The Case of the Stuttering Bishop (18 page)

The detective said, "I've got men working on every angle of the case, Perry, but I can't find out a damn thing that's going to help us any. I've traced Mallory from the time he left the steamship in San Francisco until he arrived in Los Angeles. He stayed at the Palace Hotel in San Francisco, went directly there from the ship, and as nearly as the hotel employees in San Francisco can tell, the bishop who checked out was the same bishop who checked in."

"That bishop," Mason said, drumming with his fingertips on the edge of the table cloth, "in some way is the key to the whole business. Why did he call on me? Why did he disappear? If he's the real goods, why did he take a runout powder? If he's an impostor, why didn't he pull a more convincing fade-out… telephone me he had to leave on a secret mission and ask me to carry on? There were plenty of ways he could have kept up the pretense, yet eased himself out of the picture. The darn case is driving me nuts because I can't get a toe-hold. I'm clawing at a blank wall. And why does Julia Branner act the way she does? Why won't she talk to me? Can't she see she's sending herself to the gallows and putting me in an impossible position?"

"Perhaps she won't talk because she's guilty," Della Street suggested.

"I'm not so certain she's guilty," Mason remarked. "The theory of the crime the Prosecution has worked out doesn't sound any too logical. She may be protecting someone else and may be innocent, herself."

Drake said, "Forget it, Perry. How in hell could anyone have framed this crime on her? She wrote the note to Brownley. When they find his body they'll find the note in his pocket. It will be in her handwriting. It will crucify her. She lured him down to that place near the waterfront. There's no possibility of doubt on that score. She wanted him killed, both for her daughter's sake, and because she hated him. How could anyone have taken her gun without her knowing it, have gone to the very place where she instructed Brownley to be, dressed in exactly the same clothes, and driving the same make of car? Remember, Julia Branner didn't write that note until after you'd telephoned her and told her what was in the wind. Therefore, her whole scheme of luring Brownley to the waterfront was hatched after that time; and anyone who wanted to frame her must necessarily have started from scratch after that note was written. I tell you, it's impossible."

Mason looked at his watch and said, "Well, we'll go back to court and see what develops. We're not licked yet by a long ways."

"If Pete Sacks ever takes the stand and swears you framed him and stole that key from him, it doesn't make much difference what happens after that. Public sentiment will have turned definitely against you," Drake said. "You've got to keep him from telling his story, either by this corpus delicti defense or in some other way."

Mason shrugged his shoulders.

Della Street said, softly, "Listen, Chief, you put me on the stand and let me tell my story. Do it just as soon as you can after Sacks tells his story. I'll fix him. I'll tell what he tried to do to me, and, after that, people will want to lynch him. And if Shoemaker wants to try to rattle me on cross-examination I'll do plenty to him."

Mason squeezed her hand and said, "Good girl. I know I can depend on you."

As they left the restaurant, Drake said to Mason in a low tone, "You can't let her do that, Perry. It'll look as though you two trapped Sacks, that Della led him on by luring him to her apartment. It looks too damned much like a badger game. It'll put Della in a hell of a position before the public."

Mason said gloomily in the same low, growling tone of voice, "Do you think you're telling me anything? But don't let her know. I'm not even going to put her on the stand."

Della Street said, "What are you two getting your heads together about? You sound as though you were hatching up some deviltry. Come on or you'll be late for court."

Shoemaker rose to his feet, said dramatically, "Call Peter Sacks to the stand."

Sacks, his nose and cheeks completely concealed by a smear of bandages and strips of adhesive tape, came forward and was sworn.

"Do you know the defendant, Julia Branner?" Shoemaker asked, after Sacks had testified to his name, age, and address.

"Yes," Sacks said in a thick voice.

"Did you ever have any conversation with her in which she mentioned Renwold Brownley?"

"Yes."

"Do you know Perry Mason, the attorney who is representing her?"

"Yes."

"When you had your conversation with Julia Branner who was present?"

"Victor Stockton."

"Anyone else?"

"No."

"Where did the conversation take place?"

"At the United Airport at Burbank."

"What's your occupation?"

"I'm a private detective."

"Had you had any previous correspondence with the defendant in this case?"

"Yes, sir."

"During that conversation, had you posed as being a certain type of person?"

"Yes, sir. I'd posed as a mobster and boasted of the murders I'd committed for money."

"What was the date of the conversation you are testifying about, at which Mr. Stockton was present?"

"On the fourth day of this month."

"At what hour?"

"About ten o'clock in the morning."

"Now what was said, and by whom was it said?"

Mason got to his feet and said, "Your Honor, it now appears that the Prosecution are seeking to link the defendant with the crime of murder, yet the Prosecution have failed to establish any murder. I object to the question on the ground that it is incompetent, irrelevant, and immaterial; that no proper foundation has been laid; that it is not part of the Res Gestae, and no part of the corpus delicti; that the Prosecution, to date, have signally failed to prove the corpus delicti."

"We don't have to prove it as we would in a Superior Court," Shoemaker interposed. "This is only a preliminary. We only have to prove that a crime has been committed and that there's reasonable cause to believe the defendant committed it."

"Nevertheless," Mason said, "you can't prove murder in any court without proving the corpus delicti. Now, according to the Prosecution's own theory, someone, other than the defendant, must have driven Renwold C. Brownley's automobile from the place where the shooting occurred, to the wharf. The defendant had gone, if we are to believe the testimony of Mr. Bixler. Now, what is more reasonable than to suppose that Mr. Brownley, himself, recovered consciousness, started to drive the car, became confused in the rain, and drove it off the end of the wharf? In that event, he would have met his death by drowning, and not from gunshot wounds. And, in order to prove murder, the Prosecution must prove death as a direct result of the act of the defendant."

"Not at all," Shoemaker argued vehemently. "If, your Honor, Counselor's contention is correct and Mr. Brownley did die of drowning, the drowning would have been caused by the unlawful acts of the defendant, to wit, the shooting which incapacitated him from driving his car intelligently."

"But," Mason said, "you haven't proved that the shooting incapacitated him from driving the car. You haven't proved how many times he was shot, whether any of the shots were in a fatal place, or whether they were merely flesh wounds. The gun was a small caliber gun and it's very possible the bullets followed around under the skin without penetrating any vital organs. Moreover, if this man met his death by drowning, unless the defendant, or some accomplice drove that car off the end of the pier, the defendant certainly can't be held responsible for a death by drowning. The minute you concede there's even a possibility Brownley recovered consciousness and drove that automobile into the bay, you have made a stronger argument against your case than anything I can say. You, yourself, tacitly admit that you aren't convinced by the evidence you yourself have produced!"

Shoemaker's face flushed. "This," he roared, "is an attempt to thwart justice by a technicality which…"

"Just a moment," Judge Knox interrupted, "the Court has been giving this matter some thought, ever since it noticed the remarkably ingenious cross-examination of the witness Bixler. There's some question here as to the means of death. There's even some question as to whether death itself has been proved. It is reasonable to suppose that Renwold Brownley was in the automobile when it went over the edge of the wharf, but there's not evidence indicating that such was the case. I am fully aware that the degree of proof required to bind the defendant over is not the same as that required in a Superior Court upon a trial of the issues on the merits; but I am also aware that if I should dismiss this case at the present time, the defendant will not have been in jeopardy and therefore can again be rearrested when the body of Renwold Brownley is discovered. I think you will admit, Mr. Deputy District Attorney, that you would hardly care to prosecute this defendant in a Superior Court upon a charge of murder, until after the body itself has been discovered."

"That's not the point," Shoemaker said, very evidently keeping his temper by an effort. "This is only a preliminary. We want to get the defendant bound over. We want to get the evidence in such shape we know where we stand. And there are other reasons why we are particularly anxious at this time to get the evidence of these witnesses before the public… that is, before the Court."

Mason shrugged and said, "Counsel's tongue slipped. He meant before the public."

Knox frowned and said, "That will do, Mr. Mason. You will refrain from making any such comments and confine yourself to the question under discussion." He glowered at Mason for a moment, then turned hastily away to keep from smiling.

Shoemaker, so indignant as to be speechless for the moment, stood groping for words with which to clothe an effective argument.

"I'm going to adjourn this case until tomorrow morning at ten o'clock," Judge Knox said. "At that time, Counsel can argue the question; but I am very much inclined to hold that at the present time the corpus delicti has not been shown, and while perhaps technically I should confine myself only to a question of whether a crime has been committed, I'm inclined to take a broader view of the situation, particularly because a dismissal of the case at this time would not be a bar to a subsequent prosecution."

"But," Shoemaker protested, "would your Honor claim that we haven't shown a sufficient case of assault with a deadly weapon?"

Judge Knox smiled and said, "And would the district attorney's office be willing to have the Court bind over the defendant only on a charge of assault with a deadly weapon with intent to commit murder and release her from a murder charge?"

"No!" Shoemaker shouted. "We're going to prosecute her for murder. That's what she's guilty of…" As he realized the full effect of his statement, he let his voice drop into a low tone, hesitated for a moment, then sat down uncertainly.

Judge Knox let his smile become a grin. "I think, Counselor," he said, "your own argument illustrates better than anything I could say the fallacy of your present contention. Court will take a recess until tomorrow morning at ten o'clock. The defendant is, of course, remanded to the custody of the sheriff."

Perry Mason glanced over his shoulder at Paul Drake. The detective had produced a handkerchief from his pocket and was mopping his forehead. Mason himself heaved a sigh of relief as Judge Knox arose from the bench. Turning to Julia Branner, Mason said, "Julia, won't you please tell me…"

Her lips clamped in a thin line. She shook her head, arose from the chair and nodded to the deputy sheriff who was waiting to take her back to the jail.

He shook his head, keeping his eyes on the road.

"Couldn't I take the rap? Couldn't I say that I took the stuff, that I took the key?"

"No," he said, "Burger's after me. He doesn't think he's holding any malice, but, for a long time now, he's been predicting that I'd come a cropper. Naturally, he's prejudiced in favor of making his predictions come true."

"Chief," she said, snuggling close to him, "you know I'd do anything, anything."

Mason kept his left hand on the steering wheel, slipped his right hand about her shoulders, squeezed her affectionately. "Good kid, Della," he said, "but there's nothing you can do. We've just got to take it."

"Listen, Chief," she said, "how was that crime committed? It doesn't sound reasonable that the district attorney's theory is right."

"Julia might have done the shooting in a wild blaze of temper," he admitted, "but in that case there'd have been some sort of an argument first. She didn't lure him down there to kill him, that's a cinch. Otherwise, she wouldn't have left so broad a back trail."

"Then why did she lure him down there?"

"That's something I can't tell you," he said, "but it has something to do with our stuttering bishop, our disappearing Janice Seaton, and perhaps a few others."

"And she didn't intend to kill him when she left the apartment?"

"Not one chance in a hundred," Mason said.

"But didn't you tell me that when you went there in the morning Stella Kenwood had been sitting up all night, that her attitude showed she knew Julia Branner had gone out to do something that was going to get her into trouble if she was caught?"

Mason suddenly slammed the brakes on the car, skidded into the curb, kicked out the gear lever and stared at Della Street with wide eyes. "Now," he said, "you're talking."

"What do you mean, Chief? You mean…?"

"Wait a minute," he said, "I want to think." He sat there in the car, the motor running, traffic streaming past. Once or twice he nodded his head. Then he said, "Della, it's so damned wild that it doesn't sound logical, but it's absolutely the only thing which will explain the facts in this case, and, when you stop to think of it, it's so absolutely plain and open that the great wonder is we didn't realize it before. Have you got your shorthand notebook with you?"

She opened her purse and nodded her head.

Mason slammed home the gear shift lever, kicked in the clutch. "Come on," he said, "we'll go places." He swung the car out from the curb and made time to the frame apartment house on Beechwood, rang Stella Kenwood's bell, received an answering buzz which released the catch on the door. "Come on, Della," he said, "we'll go up. When we get in that room, pull out your notebook and take down everything that's said and don't lose your head, no matter what happens."

They climbed the stairs and walked down the corridor to Stella Kenwood's apartment. Mason knocked on the door. Stella Kenwood opened it, peered at him with a white, anxious face, blinked her faded, watery eyes, and said in a thin, expressionless voice, "Oh, it's you."

Mason nodded.

"Come in," she said.

"My secretary, Miss Street."

"Yes, I saw her in court today. What does it mean, Mr. Mason? Aren't they going to take any evidence against Julia?"

Mason said, "Sit down, Mrs. Kenwood. I want to ask you some questions."

"Yes," she said tonelessly, "what?"

Mason said, "Your daughter has been in an automobile accident. I want you to prepare yourself for a shock."

Her mouth sagged open. Her eyes grew wide.

"My daughter?" she asked.

"Yes."

"But I haven't any daughter… she's dead. She died two years ago."

Mason shook his head and said, "I'm sorry, but it all came out. She's dying and she wants you to come to her. She made a complete confession."

The woman sat perfectly still, staring at Mason with her tired eyes, her white face apathetic and hopeless. Finally she said in a tired voice, "I knew something like this would happen. Where is she?"

"Get your hat," Mason said, "we'll go to her. How long had you been planning on the substitution, Stella?"

"I don't know," she said in that same lifeless voice, "ever since Julia told me about her daughter, I guess. I realized what a chance there'd be for some girl."

"So you got in touch with Mr. Sacks?"

"Yes. He was a detective in Salt Lake."

"And he worked through Jaxon Eaves here?"

"That's right. Tell me, how did the accident happen?"

"A crash at a crossing," Mason said. "Come on, we'll have to hurry to get there in time."

The woman buttoned a faded blue coat with threadbare elbows about her thin frame. Mason said to Della Street, "Get District Attorney Burger on the line and tell him to meet me in the reception room of the Good Samaritan Hospital. Read him this conversation over the telephone. Tell him to burn up the road getting there."

Stella Kenwood said, "He won't try to make things hard for my daughter now, will he? If it's the end, he won't trouble her with a lot of questions, will he?"

"I don't think so," Mason said. "Come on, let's go."

He left Della Street in the apartment while he escorted Stella Kenwood down the stairs and into his car. He raced the car into speed, said to Stella Kenwood, "I'm afraid you'll have to make a complete statement to the district attorney in order to get him to let you be with her at the last."

"There's no hope?" she asked.

"None whatever," Mason told her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I tried to do what was best, but somehow I knew it was going to work out all wrong, and then when it looked as though we were going to be exposed…"

Mason roared the car into speed.

"Yes?" he prompted. "When it looked as though you were going to be exposed, then what?"

She took a handkerchief from her purse, sobbed into it quietly, nor would she answer any more questions.

Mason looked at his wristwatch from time to time, drove his car frantically through traffic. He skidded to a stop in front of the Good Samaritan Hospital, helped Stella Kenwood from the car. They walked up the stairs through an entrance door and into a reception room. Hamilton Burger, his face wearing a puzzled frown, arose to meet them. A man with a shorthand notebook open in front of him sat at a table. He did not look up as they entered.

Perry Mason said, "Stella, you know the district attorney?"

"Yes, he questioned me the day they took Julia to jail."

Mason turned to the district attorney. "Burger," he said, "this is the end. Stella Kenwood's daughter is dying. We want to get all of the preliminaries over with as soon as possible so Stella can be with her daughter. Perhaps I can save time if I give you the highlights of the story as her daughter told it to me. Then Stella can confirm it and you can let her go in to the bedside.

"Stella Kenwood had a daughter about the same age as Julia Branner's daughter. Julia Branner had an apartment with Stella in Salt Lake and told Stella her history. Stella realized what a wonderful chance there'd be to get her daughter a home with a millionaire if she could convince Brownley that her daughter was his granddaughter. She talked with Peter Sacks, who was a private detective in Salt Lake. He got in touch with Jaxon Eaves. The less said about their methods, the better, but because Stella had secured all of the facts and all of the little incidental details from Julia, she managed to make a build-up which completely fooled Brownley. And so Stella Kenwood's daughter became Janice Brownley, and Julia knew nothing whatever about it. As Janice Brownley, the Kenwood girl won Brownley's confidence, became a favorite, was in line for an enormous inheritance.

"Then she went to Sydney, Australia, returned on the Monterey, going, of course, under the name of Janice Brownley, granddaughter of Renwold C. Brownley. Bishop William Mallory was a passenger on that boat, and Bishop Mallory hadn't forgotten. He asked questions, and, in a panic, the girl realized that her answers were inadequate and that Mallory suspected the truth. She wirelessed her mother, and her mother appealed to Sacks, who was now living in Los Angeles, where he could protect his interests.

"Stella was anxious to keep Julia from finding out about it. You see, they'd persuaded Renwold Brownley that it would be very poor business to permit any publicity when the girl came to live with them, so it was all handled very quietly. Sacks, of course, was frightened because he thought the bishop might go directly to Brownley.

"But the bishop did a little wirelessing on his own account, definitely ascertained that the girl he had met on the boat was an impostor and then wired Julia Branner to meet him in Los Angeles, and, in Los Angeles, Bishop Mallory also found Janice Seaton, the real grandchild. From a letter received from an attorney who was probating the estate of the last of Janice's adopted parents, Bishop Mallory learned there was no longer any need to keep the pledge of secrecy he had given when the girl was adopted. Furthermore, the bishop received evidence indicating to him that when Seaton lay dying, realizing his own financial affairs had become so hopelessly involved he couldn't leave the girl any substantial amount of property, he had tried to get a message to Bishop Mallory asking the bishop to disclose the girl's real identity. Seaton was too far gone to make his message clear to those who were listening; but he said enough so the bishop knew what was wanted and decided to act accordingly.

"When Julia showed up, Stella was frantic. She got in touch with Sacks. Sacks realized he had to get the real granddaughter out of the way if he could.

"This is right, is it, Mrs. Kenwood?"

She nodded her head and said in a low voice, "Yes, that's right as far as I know. You know more about the bishop than I do. But the rest of it's right. Go ahead, let's get it over with."

Mason said, "They were frantic. Sacks was willing to go to any lengths, even murder, and then Julia threw Stella into a panic by announcing she was writing a note to get Brownley to meet her down at the harbor, where she was going to show him his real granddaughter. You see, Janice Seaton had grown to look very much like her father. Julia had seen her that afternoon, and felt that if Brownley could see her he'd recognized the family resemblance right away. She knew she had one sure way of luring Brownley to a rendezvous with her, and that was Oscar Brownley's watch, the one Renwold had given him. Renwold wanted that watch very, very badly.

"Stella knew that would be the end of everything. The conspiracy would be discovered. She didn't care for herself, but it would mean jail for her daughter. She was desperate, so she slipped the gun from Julia's purse. She told Julia to take her Chevrolet and she borrowed or rented another Chevrolet. Julia was wearing a white rain coat. Stella dressed herself in a white rain coat. She raced down to the beach and actually beat Julia there, but her plan almost went astray when Julia showed up before Brownley. In fact, Julia was the one who first climbed on the running board of Brownley's car. That's when Julia left the fingerprint on the window of the coupe. But Stella hadn't given up hope. Julia had intended to have Brownley drive slowly around a bit so that she could see he wasn't followed. Stella knew that, and she decided to take a chance. She kept hidden while Brownley drove in a big loop around a couple of the streets, then ran out from the shadows and beckoned to Brownley. Brownley naturally stopped the car. Stella jumped to the running board, fired five shots from Julia's automatic, dropped it inside the car, raced for her machine and drove away.

"In the meantime, Julia, as soon as she heard the shots, had run to her own car; but she didn't get it started for a few minutes. Stella beat Julia home, undressed, and waited for her. Julia was so excited she didn't go directly back to the apartment, but drove around for a while, calming her nerves."

Mason turned to Stella Kenwood and said, "That's right, Stella, isn't it?"

"Yes," she said, "that's right."

"And that key Sacks had," Mason said, "was the key to the apartment, all right, but Stella had given it to him instead of Julia. That's right, isn't it, Stella?"

"That's right," she said, "but my daughter doesn't know anything about my shooting Brownley. No one knows anything about that. I would have told Pete Sacks what I intended to do, if I could have got him on the telephone, but I couldn't get him. When I knew what Julia intended to do, I just couldn't see my daughter go to jail. I didn't intend to frame the crime on Julia – not at first. I just wanted a gun and I didn't have one, so I took the one out of Julia's purse. But how could my daughter have confessed all this to you, Mr. Mason, when she didn't know it herself?"

Mason said, "I'm sorry, Stella. I had to trap you into a confession."

"How much of this did my daughter tell you?"

"None of it."

"Then she isn't… isn't?…"

Mason shook his head and said, "No, Stella, she isn't hurt. I had to do it this way in order to right a wrong. It was the only way I could think of."

Stella Kenwood slumped wearily in her chair, then started to cry. "It's a judgment," she said. "I guess I couldn't have gone through with it anyway. I wish you gentlemen could see my side of it… life always so hard… I was fighting for my daughter. I didn't care for myself… here was this opportunity going to waste. Julia wouldn't let Brownley have her daughter, and Brownley wanted a granddaughter, so I gave him one… And then the bishop showed up, and Pete Sacks told me we'd all go to jail. I didn't care for myself. It was for my daughter. I'm willing to die. Go ahead and let the law kill me, but please don't be too hard on my girl. She did it because her mother told her to."