The Case of the Baited Hook (19 page)

Della Street slipped a shorthand notebook from her purse. Mason said, "Don't do it, Della. I don't want any of this recorded anywhere… Go ahead, Mrs. Tidings."

She said, "Albert had been trying to effect a reconciliation. I told him that it was impossible. Bob and I had been to a show. We were driving home. We found Albert's car parked down near the circle at the end of the road. It was raining hard. Albert was in the car, slumped down in the seat to one side of the steering wheel. He had been shot and was unconscious. We stopped our car. Bob and I got out in the rain and tried to see how seriously Albert was injured. There was still a faint pulse. He had been shot in the chest. We realized that we couldn't do anything in the space there was inside the car. I told Bob he'd have to help me get Albert into the house, and then I'd telephone for a doctor and the police.

"Together, we got him out of the car and half carried, half dragged him into the house. We put him on the bed. I ran to the telephone, and was just on the point of putting through the call when Bob called to me. He said, 'It's too late now, Nadine. He's dead.' "I ran back to the bed. There was no question about it. I suppose that in moving him, we'd started the hemorrhage-making it more severe. Anyway, he was dead. There wasn't the faintest pulse."

"What did you do?" Mason asked.

"Bob told me that I couldn't be dragged into it, that he would skip out and keep in hiding, that this would tend to direct suspicion to him, that it would be better for me to put my car in a garage somewhere and take a plane to Reno where I had friends. I could claim that I'd driven up there. By leaving the house door open and unlocked, it would make it appear he'd broken in in my absence.

"We talked things over and decided that here in the house it might be quite a while before the body was discovered, that I might be able to build up an alibi that would hold water. It would help my alibi to have the time of death appear to be as late as possible. There was mud on his shoes, mud stains on the counterpane of the bed. We realized that these might help fix the time of murder. So we took off his shoes and topcoat, pulled the mud – stained counterpane out from under him, and wrapped them up in a bundle."

"What became of them?" Mason asked.

"I don't know. Bob took them. He said he'd take care of them."

"Then what did you do?"

"Then I drove Bob's car, and Bob drove Albert's car. He wanted the car discovered as far away from the house as possible. We parked the car and then telephoned you. Bob said you could protect me if anyone could, but he pointed out that if my alibi in Reno held up, I wouldn't have any need for an attorney, that if they didn't discover Albert's body for four or five days, no one could tell exactly when he'd died, and that if I could get a lucky break, I might be able to keep absolutely out of it.

"We'd managed things very circumspectly. No one in the world had any idea that Bob and I were – were – that we cared for each other."

Mason said, "You overlooked one thing."

"What's that?"

"On the California line near Topaz Lake there's a state quarantine checking station. They check the cars that go through, particularly the cars that come into the state. They keep a record of license numbers… You went to Reno by plane?"

"Yes."

"And stored your car?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"In a small garage where I sometimes keep it."

"Do they know you?"

She smiled and said, "Not as Mrs. Tidings."

"Under another name?"

"Yes."

"Mrs. Peltham?"

"No, not Mrs. Peltham. Mrs. Hushman."

"Who's Mr. Hushman?" Mason asked.

She lowered her eyes, then after a moment said, "Mr. Peltham."

There was the sound of a car being driven rapidly past the house. The tires screamed a protest as the machine was whisked around the turntable. Della Street, getting up from the chair in which she was sitting, crossed over to the window to look out.

"A police car," she said to Mason.

Mason's eyes narrowed. "Mrs. Tidings," he said, "I want you to promise me one thing. Make absolutely no statements. Refuse to answer any questions."

"But surely, Mr. Mason, you don't think…"

From the window, Della Street said, "Sergeant Holcomb and an officer are getting out. They're coming toward the house."

"Will you promise me?" Mason asked.

"Yes."

"Remember, your life depends on keeping that promise."

"But, Mr. Mason, they can't touch me, regardless of how I went to Reno. I certainly was there by five o'clock Tuesday morning, and the testimony of Albert's secretary shows that he was alive and well until noon on Tuesday."

"Did you," Mason asked, as steps sounded on the porch, "know that Mattern was going to do that?"

"No, of course not. It was just a lucky break for us."

Mason said, "Well, there's one thing wrong with that. It isn't the truth. Any time you go to court relying on something that isn't the truth, your whole defense may collapse under you. I don't handle my cases that way. I find out the truth, and build up my defense on a solid foundation… Now then, if you killed him, I want you to tell me."

"I didn't kill him."

The doorbell rang steadily and insistently.

"If you're lying to me," Mason said, "Heaven help you."

"Mr. Mason, I'm telling you the absolute, honest truth. I've lied to you before. Now I'm telling you the truth."

The doorbell continued ringing, and was supplemented by the pounding of imperative knuckles on the panels of the door.

"If you didn't kill him," Mason asked, "who did?"

"Honestly, Mr. Mason, I haven't the faintest idea. It must have been someone over that trust fund. Sometimes I've suspected…"

The door groaned against pressure as the officers pushed their shoulders against it.

Mason said, "All right. Go open the door."

Mrs. Tidings crossed over and opened the door.

Sergeant Holcomb came pushing his way into the room. He looked at Perry Mason and Della Street.

"You two!" he said, in a voice that showed his anger. "What are you doing here?"

"Talking with my client," Mason said.

Sergeant Holcomb said, "You knew I was coming. How did you know it?"

Mason shook his head.

"You're retained by Mrs. Tidings?"

"Yes."

"For what did she retain you?"

"To handle her business."

"What's the nature of that business?"

Mason smiled. "Really, Sergeant, an attorney doesn't discuss the affairs of his client."

Sergeant Holcomb whirled to Mrs. Tidings, "All right, Mrs. Tidings," he said. "We're going to have some answers to some questions here and now. The records show that you didn't drive your car to Reno. During the time that you were in Reno, your car was parked in a garage on East Central Avenue. They know you there as Mrs. Robert Hushman. They have seen your purported husband, Mr. Hushman. The garage men have identified photographs of Robert Peltham as being photographs of Robert Hushman. They've identified photographs of you… Now then, what have you to say to that?"

Mason said, "I can answer that question."

"I don't want you to," Sergeant Holcomb said. "I want an answer from her."

She said, "I have nothing to say."

Mason nodded. "I have instructed her not to answer any questions."

"If she doesn't answer that question," Sergeant Holcomb said, "she's going to headquarters. She's going to have a chat with the D.A. If she doesn't give an explanation of certain facts at that time, she's going to be charged with first – degree murder."

Mason carefully ground out the end of his cigarette. "Put your hat on, Mrs. Tidings," he said.

11

BACK IN THE AUTOMOBILE, DRIVING TOWARD MASON'S office, Della Street said, "Why didn't you tell Mrs. Tidings about the news?"

"You mean about Peltham's coat being found in his automobile?"

"Yes."

Mason said, "I'll let Holcomb do that."

"That will be an awful shock to her. Chief… Shouldn't you have tipped her off that you had reason to believe it was a plant, and not to get all excited about it?"

"No," Mason said.

"Why, Chief?"

Mason said, "I originally intended that little plant to trap Adelle Hastings. I wanted to smoke Peltham out into the open, and I figured that someone would do some talking if it appeared that Peltham was dead."

"That's just the danger," Della Street pointed out. "If Mrs. Tidings thinks Peltham is dead, she might say something."

"Let her say it," Mason said. "If Peltham's hiding behind her skirts, it's time he was pushed out into the open."

"Do you think he is?"

Mason said, "I don't know. Get this, Della. Lots of lawyers get into court with a case founded on false testimony. Sometimes they make it stick. Sometimes they don't. Personally, I've never dared to take the risk. Truth is the most powerful weapon a man can use, and if you practice law the way we do, it's the only weapon powerful enough to use.

"A lawyer doing the things that I have done and relying on anything less powerful than truth would be disbarred in a month. This case bothers me… It baffles me. I can't figure exactly what happened, yet I have to know what happened.

"I think I know now what happened, but I haven't enough truth to forge a sufficiently powerful weapon with which to fight… However, let's quit worrying about it right now. I think things are going to work out. Let's go see Adelle Hastings."

They found Adelle Hastings at her apartment. Beyond a certain hardness of facial expression, there was no sign of emotion.

Mason, studying her with shrewd, appraising eyes, noticed that hard, frozen mask behind which she concealed her feelings.

Mason said, "Miss Street, my secretary. Miss Hastings."

Adelle Hastings acknowledged the introduction with a polite cordiality which gave everything that formality demanded, but went not a step beyond.

"Won't you come in?" she asked.

Mason said, "I hardly expected to find you here. I understood you were working."

"I'm not working today," she said, and offered no other explanation. "Won't you sit down?"

When they were seated, she suddenly turned to Perry Mason. For a moment the mask dropped from her face. Her eyes were glittering. "Why," she asked, "did you send that telegram?"

"Because I wanted the information," Mason said.

She indicated the morning paper. "One might almost have suspected that it was a trap," she said.

"A trap?" Mason asked, as though he failed to follow her reasoning.

She clamped her lips tightly shut.

"Of course," Mason went on, "now that you mention it, it is rather strange that you were able to get the message from a man who had been seriously if not fatally wounded and transmit that message to me."

She blinked her eyes rapidly, fighting back tears.

"Can you," Mason asked, "tell me exactly what time you communicated with Mr. Peltham last night?"

"No."

"The police," Mason pointed out, "will be very much interested. I'm afraid that now, Miss Hastings, you'll have to take us into your confidence."

"Have – have the police found him? The body?"

"I don't know," Mason said. "The police don't always feel particularly friendly toward me. I have to depend on the newspapers for information, just as you do."

The fingers of her left hand sought those of her right, twisted nervously. There was no other evidence of emotion.

Mason said, "Obviously, in the interests of all concerned, it's vital that the body should be found."

She remained motionless and silent.

"The police," Mason went on, "have ways of being very insistent and at times very disagreeable. I take it you understand that."

"Are you," she asked, "threatening me?"

Mason met her eyes. "Yes," he said.

"I don't frighten easily," she said.

Mason took a cigarette case from his pocket. "Mind if I smoke?" he asked.

She bit her lip then, a swift nicker of facial motion which betrayed for a moment her nerve tension, but she smiled graciously and said, "Pardon me for not offering cigarettes, Mr. Mason. I have some here…"

"No, thank you. I prefer my own. Would you care to have one of mine?"

She took a cigarette from his case. Della Street also took one, and Mason held matches to their cigarettes, then settled back comfortably in the chair. "I'm waiting," he said.

"For what?"

"Your complete statement."

"I'm not going to give it to you."

"That," Mason said, "will be most unfortunate."

She opened her mouth, hesitated, and then suddenly burst into a torrent of words. "Must you always dominate everyone with whom you come in contact? Can't you leave anyone a shred of self – respect or self – volition? My first experience with you was so humiliating that I could cry about it, but now… Well, I'm not going to have that first experience repeated."

Mason said, calmly, "Let's face the facts, Miss Hastings. Your dealings with men have been confined to social affairs where women are extended polite courtesy. I deal with problems of life and death. I have neither the time nor the patience for polite courtesies."

"And so?" she asked.

"And so," Mason said, "I am going to learn what contacts you had with Robert Peltham, what your arrangements were, how you received messages from him, and to what extent you were given carte blanche."

"What makes you think he gave me carte blanche?"

"Obviously," Mason said, "one does not get messages from a dead man."

"You think that he is dead then?"

Mason said, "The circumstantial evidence uncovered by the police would point that way."

"He was alive and well at nine o'clock last night."

"You know that?"

"Yes."

"You talked with him?"

"Yes."

"Over the telephone?"

"I don't care to answer that question."

Mason said to Della Street, "I think you'd better call Sergeant Holcomb of the Homicide Squad, Della, and tell him we have a witness who knows something about Robert Peltham."

"You can't do that," Adelle Hastings said.

"Why not?"

"It wouldn't be fair. Mr. Peltham retained you."

"Not to protect him," Mason said, "to protect a woman."

"Who was the woman?"

Mason said, "Mr. Peltham took steps to conceal her identity from me."

She said, "I know now what you were referring to when you talked with me before-intimating that I had something to give you."

"Do you indeed?" Mason said, his voice showing only polite interest.

Della Street said, "Do you wish me to put through that call now, Chief?"

"Please," he said.

Della Street asked Adelle Hastings, in her most polite manner, "May I use the phone?"

"You may not," Miss Hastings said. "I'm not going to have the police brought into this."

Mason said, without looking around, "You'll find a telephone at the drugstore on the corner, Della. You have a dime?"

"Yes."

She arose, put her cigarette in an ash tray, said, "Excuse me, please," and opened the door.

It was not until she had stepped out into the corridor and was about to close the door behind her that Adelle Hastings called, "Stop," in a voice that was harsh with strain.

Della Street stopped.

"Come back," Adelle Hastings said. "I'll tell Mr. Mason what he wishes to know."

Della Street stepped back into the apartment, closed the door, and stood with her back against it, her hands still holding the doorknob. Adelle Hastings tried unsuccessfully to blink back tears. She said to Mason, "Don't you ever give an adversary an opportunity to save her face?"

Mason said, "I'm sorry, Miss Hastings. I deal in results. I care little for methods."

"So I've observed," she said. "I think, Mr. Mason, I could learn to hate you with very little effort."

Mason's tone was detached and impersonal. "Many people hate me."

"I'll tell the truth," Adelle Hastings said wearily. "I'm cornered. I have to. Robert Peltham came to me nearly two weeks ago. He told me he was satisfied there was something wrong with the administration of the trust fund. I didn't believe him at first, but he called my attention to certain significant facts. He said that for personal reasons it was impossible for him to take the initiative. He suggested that I do so."

"You did?"

"I made some preliminary investigation."

"And then?"

"Then," she said, "last Monday night-Tuesday morning to be exact-at about three o'clock in the morning, Mr. Peltham called me on the telephone. He said he had to see me at once on a matter of the greatest importance."

"At that time, you'd taken steps to see that there was to be a complete investigation?"

"Yes."

"And what happened?" Mason asked.

She said, "Peltham told me that Albert Tidings had been murdered, that the circumstances surrounding the killing were such that he would be accused of the murder. He seemed very much upset."

"Did he mention anything to you about a woman?" Mason asked.

"Not directly, but I gathered that he hadn't been alone at the time of the shooting."

"Did he admit to you that he had shot Tidings?"

"No."

"What else?" Mason asked.

She said, "Peltham told me that it might be some time before Tidings' body was discovered, that under no circumstances must I ever admit to a soul that I had any intimation that he was dead, that I must go ahead just as though Tidings were alive, that I must continue to push things, that it was vital to him that it be definitely established there was a shortage in Tidings' accounts before the public knew of the murder."

"Did he say why?"

"No."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him that I'd do it. He'd been fair with me, very truthful, and very candid. I trusted him."

"Did he say anything else?"

"He told me to see that my time could be accounted for-in case that should become necessary."

"In other words, he expected that you might be accused of the murder."

"I don't know. He didn't say. He only told me that, and I didn't ask him why."

"But you knew why, didn't you?"

She hesitated a moment, then faced him defiantly, and said, "Yes."

"That's better," Mason said. "Now then, you arranged to keep in communication with Peltham?"

"Yes."

"How?"

She said, "Mr. Peltham didn't actually leave town. He went to a Hide hotel and registered under the name of Bilback. I kept in communication with him."

"By telephone?"

"Both by telephone and in person."

"What happened last night?"

She said, "I went to see him."

"He was in his room?"

"Yes."

Mason glanced at Della Street. "And did you," he asked, "call him after you read the paper this morning?"