The Case of the Troubled Trustee pm-78

by Erle Stanley Gardner

Perry Mason and Paul Drake found Paul's car in the office parking lot. "Your man Fulton, Paul?" Mason asked.

  "What about him?"

  "You know what about him. We've got to get in touch with him."

  "He's on his way home from Ensenada. Police will be laying for him and want to grab that wire recording."

  "I know they will," Mason said. "We've got to get to him before the police do."

  Drake shook his head. "What do you mean?" Mason asked. "You mean it can't be done?"

  "I mean it's not going to be done," Drake said. "I have a license to consider. We can't play hide-and-seek with the police in a murder case. You're a lawyer; you know that."

  Mason spoke slowly, giving emphasis to each word as he enunciated it. "Paul, I'm an attorney. I have a license, the same as you do. I'm not going to suppress any evidence. You're not going to suppress any evidence. We're not going to tamper with evidence, but I'm representing a client. The police are going to try to convict that client of first-degree murder. They're moving pretty fast in this thing. That means there's some evidence that we know nothing about. I want to find out about it. I want to know what it is. Your operative is going to be a witness for the prosecution. We can't help that, but we sure have a right to get a report from him at the earliest possible moment. You're paying him, and I'm paying you. Now then, what kind of a car is he driving? What route is he going to take?"

  Drake shook his head. "I don't like it."

  Mason said, "You don't have to like it. I know what I'm doing. I'm not asking you to violate any law."

  "Well," Drake said, reluctantly, "there's a service station out on the corner of Meiwood and Figueroa. It's a big service station with plenty of pumps and employees on duty, and every operative who has been on a long, out-of-town trip is instructed to fill his gas tank at this station when he comes in.

  "The big thing in the private detective business is to be sure you don't run out of gas when you're on a tailing job.

  "The man who runs that service station knows most of my operatives. I know he knows Tom Fulton. We can ask him if Tom has been in there yet. If he has, it means that Tom has parked his car and reported to the office and the cops have probably grabbed him by this time, or, at any rate, they will before we can get hold of him now."

  "There's a phone booth, Paul. Put through the call."

  Drake entered the phone booth, put through the call, came back and shook his head, "He hasn't been in yet. You can't tell just when he will come in. The guy has been up all night on a tailing job and it's a long drive from Ensenada up here. He was entitled to get some sleep."

  "The police will have a stakeout on your office, Paul, and I don't dare take any chances. You're going to have to go down to that service station and wait- Hang it, we'll both go. They probably have a stakeout on my office as well as on yours. They may figure we'll try to head Fulton off. Come on, Paul, we'll just have to go and wait."

  Drake drove through traffic and into the service station. He caught the eye of the manager. "Going to wait around awhile, Jim," he said.

  "He hasn't been in yet," the manager said, looking curiously at Perry Mason.

  "We want to speed matters up as much as possible," Drake said. "He's a witness, and we want to-"

  "Put him in touch with the police at once," Mason interpolated.

  "Okay, there's parking room over there next to the grease rack," the man said. "Make yourselves comfortable. You any idea when he's going to be in?"

  "He'll be in shortly," Drake said.

  Drake backed the car into the space so that they had a commanding view of the gas pumps.

  "Want to phone Della Street and let her know where you are?" Drake asked.

  Mason shook his head. "We'll keep everyone guessing for a while."

  An hour and a half passed; then Drake suddenly gripped Mason's arm. "Here he comes, Perry," he said. "Now, remember we can't do anything that will serve as a peg on which the police can hang a complaint."

  Mason's eyes were wide with candor-too wide. "Why, certainly not, Paul! We're only co-operating with the police. Call him over."

  While the attendant was putting gasoline in Fulton 's car, Drake caught his eye and called him over.

  "Why, hello, Mr. Drake. What are you doing here?"

  "Waiting for you," Drake said.

  "Gosh, I'm sorry. I took just a little shut-eye down in Ensenada before I pulled out. I was afraid I couldn't keep awake and-"

  "That's all right," Drake said.

  The operative's eyes twinkled. "You certainly get around, Mr. Mason."

  Drake said, "He wants to ask you a few questions."

  "Go ahead."

  Mason said, "You lost Dutton last night on the tailing job?"

  "That's right. He drove like crazy. He went through signals, right and left and darn near got me smashed up trying to follow him. I was hoping we'd both get pinched and I could square the pinch by explaining to the officer. It's a chance we have to take."

  "And how did you pick him up again?" Mason asked.

  "He went to a phone booth and I bugged the phone booth with a little bug that fits right up snug against the glass with a rubber suction cup. A transistor wire recorder is suspended underneath."

  "And what did you find?"

  "He said he was going out to the Barclay Country Club and would meet someone on tee number seven. I've reported all that."

  "I want it official this time," Mason said. "You didn't spot him out there?"

  "Not right away. His car was there."

  "You tried to get in?"

  "I tried the door to see if it was unlocked."

  "Was it?"

  "No. There was a spring lock on it."

  "So you waited?"

  "That's right."

  "How long did you wait?"

  "Twelve minutes."

  "And then what?"

  "And then he came out."

  "How did he act when he came out, excited?"

  "He seemed to be- Well, he was in a hurry. He knew exactly what he wanted to do."

  "He didn't pay any attention to you?"

  "I was sitting pretty well in the shadows back in my car. That is, I'd crawled over in the back seat so I wasn't at all conspicuous."

  "There were other cars parked around there?"

  "Half a dozen, I guess."

  "You didn't take the license numbers?"

  "No, I spotted Dutton's car there, and he was the one I was tailing so I didn't pay any attention to the others-no one told me to."

  "That's all right," Mason said. "We're not blaming you, but can you describe the cars?"

  "Why, they were just-just ordinary cars."

  "No car that stood out, not a sport job, or some big flashy job?"

  "No, as I remember it, they were all rather mediocre-I took them for cars belonging to employees who slept in on the premises. There weren't too many of them-I guess three would just about hit it, but there may have been four."

  "All right," Mason said, "we don't have much time. We have to hit the high spots. Dutton came out, got in his car and drove away?"

  "That's right."

  "You tailed along?"

  "Yes."

  "Any trouble?"

  "Just once. I started following him with my lights off. Dutton stopped his car rather suddenly and then backed up. There was nothing for me to do but to keep on going."

  "So you lost him again?"

  "No, I didn't lose him. I got down the road, pulled off to one side, put out a red blinker, got out a jack and jacked up the rear bumper. I made as if I was changing a tire. I kept my eye on him all the time."

  "How far away was he?"

  "Oh, half a mile, I guess."

  "His lights were on?"

  "Yes."

  "You couldn't see him, you could only see the headlights?"

  "That's right."

  "He just stopped?"

  "Yes"

  "Then what happened?"

  "Well, then he got in his car
and went on."

  "What did you do?"

  "I stood there helpless and let him pass. Then when he got ahead of me, I let the car down off the jack fast, threw the jack in the rear seat, jumped in and took off after him. In a case of that sort the subject hardly expects a crippled car to come to life and take off after him, so he isn't suspicious."

  "And you tailed him, how far?"

  "All the way to the border and then on to Ensenada."

  "Did he make any stops?"

  "Once for a cup of coffee and a hamburger."

  "What did you do?"

  "Sat outside the place, parked in my car, and drooled," the detective said. "That coffee looked so darn good, I would have given a week's pay for a cup, but I didn't dare let him spot me so I had to sit outside and wait until he came out."

  "Do you think he knew he was being tailed?"

  "I don't think so. I would drop behind for a way and then come up, and I passed him once or twice where I could keep his headlights in my windshield and pulled in to a coffee joint as though I was getting coffee, but as soon as he passed me I took up the chase again."

  "Now, that wire recording," Mason said, "you have it?"

  "Yes."

  "The police want it."

  "I wondered if they would. I was going to ask Drake what to do with it."

  Mason said, "Go to the office. Don't tell anyone that you have seen either Drake or me unless you are asked specifically. If you are asked by the police, don't lie. Tell them that I was waiting for you and that I told you I wanted you to take your evidence to the police at once; that they were anxiously awaiting it."

  "I don't say anything about Mr. Drake?"

  "Not unless they ask you specifically. If they ask you if you've talked with anyone, tell them you talked with me. If they ask you if anyone was with me, you can tell them Paul Drake was, but just don't volunteer any information. On the other hand, appear to be very cooperative."

  Fulton nodded.

  "Now then," Mason said, "why did Dutton bring his car to a stop and back up? Any idea?"

  "No, I haven't," Fulton said, "but I checked on my speedometer."

  Mason's face brightened. "You did?"

  "That's right. He was on Crenmore when he stopped, exactly one and three-tenths miles from the entrance to Barclay Country Club."

  Mason turned to Paul Drake. "Paul," he said, "get this man a bonus of the best dinner in the city for himself and his wife- You married, Fulton?"

  "Not yet," Fulton said, grinning. "I was, but it didn't take. I played the field for a while and now I'm getting ready to go overboard again. This time it's going to be different."

  "Get your girl friend and take her to the best restaurant in town," Mason said. "Get everything you can eat, have a bottle of champagne with dinner and turn in the bill on your expense account."

  Fulton shot out his hand. "That's mighty fine of you, Mr. Mason."

  "I always like to see a good job well done," Mason said.

  Fulton looked at Drake. "Anything else?"

  Mason shook his head.

  "Okay," Fulton said, "I'll be on my way. I'm to go in to the office and start making out a report in the usual way?"

  "That's right," Drake said. "Take a typewriter and start tapping it out."

  "Do I say anything about the subject stopping there on the road?"

  "You sure do," Mason said. "Don't conceal anything. Remember, those are my instructions. Don't conceal a single piece of evidence from the police."

  Fulton signed the ticket for the gasoline and drove out.

  "Well," Drake said, "I guess we may as well-"

  "Go to that culvert and see what's there," Mason interjected.

  "Culvert?" Drake asked.

  "Sure," Mason said. "That's why he stopped and backed up. We'll take a look at whatever is in that culvert."

  "And then what?"

  "Then," Mason said, smiling, "we don't touch anything. We call Lieutenant Tragg and tell him that Fulton reported to us that the subject had stopped a mile and three-tenths from the country club; that we went out to see what had caused him to stop and back up. Much to our surprise, we found a culvert. We looked in the culvert and it appeared that something had been stashed in there and so we're calling the police."

  "Tragg will be hopping mad," Drake said.

  "Let him hop," Mason pointed out.

  "Suppose there isn't a culvert? Suppose it was something in the road?"

  Mason said, "I'm willing to bet ten to one it was a Culvert."

  "Suppose the police have checked it?"

  "They could very well have done so," Mason said. "Whenever a crook has evidence to dispose of, he looks for the first culvert he comes to, and if Lieutenant Tragg is as smart as I think he is, he has probably instructed his men to look at the first culvert on every road leading away from the country club."

  "In which event he will have been one jump ahead of us.

  Mason grinned. "But only one jump, Paul. Come on, let's go. If you don't mind, I'll drive. We don't have much time."

  Mason drove to the country club, checked the speedometer, turned and drove a mile and three-tenths.

  "Well, you're right," Drake said. "It's a culvert."

  "You can see marks where a car was braked to a sudden stop," Mason said. "Well, we'll take a look, Paul."

  The lawyer parked the car, got out, raised the hood of the car, took a flashlight from the glove cornpartinent, and walked down the embankment to the culvert. He looked up and down the road, said, "Let me know when the coast is clear, Paul."

  "Okay," Drake said, after two cars had passed, "you've got an open road now."

  Mason dropped to his knees, peered into the culvert.

  "See anything?" Drake asked.

  "Footprints," Mason said, "and nothing else."

  "Car coming, Perry."

  Mason hurriedly arose, walked over to the side of the road.

  A passing motorist stopped. "Having trouble?" he asked, noticing the upraised hood.

  "Just a vapor lock," Mason said, smiling." I think it will straighten itself out if we let it cool off a minute. Thanks!"

  The motorist waved his hand. "Good luck," he said, and drove away.

  Mason thoughtfully lowered the hood of the car, got in, and started the motor.

  "Now what?" Drake asked.

  "Now," Mason said, "I'm going to try and see my client-and ask him what it was he concealed in that culvert."

  Chapter Twelve

  Mason sat looking across the dividing partition at his client's worried face.

  "How much did you tell them?" Mason asked. "Not a thing," Dutton said. "I told them that I resented the way they had made the arrest and taken me out of Ensenada; that I thought I had been kidnaped by the police; that I was indignant, as a citizen, and I put on the act of being too damn mad to co-operate."

  "It's all right," Mason said. "It's a good act. The only thing is, it doesn't fool anyone. What have they got on you, do you know?"

  "No."

  "They've got something," Mason said. "Suppose you tell me the real story."

  "I wanted to tell it to them," Dutton said, "but I was going to follow your instructions because you're my attorney. If I'd told it to them, I'd have been free by this time."

  "You think you would have?" Mason asked.

  "Very definitely," Dutton said. "They don't have a thing on me."

  "Well, tell me your story," Mason said, "and if I'll buy it, I'll have you pass it along to the police and the district attorney."

  "There isn't much to tell," Dutton said.

  "Did you know the dead man?"

  "I've talked with him on the phone. That is, if he's Rodger Palmer."

  "What do you know about him?"

  "Not too much. But he had me in kind of a peculiar position."

  "Blackmail?"

  "Well, not exactly. Palmer was engaged in a sneak attack on the management of Steer Ridge Oil and Refining Company. He wanted to get rid of the man
agement and put his own crowd in."

  "You knew that?"

  "I knew that-at least, he told me."

  "Go ahead," Mason said. "What happened?"

  "Well," Dutton said, "Palmer knew that Desere Ellis had a big block of stock in the oil company. At least, he assumed she did. He knew that her father had bought it and that it had gone into the trust fund."

  "And so?" Mason asked.

  "And so he went to Miss Ellis and wanted her to give him a proxy. She told him that she couldn't do it because the stock was in my name as trustee. So then he asked her to write a letter to me as trustee, instructing me to give him a proxy on stock."

  "And she did?"

  "She did."

  "And then?" Mason asked, his eyes showing his keen interest.

  "Then, of course, I was in a spot," Dutton said. "I didn't have the stock. I didn't want her to know I didn't have the stock. That would have caused her to ask for an accounting. Therefore, I didn't want to tell him I'd sold the stock."

  "This was at a time when the value of the stock was low?"

  "That's right. It was just before the strike in the new field. Palmer could have bought up control of the company if he could have found the stock and had the money, but he was working on a shoestring."

  "So what did you do?"

  "I told him I would have to know more about what he had in mind, and what his plans for developing the company's property were before I'd honor Miss Ellis' letter.

  "He insisted on seeing me; I refused to give him an interview. Then he played his ace in the hole. He told me he had something to tell me about Fred Hedley. He said it would eliminate Hedley from the picture as far as Desere Ellis was concerned. He said he needed money to carry on his proxy campaign and that if I'd bring him five thousand dollars in fifty-dollar bills, he'd give me an earful of facts on Hedley that would put Hedley out of circulation."

  Mason regarded his client skeptically. "And he also wanted proxies?"

  "Yes."

  "He was a blackmailer then?"

  "I guess that's the word for it. However, I'd have done anything to prevent Desere marrying Hedley."

  "What about proxies?"

  "That's the strange, incredible thing," Dutton said. "When he made me that offer, I decided to take him up. I went out and bought up twenty thousand shares of Steer Ridge Oil stock in my own name. I got them at from ten to fifteen cents a share. I intended to let Palmer think they were the original shares of stock from the trust.