"Have you seen a photograph?"
"No," Drake said. "I have a general description."
"Shoot."
"A man about fifty-five," Drake said, "with dark hair, powerful broad shoulders, slightly stooped, black eyes, about six feet one inch in height, weight two hundred and five pounds, very hairy hands, big powerful wrists."
"No keys on him?" Mason asked.
"No keys, no coins, no knife, no handkerchiefs, no pens, no pencils-nothing."
Mason said thoughtfully, "Paul, you talked about a man you thought was a process server who was waiting to serve papers on Dutton?"
"That's right, he- By George, Perry, it could be the same man. The description fits."
"You'd recognize the man if you saw him?"
"Sure."
"Stay away from the morgue," Mason said. "Let's see if you can get a look at the police photographs."
"Gosh, Perry," Drake wailed, "if I make the guy, I'll have to go to the police. That's evidence a private detective can't withhold."
"You can't make a positive identification from a newspaper photograph like that," Mason said. "You'd have to see the corpse."
"Well, you were talking about police photographs."
"I was," Mason said. "Now I am talking about newspaper photographs… Della and I are on our way back just as fast as we can get there. I'll leave my car here. I'll get my friend Munoz to fly us to San Diego. You have Pinky waiting at the San Diego airport with a twin-motored job to bring us in to the Tn-City Airport, and sit tight until we get there. Meet us at Tn-City Airport."
"Even if there's a very good resemblance in the newspaper photographs, I'd have to run it down," Drake said. "In a murder case my license wouldn't be worth a thin dime if I held out an identification."
"You and your license," Mason said.
"Me and my living," Drake told him. "I'll have the plane in San Diego by the time you get there."
"We'll get there pretty darn fast," Mason said and hung up.
Chapter Ten
"Pinky" Brier, the famous aviatrix, brought the twinmotored plane in at the Tn-City Airport as gracefully as a bird coming in to a landing.
A worried Paul Drake, who had been anxiously waiting, came out of the late afternoon shadows to meet Perry Mason and Della Street as they disembarked.
"You left your car?" Drake asked.
"Left it down there," Mason said. "We'll get it later on. Right now we're working against time."
"We're working against time and against a condition you aren't going to like," Drake said.
"What's the condition?"
"I've seen the photograph in the papers."
"What about it?"
"Perry, I think that man is the one that I took for a process server-perhaps he is, perhaps he isn't, but in any event, he was hanging around keeping cases on this Dutton apartment."
"But you can't make a positive identification from a newspaper photograph of that sort," Mason said.
"I know I can't, but I've got enough of an identification to tell Lieutenant Tragg that I might be of some assistance and should go down to the morgue and take a look at the body."
"Then, if you identify him," Mason said, "you're going to have to tell Tragg where you saw him and when."
"That's right."
"And that," Mason said, "is going to put our client in a hole."
"Your client is in a hole now," Drake said.
"Well, you'll put him deeper in the hole."
"He's in just about as deep as he can get right now," Drake said, "or he will be when my operative testifies.
"You remember my operative was shadowing Dutton. He put a wire recorder up against the telephone booth and heard one side of the conversation in which Dutton arranged to meet someone out at the Barclay Country Club on the seventh tee.
"That's where they found this murdered man." Mason said thoughtfully, "Your operative is in Ensenada now?"
"No, he's started home," Drake said. "By the time he gets here he'll know what his duty is. He'll report to the police, and the police will confiscate that wire recording."
"Who has the wire recording?"
"He does. It's in the trunk of his car.
"You've got a responsibility here, too, Perry. You can't suppress evidence. You can represent your client regardless of what the evidence against him may be, but you can't conceal evidence of a murder."
"All right," Mason said, "let's face it before they smoke us out. Let's call Lieutenant Tragg. Then Pinky can take us in to the Los Angeles Airport, and Tragg can meet us."
Drake said, "We'll have cars scattered all over the country. Your car in Ensenada; mine here at Tn-City."
"We can rent cars if we need them," Mason said, "but we're fighting against time. Della will drive your car to Los Angeles."
"What does your client tell you?" Drake asked.
"Nothing," Mason said.
Drake said, "The only defense that's going to be open to you in the long run is trying to prove self-defense. Your client went out there to meet this guy. Whoever it was, the man was blackmailing Dutton. The party got rough. Your client had to shoot to kill in order to get away. The police found five thousand dollars in fiftydollar bills in your client's possession when he was arrested at the border. They think this was money for a blackmail payoff."
"That's what they think," Mason said. "How do they know it wasn't getaway money?"
"They believe it was a blackmail payoff. They know things we don't know."
"I suppose so," Mason said. "There's so much about this that I don't know that it bothers me. The best defense is the truth, but in this case I don't know what the truth is, and I'm not at all certain my client is going to tell me.''
"Why not?"
"There's just a chance he's protecting someone, or trying to."
"That would mean a woman, wouldn't it?" Drake asked.
Mason said, "Come on, let's get hold of a telephone."
Mason went to a telephone, called the Los Angeles Police Department, got Lt. Tragg at Homicide on the line.
"I see you're investigating a death at the Barclay Country Club," Mason said.
"You saw that in the papers?"
"I heard it was in the papers."
"Yes. Yes," Tragg said, "and I suppose you have some information in connection with it that you've been sitting on for several hours, and now that you've decided it's too dangerous to hold out any longer, you've decided to be co-operative."
"You do me an injustice," Mason said, grinning.
"I know. I always do," Tragg said dryly.
"As a matter of fact," Mason told him, "I have just this minute arrived by plane from Mexico. I have been talking with Paul Drake, and Paul Drake tells me that from the picture of the murdered man that was published in the paper he has an idea he may have seen the individual in question sometime last night."
"Where? When?" Lt. Tragg asked, snapping the questions like the crack of a whip.
"Not so fast," Mason said. "We don't know as yet that it's the same person."
"Well, you'd better find out, and find out pretty damn quick," Lt. Tragg said. "If Paul Drake has any information that's going to help us clear up a murder case, he'd better get it in our hands fast."
"That's what we want to do," Mason said. "We're even going to charter a plane and fly in to the airport. We'll meet you there in about half an hour. We'll go to the morgue with you. If it turns out it's the same man, Drake will be only too glad to give you all the information you want."
Tragg said, "We're bringing a suspect in for questioning on that murder. Do you suppose there's any chance-of course, I know it's only a one-in-a-million shot- but is there any chance, Mason, that this man is a client of yours?"
"The victim?"
"No, the one we're bringing in."
"Well, that would depend," Mason said, "on the identity of the man you're bringing in."
"His name," Lt. Tragg said, "is Kerry Dutton. He's a young man who's had quite a spectacul
ar success as an investment counselor."
"What connects him with the murder?" Mason asked.
Tragg said, "I had my question in first. Is he, by any chance, a client of yours?"
"He's a client of mine," Mason said.
"That," Tragg said, "explains a lot. Where are you now?"
Mason told him.
"You think you can get here within twenty-five or thirty minutes?"
"Yes. We have a twin-motored plane all ready to go."
"Get in it, and get started," Tragg said. "I'll meet you personally with a radio car at the airport, and I want one-hundred-per-cent co-operation- Now, get that, Mason, I want one-hundred-per-cent co-operation. We're not playing tiddlywinks. This is murder."
"We'll meet you there," Mason said.
Mason hung up the phone. "How bad is it?" Drake asked.
"Just as bad as Tragg can make it if things don't work out so well."
"And if they do work out well?"
"It's just about as bad as I could make it for my client," Mason said.
"Well, there's one advantage about giving the officers the information they need to clinch a case against someone," Drake pointed out, "they don't catch you unprepared."
They gave Pinky only time enough to finish a cup of coffee; then were flown in to Los Angeles where Lt. Tragg met them.
"All right," Tragg said, "start talking."
"We have to go to the morgue before we talk," Mason said. "We don't know that this is the same person."
"You tell me what the highlights are on the way," Tragg said, "and then if it turns out to be the same person, we won't lose any time; and if it isn't the same person, I'll keep the facts in confidence."
"I'm sorry," Mason said, "we can't do that. It's a matter of a professional obligation to a client."
Tragg said, "Under those circumstances, you boys can prepare yourselves for a ride. We're going places very, very fast. You'd better strap yourselves in with those seat belts, because they might come in handy. And hang onto your hats."
The trip to the morgue was made in record time. Lt. Tragg and the officer who was with him led the way into the big, silent room where the wall was lined with steel drawers, looking for all the world like some huge sinister filing cabinet.
The officer knew the number without looking it up, took hold of the handle and pulled out the sliding cabinet.
Drake stood looking at the corpse for nearly ten seconds.
"All right," Tragg said at last, "is it or isn't it?"
Drake looked at Mason and shrugged his shoulders, then turned to Tragg. "It is," he said.
"All right," Tragg said, "let's get started. We've lost enough time already-perhaps too much."
Drake said, "I had the job of shadowing Kerry Dutton yesterday."
"Go on."
"Someone else was on the job."
"Who?"
"This man," Drake said, indicating the still form on the slab.
"What do you know about him?"
"Nothing. I thought he was a process Server."
"He was tailing Dutton?"
"He was waiting for Dutton. That is, he was casing Dutton's apartment and I had an idea he was a process server."
"What gave you that idea?"
"Just something about the way he acted."
"All right," Lt. Tragg said, "I don't want to pull it out of you a piece at a time, minutes are precious. We're trying to build up a case and we don't want to get the wrong man but we sure do want to get the right one."
"I can't tell you much about him," Drake said, "except I can give you the license number of his automobile. I looked it up and have the owner's name."
Tragg's face lit up. "What was the license number?" he asked.
Drake pulled out his notebook and gave Tragg the number and the name of Rodger Palmer.
Tragg dashed to the telephone, exploded into action, telephoned orders to trace the license application, to wire in a descriptive classification of the thumbprints, and to check identities.
When he had finished, he returned to where Drake and Perry Mason were standing.
"Just why were you shadowing Kerry Dutton?" Tragg asked.
Drake started to say something, caught Mason's eye, hesitated; then said, "Because Perry Mason told me to."
Tragg flushed. "Let's not try any run-arounds," he said.
"That isn't a run-around," Mason said. "It's a straight-forward answer. That's all Paul Drake knows about it."
"All right, then I'll ask you. Why did you tell Paul Drake to shadow Dutton?"
"That," Mason said, "is something I'm not at liberty to disclose."
Tragg said, "You'll disclose everything you know about the murder, or you'll find yourself in hot water up to your necktie."
"I'll disclose everything I know about the murder," Mason said.
"Well, what you know about Dutton fits in with what we know about the murder."
"I don't think it does," Mason said. "As a matter of fact, I was having Paul Drake shadow Dutton because I was worried about my own responsibility in the matter."
"So I gathered," Tragg said. "You don't ordinarily have a detective agency shadow your own clients."
"Sometimes I do."
"Now then," Tragg said, "here's the important question, and I want an answer to it. Did any of this shadowing take Kerry Dutton to the vicinity of the Barclay Country Club?"
There was a period of silence. Then Mason said cautiously, "I believe I should answer that question. I can state that it did."
"The hell it did!" Tragg said, his face lighting up. "At what time?"
"What time, Paul?" Mason asked.
"Right around ten-ten to ten-twenty," Drake said.
"Now then," Mason volunteered, "in order to keep you from feeling you're having to draw information out of us a bit at a time, I'm going to tell you that before Dutton went out to the country club he had a conversa tion with someone and apparently arranged to meet that person out at the country club."
"How do you know?"
"He went into a telephone booth and called someone. One of Drake's men was shadowing him. He put a wire recorder on the outside of the telephone booth and walked away. It's a very sensitive recorder, compact but highly efficient. After Dutton drove away, Drake's man came back and picked up the recorder, ran it back, found out what the conversation was about and went out to the Barclay Country Club."
"He didn't follow Dutton out?"
"No, Dutton went through red lights and generally drove like crazy. So, after trying to follow him, Drake's man went back and picked up the recorder, ran it back to the starting point, listened to the conversation, and was able to make out that an appointment had been made at the Barclay Country Club."
"And he drove out there right away?"
"Yes. He went right out there."
"And Dutton's car was out there?"
"That's right. Dutton's car and two or three other cars."
"Was one of them this car that you gave me the license on?" Lt. Tragg asked Drake.
"I don't know as yet, but we will know," Drake said.
The telephone rang-a sharp strident sound in that room of eternal silence.
Tragg strode over to the instrument, picked it up, said, "Yes… speaking."
The officer listened for several seconds; then a slow grin spread over his face. "That does it," he said. "Okay."
Tragg hung up and said, "All right, we've got our corpse identified. His name is Rodger Palmer all right. He was an employee of Templeton Ellis until Ellis died; then he went to work for the Steer Ridge Oil and Refining Company.
"Now then, do any of those activities tie in with what you fellows know?"
Mason chose his words carefully. "Templeton Ellis was the father of Desere Ellis. Kerry Dutton is the trustee of money which was payable to her under her father's will. Some of the stocks, I believe, which were included in the estate at one time were shares of the Steer Ridge Oil and Refining Company."
Tragg turne
d to Drake. "What's the name of your detective, the one with the wire recorder?"
"Tom Fulton."
"Where is he now?"
"On his way up from Ensenada."
"Where's he going to report when he reaches the city here?"
"To my office."
"I want to see him as soon as he reports," Tragg said, "and I want to be very, very certain that nothing happens to that recording. That is evidence in the case and I want it."
"You'll have it," Mason promised.
"Getting facts out of you two," Tragg said, "is like pulling hen's teeth with a pair of fire tongs, but thank you very much for your co-operation."
"We gave you what we had," Mason said.
"You gave me what you had to give me," Tragg amended, "but I appreciate it just the same. It's bad business when we can't get a corpse identified."
"But even without the identification, you felt you had a case against Kerry Dutton?"
Tragg grinned and said, "We brought him in for questioning."
Mason said, "They told me down in Mexico that he was under arrest; that there was a warrant out for him, charging first-degree murder."
"Tut, tut," Tragg said.
"You didn't extradite him?"
"We couldn't have extradited him without preferring a charge."
"But he is under arrest?"
"He's been brought in for questioning."
"He's my client," Mason said. "I want to see him."
"If he's charged with anything, you can talk with him. As soon as he's booked, he can call an attorney."
"Where is he now?" Mason asked.
Tragg said, "I'll put it on the line with you, Perry. As far as I know he's between here and there."
"There meaning?"
"Tecate," Lt. Tragg said, grinning. "It was a lot easier for us to pick him up there than it would have been in Tijuana, so when the Mexicans deported him as an undesirable alien, they put him back into the United States at Tecate."
Mason turned to Paul Drake. "Okay, Paul," he said, "let's go to the office. Della should be there by now with your car."
"Better hang around your office," Tragg said. "If Kerry Dutton wants to call you, we'll give him one telephone call."
"One should be enough," Mason said.
Chapter Eleven
The Case of the Troubled Trustee pm-78 Page 6