The Case of the Sleepwalker's Niece пм-9

by Эрл Стенли Гарднер

  “I presume the district attorney’s office grabbed it as evidence.”

  “Sure, they have the nightgown that was found on the foot of Kent’s bed, presumably the one he wore.”

  “Any blood stains on it?”

  “I can’t find out, but I don’t think so.”

  “Wouldn’t there have been?”

  “The theory of the Prosecution is that since the knife was plunged through the bedclothes, the blankets prevented any blood spurting up on the hands of the murderer or on his clothing.”

  “That sounds reasonable,” Mason said, “reasonable enough to convince a jury, anyway. What time was the murder committed?”

  “That’s a question. For some reason or other, the district attorney’s office is trying to make it a big question, claiming that it’s hard to fix the time exactly. They’ve told the newspaper reporters it was sometime between midnight and four o’clock in the morning. But they’ve been questioning servants to see if they saw or heard anything around three o’clock.”

  Mason, standing with his feet planted apart, head thrust forward, scowlingly digested that bit of information. “They’re doing that,” he said, “to pave the way for Duncan to change his story. I’ll bet you twenty bucks that they can fix the time of the murder within an hour, one way or the other, but Duncan said he saw Kent carrying the knife across the patio at quarter past twelve… Paul, did that clock in Duncan’s room have a luminous dial?”

  “I don’t know, why?”

  “Because, if it did,” Mason said, “they’re keeping the time indefinite until they can convince Duncan that it was three o’clock instead of quarter past twelve. A man with poor eyesight, looking at a luminous dial, could easily confuse the two times.”

  Della Street, looking up from her notebook, said, “Do you think Duncan would do that?”

  “Sure he would. They’ll hand him a smooth line, saying, ‘Now, Mr. Duncan, you’re a lawyer. It wouldn’t look well for you to be trapped on crossexamination. The physical facts show the murder must have been committed at three o’clock. Now, isn’t it reasonable to suppose that it was the small hand you saw pointing at the figure three on the dial of that clock instead of the large hand? Of course, we don’t want you to testify to anything that isn’t so, but we wouldn’t like to see you made to appear ridiculous on the witness stand.’ And Duncan will fall for that line, go home, think it over and hypnotize himself into believing that he remembers distinctly that the time was three o’clock, instead of quarter past twelve. Men like Duncan, prejudiced, opinionated and egotistical, are the most dangerous perjurers in the world because they won’t admit, even to themselves, that they’re committing perjury. They’re so opinionated all of their reactions are colored by their prejudices. They can’t be impartial observers on anything.”

  “Can’t you trap him in some way,” Della Street asked, “so the jury will see what kind of man he is?”

  He grinned at her and said, “We can try. But it’s going to take a lot of trapping, and in some quarters it might not be considered ethical.”

  “Well,” Della Street said, “I don’t think it’s ethical to let a client get hung because some pompous old walrus is lying.”

  Drake said, “Don’t worry about Perry, Della. He’ll work out some scheme before the case is over that’ll get him disbarred, if it doesn’t work, and make him a hero, if it does. No client of Perry Mason’s was ever convicted on perjured evidence yet.”

  “You’re trailing Duncan?” Mason asked.

  “Yes. We’re putting shadows on every one who leaves the house, and I’m getting reports telephoned in at fifteen minute intervals.”

  Mason nodded thoughtfully and said, “I particularly want to know when he goes to an oculist.”

  “Why the oculist?” Drake asked.

  “I’ve noticed he keeps looking through the bottom of his glasses,” Mason said. “They’re bifocals. Evidently they don’t fit him. A lot’s going to depend on his eyesight. The D.A. will want him to make a good impression. Right now he can’t read anything unless he looks through the lower part of his glasses and holds it at arm’s length. That won’t look good on the witness stand when a man’s testifying about something he saw in the moonlight at three o’clock in the morning.”

  “But he didn’t sleep with his glasses on,” Della Street objected.

  “You’ll think he slept with binoculars on by the time he gives his testimony,” Mason remarked grimly. “The district attorney’s a pretty decent chap, but some of these deputies are out to make records for themselves. They’ll give Duncan a hint about what they’re trying to prove, and Duncan will do the rest. How about Jackson; is he back?”

  She nodded, and said, “Harris overheard a telephone conversation between Doris Sully Kent and Maddox. I think you’ll want Paul to hear what Jackson has to say about that conversation.”

  “Show Jackson in,” Mason said.

  She paused in the doorway long enough to say, “Do you think it’s on the level—Kent’s plane having motor trouble?”

  “Yes, I talked with the pilot. It was just one of those things. He made a forced landing in the desert. It didn’t take so long to fix the ignition trouble, but he had to clear off a runway by grubbing out a lot of greasewood. It was just one of those things that happen once in a million times.”

  “Then Kent isn’t married.”

  “No.”

  “That means Lucille Mays can be a witness against him?”

  “She doesn’t know anything anyway. Bring Jackson in.”

  When she had left the room, Drake said in a low voice, “Would Kent have had any reason for making a detour with that airplane, Perry?”

  Mason said tonelessly, “How the hell do I know? He said he had motor trouble, and so did the pilot.”

  “And he’s your client,” Drake remarked.

  “He’s my client—and yours,” Mason admitted. “But don’t be so damned cynical. I think he had trouble.”

  “Perhaps he did,” Drake admitted, “but try and make a jury believe it.”

  The door opened to admit Jackson. Mason nodded. “Give us the lowdown, Jackson.”

  Jackson was excited. “I’ve just been talking with the Clerk’s office in Santa Barbara. I put my name, address and telephone number on the back of that final decree of divorce when I filed it as attorney for Peter Kent.”

  “Well?” Mason asked, as Della Street unobtrusively slipped through the door and to her secretarial desk.

  “The Clerk called me to say that Doris Sully Kent, acting through Hettley and Hettley, of this city, had filed an action alleging fraud on the court in connection with the entire divorce action, claiming there’s been collusion; that Kent had persuaded her to file a divorce action; and that he’d lied to her about the community property, in that he had an undisclosed interest in a patent on a valvegrinding machine, and that he was a part owner in the Maddox Manufacturing Company of Chicago; that the patents controlled by that company are worth more than a million dollars and that they’re community property. She also alleges that the final decree was a fraud on the court, and has filed an affidavit and application under Section 473 of the Code of Civil Procedure, alleging that she discharged her Santa Barbara attorneys and retained Hettley and Hettley; that she was under the impression the interlocutory decree had been granted on the fifteenth and told them such was the case; that they didn’t have an opportunity to look up the matter until last night; that they sat up all night, getting the action ready to file.”

  “When were the papers filed in Santa Barbara, Jackson?”

  “The action to set aside the interlocutory decree was filed around ninethirty. They figured no final decree would be issued before ten o’clock anyway.”

  “And the affidavit and motion under 473?”

  “Just a short time ago. They found out about the final when they got up there, and evidently prepared and signed those papers in Santa Barbara. The Clerk’s office didn’t telephone me until an attack h
ad been made on that final decree.”

  Mason said to Della Street, “Send someone down to the Clerk’s office here, find if they haven’t filed a petition to have Peter Kent declared an incompetent person and his wife appointed a guardian.”

  He turned back to Jackson. “What about the business you were mentioning over the phone?”

  “At three o’clock this morning,” Jackson said, “Maddox telephoned Mrs. Kent and wanted her to pool her interests with them.”

  “At three o’clock in the morning!” Mason exclaimed. Jackson nodded. Mason gave a low whistle and said, “Give me the details. Tell me everything that happened.”

  “When I got your instructions I started watching Mrs. Kent’s house.”

  “Have any trouble finding it?”

  “No, I went right to the address you gave me. I stayed there until midnight and didn’t see a sign of life about the place, except there were lights on on the lower floor.”

  “You mean you didn’t see anyone moving around?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Around midnight Harris came up. It may have been a little before midnight; I don’t remember the exact time. He told me he’d take over the job of watching, so I took Helen Warrington from his car, and we went to a hotel. Harris stayed there in his car. The night was unusually warm for this time of year, and Mrs. Kent had her windows open. Harris proved himself a darn good detective. When the telephone rang he made a note of the time. It was two minutes past three o’clock. He checked his watch with Western Union time the next morning and found he was one minute and five seconds fast, so that would make the time fiftyfive seconds past three o’clock, and he made notes in his notebook of what she said.”

  “He could hear her?”

  “Yes, it was still night and he could hear her voice through the bedroom window.” Jackson pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and read, “Telephone bell rings three times, then a drowsy voice says, ‘Hello… Yes, this is Mrs. Kent… Yes, Mrs. Doris Sully Kent of Santa Barbara… What’s that name again, please?… Maddox… I don’t understand your calling at this hour… Why, I thought that was all fixed… Your lawyer has arranged a conference, and I’ll meet you, as agreed… You can get in touch with Mr. Sam Hettley, of the firm of Hettley and Hettley, if you want any more information. Goodby.”

  Jackson handed the paper over to Mason. Mason glanced significantly at Paul Drake and said, “One minute past three, eh?” He made little drumming motions with his fingertips on the edge of the desk, then said suddenly, “Look here, Jackson, when they filed that action at ninethirty this morning they didn’t know a final decree of divorce had been granted.”

  “That’s right, yes, sir.”

  “Then they filed a motion, affidavit, and what not, under Section 473 to set aside the final decree?”

  Jackson nodded again.

  “Therefore,” Mason said, “somewhere between the hour of ninethirty this morning and the time those papers were filed, they must have been in touch with Mrs. Kent and secured her signature. How does it happen your man on duty hasn’t reported that, Paul?”

  Paul Drake shook his head and said, “I’ve arranged to be notified by telephone, if anything unusual happens. The last report I had was about twenty minutes ago and he said Mrs. Kent hadn’t been out of the house.”

  “She must have given him the slip,” Mason said.

  “If she did, she’s clever as the devil. The house backs up against a barranca. There’s a big retaining wall which encloses a back patio. The only way to reach the back of the house is by going past the front and around the side. There’s a cement walk running around to the back door.”

  “An enclosed back patio?” Mason asked. Drake nodded. The telephone rang. Mason scooped the receiver to his ear, said, “Hello… It’s for you, Paul,” and handed over the instrument.

  Drake listened for a minute, said, “Are you sure?” then made a notation of certain figures in a notebook he whipped from his pocket, and said, “Okay, you stay on the job down there. I’m sending two more men down to cooperate. You stay with your couple unless they separate. If they do, you follow Duncan — he’s the big bird with the bushy eyebrows. Let one of the other men tail Maddox.” He slammed the receiver back on the telephone, looked at his wristwatch and said to Perry Mason, “She got out of the house all right. She’s down here having a conference with her lawyer. My men trailed Maddox and Duncan to the Securities Building. They went to the offices of Hettley and Hettley on the fifth floor. My operative was starting back to the elevator after having followed them up when he met a million dollars’ worth of blonde class in the corridor. She wasn’t a spring chicken exactly, but she had clothes and she knew how to wear them, and she had a figure to put the clothes around, and she knew what to do with that. When my operative got down to the street, he asked his partner if he’d noticed the blonde doll, and it happened the partner had noticed her drive up in a green Packard roadster. The license number is 9R8397.”

  Perry Mason scraped back his chair. “That’s the break we want,” he said to Paul Drake. “Get started. Put a hundred men on it, if you have to. Get witnesses to see Mrs. Kent, Maddox and Duncan come out of that office. That’ll corroborate the telephone call at three o’clock this morning, regardless of what anyone may claim on the witness stand, and, if I can prove that Maddox and Duncan were putting in long distance calls at three o’clock in the morning I can bust Duncan wide open on crossexamination. He said in his first statement that he saw the sleepwalker around midnight. Now, if he changes it to say that it was three o’clock in the morning, I can impeach him by showing that he and Maddox were putting in long distance calls at that hour.”

  “But perhaps Maddox put in the call without waking Duncan up.”

  “About one chance in ten million,” Mason said, “but just the same, we’ve got to plug up that loophole before the case comes to trial. And I want to find out what she meant by telling him his lawyer had already arranged a conference. This is where your men get busy, Paul. Get on the job and keep me posted.”

  Drake crossed to the exit door, the casual indolence gone from his manner, his long legs covering the distance to the door in three swift strides.

  Chapter 13

  Perry Mason was studying the pleadings in the case of Doris Sully Kent versus Peter B. Kent when Della Street slipped in from the outer office and said, “Edna Hammer’s out there. She’s so nervous I don’t think you should keep her waiting. She’s crying and half hysterical.”

  Mason frowned and said, “What’s the matter?”

  “I don’t know, unless it’s the strain of having her uncle arrested.”

  “No,” Mason said, slowly, “she knew this morning that they’d arrest him; but she was standing up to it like a little soldier.”

  “Better keep your eye on that woman,” Della Street cautioned. “Tell her to quit carrying the world on her shoulders and let someone else do the worrying. She’s emotional and if she doesn’t watch out, she’s going to have a breakdown and then heaven knows what she’ll do.”

  Mason nodded, said, “Send her in, Della, and stick around.”

  Della Street picked up the telephone. “Send Miss Hammer in,” she said into the transmitter, and, as the door opened and Edna Hammer’s strained features twisted into a perfunctory smile, Della went forward, and put her arm around the girl’s shoulders.

  Edna Hammer closed the door behind her, let Della Street guide her to the big overstuffed chair, sank into it and said, “Something awful’s happened.”

  Mason said, “What is it?”

  “Jerry walked into a trap.”

  “What sort of a trap?”

  “A police trap.”

  “What happened?”

  “He said the most awful thing without realizing what he was saying, and now he’s going to have to skip out to keep from being a witness against Uncle.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He sa
id the carving knife wasn’t in the sideboard when he went to get a corkscrew a half hour or so before he left for Santa Barbara.”

  Mason jumped to his feet. “Is Harris sure?” he asked.

  “He says he is.”

  “And he’s given that statement to the district attorney?”

  “Yes.

  Della Street, frowning thoughtfully, said, “Is that so awfully important, Chief?”

  He nodded. “That’s the one thing on which the entire case will hinge. Don’t you see, if Kent had planned a deliberate murder, but wanted it to appear he was walking in his sleep, and particularly if he had any idea Edna was trying to protect him by keeping the sideboard locked, he’d naturally have taken out the knife before he went to sleep. In order to establish a case of sleepwalking, we must prove that he got up in his sleep, possessed himself of the deadly weapon while he was asleep, and committed the homicide without having the faintest conscious knowledge of what he was doing, and without forming any conscious intent.”

  “Perhaps,” Della Street said, “Harris is mistaken.”

  Mason shook his head gloomily. “No,” he said, “that’s the one thing in the case that stands out like a sore thumb, now that I stop to think of it. He can’t be mistaken. You see, Edna had the only key to that sideboard. I was with her when she locked the drawer. We, both of us, took it for granted the knife was in there. We didn’t open the drawer to find out. In the morning the drawer was still locked. The butler came to Edna to help him find the key. She pulled a little hocuspocus, produced it, and pretended it had been on the top of the sideboard all the time.”

  Edna Hammer sobbed into her handkerchief. Della, seated on the arm of the big chair, patted her shoulder. “Save it,” she soothed. “Tears won’t help.”

  Mason started pacing the floor. After several minutes, Della Street succeeded in calming the half hysterical girl, but Mason still continued the regular rhythm of his pacing steps. At length Edna Hammer volunteered a statement. “I’m fixing it up the best I can,” she said. “Jerry’s taking a plane. He hasn’t been subpoenaed yet. He’s going where they can’t find him. Tell me, will it be all right to do that?”