Erle Gardner - Case of the Silent Partner

Mason dismissed it all with a gesture, smiled, and said, “I get to reconstructing what Lawley must have done, and how he must have felt, and I find it too fascinating... Well, anyway, Lawley’s next move, once he found that he had lost out, would be — well, you can realize for yourself.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Murder,” Mason said simply. “He wouldn’t come to it all at once. It wouldn’t be the first solution that would come into his mind, but he’d fling himself against the bars of his predicament as a caged animal would try out the iron bars, trying to find a weak point.”

“And so he murdered Lynk?” she asked.

“Not Lynk,” Mason said impatiently, “—not unless he could have gained by it, not unless he could have secured that stock.”

“Didn’t he?”

“If he had, he’d have gone back home. He’d have waited for his wife with an air of calm routine. No, if Lawley had murdered Lynk, it was a murder done either for revenge or to get the stock back. That would have been the purpose of it.”

“But the stock has disappeared.”

“If Lawley had murdered Lynk for the stock, the stock would be missing,” Mason said. “Someone murdered Lynk. The stock is missing. That doesn’t necessarily mean Lawley did it. We must guard against that mental trap. Perhaps Lawley did it, perhaps he didn’t. But what I’m getting at is that if he didn’t murder Lynk, his mind would turn elsewhere.”

“You mean his wife?” Della Street asked.

“Yes.”

“But... I don’t see...”

“His only out,” Mason said. “His wife still had money. There were other securities. If she died, Lawley wouldn’t have to account to her. He wouldn’t have to account to Mildreth Faulkner. Her death wouldn’t get him back the property he’d lost, but it would give him the stake for another gamble, and, above all, it would save his face. With a man of Lawley’s type, the saving of face is the thing of paramount importance.”

“But they’d certainly suspect him. He being the one to profit...”

“No,” Mason interrupted. “That’s where the man could be diabolically clever. You see, the stage is all rigged. He could commit the perfect crime. She’s been struggling with a weak heart. Doctors have warned her that excitement might prove fatal. It would only be necessary for Lawley to face her with some terrific shock, something that would throw a strain on her heart, and the death would be due to natural causes.”

“You think he’d do that — that any man would do that to his wife?”

Mason said, “It’s done every day. Wives kill husbands. Husbands kill wives. Mind you, Della, it takes a powerful motivation to lead to murder. That’s why people don’t usually murder comparative strangers. The more intimate the relationship, the more devastating the results which come from it. That’s why, taken by and large, more wives kill husbands than kill strangers. More husbands kill wives than kill persons outside the family.”

“I didn’t know that was true,” she said.

“Look at your newspapers. Why, those husband-wife killings are so common, they aren’t even front-page stuff. Usually there’s no mystery. They’re drab, sordid crimes of emotional maladjustment. A husband kills a wife and commits suicide. A woman kills her children and commits suicide.”

She nodded.

“And so,” Mason said, “I wanted to call Tragg’s attention to what would probably happen next. I wanted him to realize that whoever killed Lynk, Carlotta Lawley was in danger. The best way I could do that was to make him think that it had actually happened.”

“Why? He wouldn’t protect a woman who was already dead.”

“I didn’t want him to protect her,” Mason said. “I’ve already done that. I wanted him to turn the police force upside down to catch Bob Lawley, and put him behind bars.”

“And that’s the reason you had me cash the checks?”

“Yes.”

“So that the police would think Lawley had some female accomplice, that he killed his wife and took her travelers’ checks, that the accomplice is going about cashing those checks?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, it worked all right, didn’t it?”

Mason said, “It worked, Della, too damned well. Lieutenant Tragg was watching for it. He’s looking for Carlotta Lawley, and he’s asked department stores... Good Lord!” Mason exclaimed. “What a fool I was not to have realized it!”

“What, Chief?”

Mason said, “Carlotta Lawley must have an account at that department store where you tried to cash the check. The cashier probably didn’t know her personally, but she knew her signature, and Lieutenant Tragg knew she had an account there. He’d told the cashier to notify him at once if any new charges went on the account.”

Della said, “Yes, that would account for it.”

Mason said, “Put your hat back on, Della. You’re going places.”

“Where?”

“Places. I don’t want Lieutenant Tragg to come walking in and say, ‘Miss Street, were you, by any chance, the person who tried to cash a travelers’ check this afternoon by signing the name of Carlotta Lawley?’ ”

“You mean he suspects?” Della Street asked.

“Not yet,” Mason said, “but he’ll get a detailed description of the woman who tried to cash the check, and he’ll come to the office to see me. Then, if he sees you while the description is fresh in his mind — he’s too shrewd a detective not to tumble.”

“So I’m to hide out?” Della Street asked, picking up her hat again and adjusting it in front of the mirror.

“No,” Mason said. “We can’t have that. That looks like flight, and flight looks like guilt. No, Della, we’re going to go out to take some depositions or work on a case. You’re going to stay on the job. I’m going to come back and forth to the office. In that way, you won’t be available, yet your absence will have been explained.”

Her eyes lit up. “That,” she said, “won’t be hard to take. I can think of half a dozen places which would be simply swell for a vacation.”

He nodded and said, “And, by the way, Della, if the mailman delivers an envelope addressed in my handwriting with the return address of the Clearmount Hotel, don’t open it. It might be a lot better if you didn’t know what was inside of it.”

Della Street’s eyes narrowed. “Would it,” she asked, “be a certificate of stock?”

“You and Lieutenant Tragg,” Mason said firmly, “are getting too damn smart.”

Della Street, moving with the swift rapidity of one who is accustomed to accomplishment, stepped into the outer office to instruct the receptionist. Perry Mason, standing by his desk, hat and coat on, was scooping legal papers into the brief case which he intended to take with him.

Suddenly the door from the outer office was pushed open. Della entered Mason’s office, jerked off her hat, tossed it to the shelf above the washstand in the closet, opened her locker, took out a comb and brush and started changing her hair.

With bobby pins held in her mouth so that her words sounded jumbled, she said, “He’s there... Only seen me with my hat on just for a minute... Gertie looked to me when he asked for you... said he had to see you right away... claims he can’t wait... I’ll change my appearance as much as I can... Wouldn’t do for me to skip out now .”

Mason watched her brush the curls out of her hair, make a part in the middle, slick her hair down on each side. Her fingertips dipped into water from the open tap, smoothing out the curled ends.

“Lieutenant Tragg?”

She nodded, her mouth bristling with bobby pins.

Slowly, Mason took off his coat, hung it up, carefully placed his hat on a hook just behind Della, said, “He won’t wait.”