Erle Gardner - The Case of the Haunted Husband

Mason said, “All right, here is the dope. Stephane Claire wasn’t driving that automobile. A man was. He is registered at the Gateview Hotel right now under the name of Walter Lossten. I am going out to see him. I am going to charge him with driving that car. I think I have enough dope on him so he will admit that he was the driver.”

“Well,” Lieutenant Tragg said, “you could subpoena him to appear at the preliminary. If you could make him confess, that would be all there was to it. It is in the D.A.’s hands now.”

“You are not interested?”

Tragg said, warily, “Oh, I wouldn’t say that I wasn’t interested. Mason. I am always interested, but you understand I have got a lot of irons in the fire. This is really out of my jurisdiction. There are several unsolved homicides I am working on. I don’t think the department would care to have me... well, you know how it is.”

Mason pushed back his chair. “All right, you are always crabbing that I take short cuts on the police and don’t give you an opportunity to cooperate.”

Tragg ran his hand over his hair once more, scratched around the base of his ears, seemed somewhat uncomfortable. “That Stephane Claire seems a nice kid,” he said.

“She is.”

“Somehow,” Tragg went on, “I can’t figure her as a girl who would steal a car, and... This man is there now at the Gateview?”

“Yes. What is more, I have a witness there, a Mrs. Warfield. I think she will identify this Lossten as a man by the name of Spinney, and I think the San Francisco police are interested in Spinney.”

Tragg impulsively pushed back his chair. “I may catch hell for this, Mason,” he said, “but I am going to give you a play. You understand, after the D.A.’s office charges someone with a crime, it is up to the D.A.’s office to get a conviction, and up to us to help them. They won’t take too kindly to the idea of me running around with the lawyer for the defendant trying to get a confession from some other party. You understand that.”

“I can appreciate how a prosecutor might feel,” Mason admitted

“All right, just understand it. I am going to stick my neck out. If you can make a case, I shall do something about it, but it is up to you to make it.”

Mason said, “I have a cab waiting...”

“Cab, hell,” Tragg said with a grin, “we can get there in half the time a cab would take. My car is outside.”

Tragg led the way to his coupe, equipped with red light and siren. “Hop in,” he said to Mason. “Hold your hat.”

The lieutenant switched the motor into action, warmed it up for a few seconds, then swung away from the curb, and out into traffic. He made a left turn at a corner, waiting for the signal. Then, as he gathered speed and charged down on the next intersection, he kicked on the red light and siren, screamed through a closed traffic signal with gathering momentum, and shifted into high in the middle of the next block.

Mason settled back in the seat.

Tragg sent the machine whizzing through the frozen traffic, handling it with the deft skill of an artist. His hands didn’t grip the wheel, but caressed it. It seemed that something flowed from his fingertips down through the steering post to guide the car, as though car and driver were one indivisible unit.

It was less than four minutes from the time he had turned on the siren until he was slowing to a stop in front of the Gateview Hotel.

“Remember,” he said, as he opened the door and got out, “this is your show. I am a spectator.”

“Okay,” Mason told him.

Drake and one of Drake’s operatives were waiting in the lobby.

“Still up there?” Mason asked.

Drake’s face showed relief. “Yes. It seemed like you would never get here.”

“Hello Drake,” Tragg said. “I couldn’t have come any faster without tearing up the pavement.”

“It seemed like a long time,” Drake said, and introduced his operative.

“Well, let us go on up,” Mason said.

The clerk was looking at them curiously. “Please remember, gentlemen, that the hotel has tried to cooperate. If...” He looked significantly at Tragg. “We had understood this was purely a private matter.”

“That’s all right,” Mason said. “Tragg’s just the audience. Come on, boys. Let’s go.”

The quartet stopped in front of the door from the knob of which hung the usual sign “Don’t Disturb.” Mason said, “I think this is the man who was driving Homan’s car at the time of the accident, Tragg. If you would ask the questions, we might get more than...”

“Nothing doing,” Tragg interrupted. “I am listening. As far as I am concerned, the case is closed. It is the D.A.’s baby.”

Mason said, “Have it your way, but be sure you listen.”

“What the hell do you think I brought my ears along for? Go ahead.”

Mason knocked on the door. When there was no answer, he knocked again, more loudly.

Lieutenant Tragg said, “This isn’t a runaround, is it, Mason?”

Mason glanced at Drake.

Drake shook his head. “He is here — unless, of course...”

Mason said, “All right, let us get the manager with a passkey. I think it is a stall myself.”

Tragg took a leather key container from his pocket. “We might save ourselves a trip down to the lobby,” he said. “I think one of these will do the work — unofficially, of course.”

He inserted a passkey, manipulated it for a moment without success. He tried the second passkey and the latch clicked smoothly back. Mason pushed open the door, started into the room, then suddenly stopped.

Drake, looking over his shoulder, said, “Oh-oh!”

Tragg, who had been holding back, said, “What’s the matter in here?” and Mason and Drake stepped quickly to one side, disclosing the body of a man, lying face down on the counterpane of the hotel bed.

Tragg whirled to Mason indignantly.

“Dammit, Mason,” he said, “if this was a plant...”

“Don’t be silly,” Mason interrupted. “I had no idea this man was dead. I wanted you to hear him confess.”

Tragg said grimly, “I am inclined to believe you. And I am the only one in the department who will.” He walked over to the bed, circled it, studying the position of the figure. “Don’t you guys touch anything,” he said irritably. “Better get out there in the corridor and wait.”

Neither Mason nor Drake made any move, but Drake’s operative stepped back into the corridor.

The man lay face down on the bed. His shoes were on. The double-breasted coat seemed to be buttoned. The counterpane had not been drawn back but still covered the bed and one of the pillows. The other pillow lay on the floor. The man was stretched diagonally across the bed, his right arm dangling over the edge. On the fourth finger of the hand was a diamond ring. There was a dark patch at the base of his skull, and a sinister dark trickle which had seeped down his neck across the collar of his coat to stain the bed. There had, however, been but little bleeding.

Tragg stooped to examine the hole. “Small caliber bullet,” he said, as though thinking aloud. “Gun held close. Powder burns. The tattooed type. Used that pillow on the floor to muffle the sound of the shot. Powder stains on it, too.”

“Going to turn him over?” Mason asked.

Tragg said irritably, “I am not going to touch a damn thing until the coroner gets here. You two get out of here. Go on down to the lobby and wait. And be damned sure you don’t leave. There is going to be a stink over this.”

“I tell you I had no idea this man was dead,” Mason said. “In fact, I thought...”

“The newspaper boys aren’t going to think so,” Tragg interrupted, “and the Chief isn’t going to think so. It looks as though you had made the department a cat’s-paw so you wouldn’t discover any more bodies.”