking the deposition of Ellen Lacey this morning at ten.”

“That so?”

“You hadn’t forgotten about that case had you?”

“Forgotten about it?” Drake exclaimed. “That was the trouble. I kept on drinking just trying to forget about it. And not getting anywhere.”

Mason said, “Think about it some more, Paul. You have a couple of newspaper reporters who have been pretty friendly with you and given you some tips, haven’t you?”

“Yes, why?”

“Nothing,” Mason said, “only it occurs to me that this deposition of Ellen Cushing Lacey might be news. Some of the boys might like to get in on it.”

Drake said, “By gosh, Perry. You’re right at that! It’s a swell tip. Gosh, I’m glad you called me about it. I’d never have thought about it.”

“Well, give your friends a buzz,” Mason said. “We have room for only a couple of people. Get two of the boys who have been giving you tips. This will be your chance to do them a good turn.”

“Thanks, Perry. It starts at ten o’clock?”

“That’s right.”

“Okay, I’ll give them a ring. It’s short notice but I’ll get them on the phone right away.”

Mason hung up, was just turning to Della Street to say something when the door opened and Gertie, in the doorway, said, “Good morning, Mr. Mason. I didn’t want to ring the phone because I knew you were talking on the other phone but Mr. Attica of the firm of Attica, Hoxie and Meade is here on that deposition.”

“That’s not until ten o’clock,” Mason said.

“He said he came a few minutes early because he wanted to talk with you.”

Mason said, “Send him in.”

George Attica was a tall, somewhat stooped man with gray eyes that managed, somehow, to keep his thoughts pretty well concealed. He was in the fifties, had gray hair, a deep voice which he had carefully cultivated so that he had the booming delivery of an old-fashioned spellbinder; but his mind was alert enough and there were few tricks of the profession that he didn’t thoroughly understand.

He said, “I’m afraid I lost my temper with Mr. Paul Drake last night.”

“Apologies are always in order,” Mason told him. “Sit down.”

Attica sat down, glanced at Della Street, cleared his throat significantly.

“It’s okay,” Mason said, “she stays.”

Attica said, “I haven’t much time but there are some things I wanted to discuss with you before my witness appeared.”

“I don’t know what they can be.”

Attica said, “I am going to release Marion Shelby’s real story to make the Sunday newspapers. It’s an intensely dramatic story. A story that will tug at the heartstrings of every woman in the world.”

“That’s nice,” Mason commented.

“That story,” Attica said, “deals with the broad basic human factors of life, Mr. Mason, particularly as they concern a woman, a woman who is married and has given her all to the man who has promised to love and cherish her until death parts them.”

“Does them part, I believe is the way you want to express it in front of a jury,” Mason said.

Attica made a deprecatory motion with his hand. “Don’t be like that, Mason. It really doesn’t become you.”

“I don’t give a damn what becomes me and what doesn’t,” Mason said. “Thank heavens I’ve lived my life so I can do pretty much as I please.”

“That’s nice. That’s a very interesting philosophy. Very interesting indeed, but I am talking now about a person to whom you have a certain moral responsibility.”

“Do I?”

“I think so. She lied to you. I will admit that. You have every right to resent that falsehood. But, after all, she was young, she was inexperienced and she was frightened. She didn’t realize that the truth was her best weapon, was her only weapon. She felt that the truth would absolutely condemn her, in place of which, the truth may actually save her life, or as I shall quote to the jury. ‘The truth shall set you free.’ ”

“Very interesting,” Mason said. “There’s no use wasting it on me. Why don’t you save it for the jury?”

“Because,” Attica went on, “there is going to be an enormous amount of publicity in connection with this. Before she tells her story it’s just another murder case; but the minute she tells that story, it becomes something which is brought right home to every woman in the world. Women can look at their Sunday newspapers, glance across at their husbands, look at the security of the home about them and wonder if it really is a security, wonder just how firmly entrenched they are.”

“There, but for the Grace of God go I, eh?” Mason asked.

“Exactly.”

“Nice stuff,” Mason said. “You’re collecting it. I’m not.”

“Now, it occurs to me,” Attica went on, “that here is an opportunity for you to enhance your prestige in connection with this case, Mr. Mason. If you’ll let it appear that you deliberately had drawn the district attorney off balance by keeping this story bottled up so that you could spring it purposely as a surprise, after he had been forced to disclose the entire ramifications of the case he had against the defendant...”

Mason said, “Let’s quit beating around the bush. You want me to back your story up. Is that it?”

“At least not deny it.”

Mason was thoughtful for a few moments. He said, “Attica, I don’t see any way that I can deny any story you put out without betraying the confidence of a client, and I’m not going to do that. I’m not going to tell anyone what a client did or did not say to me. Those are my ethics.”

Attica’s face beamed. “That is very, very satisfactory, Mr. Mason. Very satisfactory indeed. And now, since you’ve been so broad-minded on that, I think that I’m in a position to talk about a fair compromise of this case against you and Mr. Drake. After all, it was purely a natural mistake. A very unfortunate matter. I think that for payment of a nominal consideration, my client would be willing to let the matter drop.”

“How much?”

“Oh, well, the financial end of it is relatively unimportant. After all, it’s a question of human emotions having been aroused and...”

“How much?”

“Well, Mr. Mason, frankly I think two hundred and fifty dollars would cover the out-of-pocket expenses. You see, inasmuch as I am attorney for Mrs. Lacey and inasmuch as her good name has now been vindicated, and inasmuch as the whole thing can be handled in such a way that it might look as though the filing of the suit was part of a shrewd move to draw the district attorney off balance. Well, you know how those things are. There’s going to be an enormous amount of publicity in this case.”

Mason said, “You wouldn’t sell out one client in favor of another, would you?”