The Case of the Troubled Trustee pm-78

by Erle Stanley Gardner

  Mason smiled. "I think you'd better tell him that yourself, face to face, Mr. Reader."

  "I will if I can find the guy."

  Reader turned on his heel and started for the outer office, paused to say, "And when Desere Ellis finds he's sold her out, there's going to be hell to pay."

  "You can go out this way," Della Street said, holding open the exit door.

  Reader hesitated a minute and said, "Thanks, I'll go out the same way I came in. I like it that way."

  He strode out through the door to the entrance room.

  Chapter Five

  It was after seven-thirty. Mason and Della were closing up the office, and Mason was just holding the exit door open for Della when the unlisted phone rang stridently.

  Mason said, "That's the unlisted telephone. That'll be Paul Drake."

  Della Street nodded and hurried across to the instrument, picked it up and said, "Yes, Paul?"

  She nodded to Mason, who picked up the extension phone on his desk.

  "Hi, Paul," Mason said. "What's new?"

  "This fellow Dutton is something of a problem, Perry."

  "What about him?"

  "He's being hard to find."

  "I didn't think he'd be easy or I wouldn't be paying you fifty dollars a day to look him up."

  "Well, he's trying to be real hard to find. Someone is looking for him and I have an idea that someone is a process server with some papers to put right in the middle of Dutton's hot little hand."

  "And you think Dutton's hiding out to avoid that?"

  "He's hiding out to avoid something."

  "Where are you now, Paul?"

  "I'm in a telephone booth across the street from a service station about four blocks from Dutton's apartment. I have an idea I'm going to pick up his trail. While I was waiting I thought I'd telephone for instructions."

  "How come?"

  "Well, I became pretty well convinced he wasn't intending to go back to his apartment. There's a man sitting outside waiting. I looked up the license number on his car. He's a chap named Rodger Palmer. From the way he acts, I think he's a process server. He's sure anxious to see Dutton and he has lots of patience. He's just covering thc entrance to the apartment house. Also, the girl at the switchboard said Dutton had been in and out several times earlier in the day, carrying a big brief case each time."

  "Both in and out?" Mason asked.

  "Both in and out."

  "Could be he was moving stuff out and stashing it in the trunk of his automobile," Mason said.

  "That's the point," Drake said. "I figured he'd buy his gasoline around here somewhere, so I covered all the gasoline stations around and finally not only hit pay dirt but I may have hit a jackpot, as far as Dutton is concerned. I found the place where he buys his gasoline and has the service work done on his car. The car is there now being serviced. He told the attendant to change the oil, give it a good lube job and check all the tires-that he was going on a long trip."

  "Didn't say where?"

  "No, but the car is there and I have a stake-out on it."

  Mason said, "I want a line on Dutton, Paul. I'm mixed up in something with him and I may be skating on rather thin ice, ethically. A great deal depends on what kind of a guy he is, whether he's on the up-and-up or whether he's taking people for rides."

  "Well, I think he's getting ready to skip out."

  "All right, sit on the job," Mason said. "Follow him and find out where he's headed."

  "How strong do I go?"

  "As strong as you have to."

  "Suppose he heads out of town?"

  "Head out of town right after him, Paul."

  "I'll probably need some help."

  "Get it!''

  "Suppose he buys a plane ticket and heads for Brazil?"

  "Get the plane; get the flight number; wire your correspondent in Brazil and pick him up when he lands."

  "In other words, the sky's the limit?"

  "That's right. But what with his having the car serviced and all of that, you can be pretty sure he's going to start out by automobile."

  "And you want me to stay with him?"

  "Like glue," Mason said.

  "Okay," Drake told him. "I'll be reporting. I'll need at least one assistant on the job. I'll phone for one now."

  Mason hung up the phone and faced Della Street with a puzzled frown.

  "How much are you mixed in all this, Chief?" she asked. "I mean, how deep?"

  "Let's put it this way," Mason said, "Dutton tells me he's embezzled money from the beneficiary of the trust. The way he tells it, he's made restitution; and the way he says he did it, it was technically legal within the terms of the trust, provided he told me the truth about the trust.

  "But the way he's acting doesn't coincide with his story to me. Unless you have something on for tonight, Della, let's go tie on a nosebag, then come back to the office and sit around for a while. I have an idea we may have a showdown somewhere along the line. We'll keep in touch with Paul Drake's office and let them know where we are."

  Della Street smiled. "If you can promise an extra cut of rare roast beef for me, with baked potato, onion rings and a green salad, I'm with you until midnight."

  "We'll double it," Mason said. "I know just the place where they specialize in that kind of food."

  Chapter Six

  Halfway through the meal, the waiter approached the table and said, "You're accepting calls, Mr. Mason?"

  "Yes, I told the headwaiter when I came in," Mason said.

  The waiter nodded, and plugged in the telephone. Mason picked it up and heard Paul Drake's voice.

  "Where are you now, Paul?"

  "The office told me where you were," Drake said reproachfully. "I'm sitting in my automobile munching on a candy bar to keep my stomach from getting corns where it rubs against my backbone, I'm that hungry."

  "What's the score?"

  "Well, I picked up Dutton, all right."

  "Where did he go?"

  "Right now, he isn't going anyplace. He's sitting in a car, watching."

  "What's he watching?"

  "He followed a guy here who looks like a dressed-up beatnik."

  "Tall, broad-shouldered, with a beard?" Mason asked.

  "That's the fellow."

  "And where is the place he's waiting?"

  "It's the Doberman Apartments on Locks Street. Does that mean anything to you?"

  "It means quite a bit," Mason said. "That's where Desere Ellis lives, and the man with the beard is probably calling on her."

  "And Dutton is checking?"

  Mason thought for a moment; then said, "No. Dutton probably is waiting to be sure the coast is clear when he talks to Desere Ellis. He probably has decided to tell her something rather important and he wants to be certain he isn't interrupted. The beatnik's name is Fred Hedley. He tries to ape the crowd and be a cool cat. Actually he wants to promote a deal with Desere Ellis whereby he can play God to a lot of artists, poets and writers.

  "I can tell you that much, but it's in confidence.

  "If my hunch is right, Paul, Dutton will wait there until Fred Hedley comes out and drives away. Then Dutton will go on up to the apartment."

  "Then what?"

  "When Dutton comes out," Mason said, "shadow him. Have you got a relief yet?"

  "I had a little difficulty getting an operative I could trust," Drake said, "but I finally got one and he's on his way here. My men are tied up today. That is, the good men.

  "I went out on this job myself, because the man I first sent out reported he couldn't get any trace of Dutton. I didn't like to hand you a failure, and I figured there'd be a lead if a man put in enough time looking for it. So I went out and started covering the service stations. I hit pay dirt there and got stuck with the job."

  Mason said, "Get a relief. Put the finger on Dutton and go get a good dinner. Be sure you get a good man."

  "The one I have coming is okay," Drake said.

  Mason said, "We're going to be
here at this cafe for another half hour; then we'll go up to the office and wait for your call there. Try to give us a report by tenthirty, because we'll knock it off shortly after that."

  "Okay," Drake said, "will do."

  Mason hung up the phone and related what he had learned to Della Street.

  She made a little grimace.

  "Meaning?" Mason asked.

  "Meaning that Desere Ellis is or has been infatuated with Hedley and that's not the way things should be. I'm pulling for Dutton."

  "And so?" Mason asked.

  "So," she said, "Dutton is waiting for Hedley to go home. As soon as Hedley leaves, Dutton will go up to Desere Ellis' apartment and she'll know intuitively that he was sitting outside waiting for Hedley to go home. That puts two strikes against Dutton as far as any woman is concerned. A woman wants a man who will chart his own course and assert himself; not one who will skulk in the shadows and wait until the coast is clear before he makes a move."

  "Of course," Mason pointed out, "it may be that Dutton isn't afraid to face Hedley for a showdown, but he's planning to tell Desere the whole business and he doesn't want Hedley to know about Desere's financial affairs."

  "In that case Fred Hedley's mother will step into the picture and things will move fast after that," Della Street said. "That is, if she has an idea there's more money in the trust than appears to be the case at the present time."

  Mason raised his wineglass. "I give you the Mexican toast," he said, "salud y pesetas y amor sin suegras."

  "What is that?" Della Street asked.

  "That," Mason said, "is a toast that Mexican gentlemen give to each other in the privacy of their clubs."

  "What does it mean?"

  "It means health, wealth and love without mothersin-law."

  Della Street burst out laughing. "The man who invented that must have known Mrs. Hedley," she said.

  "Or someone pretty much like her," Mason agreed.

  They finished a leisurely dinner, and Mason was just signing the check when the waiter came hurrying up with the telephone. He plugged it in and said, "An emergency, Mr. Mason."

  Mason picked up the phone, said, "Yes. What is it?"

  Drake's voice said, "You'd better get up here, Perry. Quick!"

  "Where is here?"

  "That address I gave you, the Doberman Apartments. If you want to protect your client, you'd better get here. There's hell to pay."

  "We'll be right there."

  "I'll be waiting," Drake told him. "I'll be at the front of the apartment house. It's on Locks Street."

  "Coming right away," Mason said.

  Mason grabbed Della Street 's arm, "Emergency," he told her.

  "What's happened?"

  "Paul didn't say. Just said we'd better get up there, quick, if we wanted to protect our client. Come on, let's go.

  Mason signaled the headwaiter, who in turn signaled the doorman, and the lawyer's car was in front waiting by the time Mason and Della Street reached the outer door of the restaurant.

  Mason, an expert driver, jockeyed for position at the traffic signals, but they encountered some heavy traffic and it was some twenty minutes before they reached the address.

  Drake was waiting for them on the curb.

  "Well," he said, "you're too late."

  "What happened?" Mason asked.

  Drake said, "The fellow with the beard came out, got in his car and started off. Just as you had predicted, Dutton didn't follow him. Me jumped out of his car and hurried into the apartment house.

  "Now, I don't know whether Hedley knew that Dutton was waiting and wanted to trap him, or whether Hedley had forgotten something, but Dutton hadn't been in the house five minutes when Hedley came driving back, double-parked his car, jumped out and went into the apartment house like a guy carrying the mail."

  "And what happened?"

  "Plenty," Drake said. "A woman ran out on a balcony on the third floor and started screaming for the police. I guess someone telephoned… Anyhow, a police radio patrol car came driving up, and about that time Dutton came out of the apartment. He was hurrying, but he took one look and saw that police car and his gait slowed to a saunter and he came idling across the street while the cops jumped out of the radio car and went dashing into the apartment house."

  "Then what?"

  "Dutton drove off and-"

  "Hang it, Paul," Mason said, "I wanted Dutton followed."

  "Me's being followed. I had a relief here. I thought I'd make a report myself because the relief wouldn't have any opportunity. They were going-fast."

  "What happened?"

  "Well, I talked with one of the cops when they came out. They had Hedley with them, but Hedley was pretty much the worse for wear. I think he's going to have a sore nose for a couple of days and there's blood all over his shirt. He's also got one eye swelling shut, and the way he talked, his lips were pretty well puffed up.

  "As nearly as I can get the story, Hedley started the brawl. Me caught Dutton up in this girl's apartment and there were words, and then Hedley took a swing and from that point on the party got rough."

  "And Hedley got the worst of it?" Mason asked.

  "Well, he certainly didn't get the best of it. Dutton didn't have a mark on him, but Hedley looked as if he'd been put through a washing machine."

  "What did the cops do?"

  "They turned him loose after they got him outside, but I heard enough of the conversation to learn that they figured he was the one who started it."

  "What was Hedley saying?"

  "He was going to swear out a warrant for Dutton's arrest for assault and battery and anything else. The officers didn't seem too much impressed, however, and told Hedley he'd better pick up the tab for damages on the apartment of a Miss Ellis in 321, or he might find himself facing trouble."

  Mason turned to Della Street, who was smiling broadly.

  "Well, Della," Mason said, "I guess things turned out the way you wanted them to, and on that note, since the crisis seems to have passed, since Dutton is being tailed, we'll call it a day."

  "And," Della Street said, demurely, "thank you for a lovely dinner."

  "Dinner!" Drake said. "That damn candy bar has been repeating on me for the last hour."

  Mason said, "I suggest the cafe where you reached us, Paul. It has wonderful extra-cut rare roast beef, baked potatoes, onion rings and salad. And, of course, since you're still on duty, the cost of the dinner would be an acceptable expense in the eyes of the Bureau of Internal Revenue."

  Drake's eyes were anguished. "A couple of hours ago," he said, "I could have eaten a live horse. Now, with the taste of that synthetic chocolate in my mouth, I don't want anything except a glass of warm milk and later on a little bicarbonate of soda."

  Chapter Seven

  The next morning Mason stopped in at Paul Drake's office on the way down the corridor to his own office.

  The receptionist said, "Mr. Drake's down in your office, Mr. Mason, waiting to see you on an important matter. He telephoned Miss Street and she said you were expected in about this time so he went down to wait.''

  "I'll go on down," Mason said. "But tell me first, where's our quarry?"

  The girl at the telephone desk smiled and said, "I'm not supposed to know, but Mr. Drake received a telephone call from Ensenada, Mexico, just before he telephoned Miss Street."

  "That," Mason said, "will make a nice vacation."

  The lawyer was smiling as he walked down the corridor and opened the door of his private office.

  "Good morning, Della," he said. "Hi, Paul, how are you? I've been thinking we're working too hard. How would you folks like to break away from routine for a day and drive down to Ensenada, Mexico?

  "That's a wonderful Mexican city, wonderful food, sweet lobsters, the caquama, or big turtle from the Gulf, enchiladas, chile con came, refried frijoles, ice cold Mexican beer-"

  "Hush," Della Street said, "you're breaking Paul's heart. He had stomach trouble last night."

&
nbsp; "How come?" Mason asked.

  Drake shook his head. "I knew when I was getting into this business what the occupational hazards were. Like a surgeon who lives under tension and usually develops heart trouble by the time he's fifty-five, a detective lives on hamburgers and bicarbonate of soda… How the devil did you know about Ensenada, Perry?"

  "Stopped in your office on the way down," Mason said. "Your telephone operator told me you had a call from Ensenada."

  "Well," Drake said, "my man lost Dutton."

  "Lost him!"

  "That's right."

  "For how long?"

  "About an hour."

  "What happened?"

  Drake said, "My man who relieved me took up the tailing job."

  "And what did he do?" Mason asked.

  "Well, Dutton left the apartment house just as the cops came up. Me drove around aimlessly for a while; then after about ten or fifteen minutes stopped at a service station and-"

  "I thought you said his car was filled up," Mason said.

  "That's right, he'd filled it up where he had it serviced, but this time he was only interested in the telephone. He went into the telephone booth and dialed a number. My man had to be a little careful. He parked across the street and watched with binoculars but he couldn't get the number.

  "Anyhow the fellow either got the wrong number or a busy signal, because he just held the phone to his ear for a few seconds; then hung up, waited a few seconds, then dialed again."

  "What happened this time?"

  "Well, my man figured that telephone conversation was pretty damn important. Me wanted to get it the worst way, so he took a chance."

  "On what?"

  "He approached the booth while the fellow was in there, acting as though he wanted to make an important call. Dutton waved him away, but my man had one of those pocket battery-powered wire recorders and some adhesive tape. I've been using them lately and they work pretty well. He had parked his car around the back of the booth and he ostensibly walked back to wait by his car. What he actually did was fasten the wire recorder on the back of the booth, using adhesive tape, and then he got in his car and drove away. He didn't drive very far but waited where he could watch Dutton's car.