The Case of the Sulky Girl (16 page)

"I couldn't get separate trials for them," said Mason. "The court wouldn't allow it."

"Well, you could at least make the attempt," said the detective.

"No," said Mason with a smile, "I rather think I'm satisfied the way things are now. I think we'll try them together."

"Okay," said Drake, "you're the doctor. I'll get the rough shadows at work just as soon as I can."

"Robert Gleason," he told the officer in charge.

"You're Gleason's attorney?" asked the officer.

"Yes."

"You didn't appear for him as his attorney when he first came in."

Perry Mason frowned. "I'm his attorney now," he said. "Do you want to bring him out, or do you want me to go into court and show that the officers have refused to permit me to talk with my client?"

The officer stared at Mason, shrugged his shoulders turned on his heel without a word, and vanished. Five minutes later he opened a door and escorted Mason into the long room.

A table ran the length of this room. Along the middle of the table, stretching to a height of some five feet above it, was a long screen of heavy iron mesh. The prisoners sat on one side of this screen. The attorneys sat on the other. Robert Gleason was seated about half way down the table. He got to his feet, and smiled eagerly as he saw Perry Mason approaching. Perry Mason waited until the officer had moved out of earshot, then dropped into the chair, and looked searchingly across at the man accused of murder. "Keep your voice low when you answer questions, Gleason," said Mason, "and tell me the truth. No matter what it is, don't be afraid to tell me the exact truth."

"Yes sir," said Gleason.

Mason frowned at him.

"Did you make a statement to the District Attorney?" he asked.

Gleason nodded his head.

"A written statement?"

"It was taken down in shorthand by a court reporter, and then written up and given to me to sign."

"Did you sign it?"

"I haven't yet."

"Where is it?"

"It's in my cell. They gave it to me to read. That is, they gave me a copy."

"That's funny," said Mason. "Usually they try to rush you into signing it. They don't let you have a copy."

"I know," said Gleason, "but I didn't fall for that. They tried to rush me into signing it, and I told them I was going to think it over."

"It won't do you much good," the lawyer told him, wearily, "if you talked in front of a court reporter, he took down everything you said, and he can testify to the conversation from his notes."

"That's what the District Attorney's office told me," said Gleason. "But I'm not signing, just the same."

"Why not?"

"Because," said Gleason, in a low voice, "I think that I'll repudiate what I said."

"You can't do it," the lawyer told him. "Why the devil did you have to shoot off your mouth?"

"I can do it the way I intend to," Gleason told him.

"Can do what?"

"Repudiate the confession."

"All right, show me," said the lawyer.

"I intend to take the entire responsibility for the murder," Gleason told him.

Perry Mason stared at the man through the coarse screen of the partition.

"Did you commit the murder?" he asked.

Gleason bit his lips, turned his head so that his eyes were averted from those of the attorney.

"Come on," said Perry Mason. "Come through, and come clean. Look up at me and answer that question. Did you commit the murder?"

Rob Gleason shifted uncomfortably in the chair.

"I'd rather not answer that question just yet," he said.

"You've got to answer it," Perry Mason told him.

Gleason wet his lips with the tip of a nervous tongue, then leaned forward so that his face was almost against the coarse iron screen.

"Can I ask you some questions before I answer that?" he inquired.

"Yes," Mason said, "you can ask me all the questions you want, but you've got to come clean on that before I leave here. If I'm going to act as your attorney, I've got to know what happened."

"The District Attorney's office told me that Frances had been caught with some of the money that Mr. Norton had in his possession when he was killed."

"Don't believe everything the District Attorney's office tells you," Mason answered.

"Yes I know. But the point is, did she have that money?"

"I'll answer that question by asking you another," said Perry Mason. "Did Mrs. Mayfield make any statement to the District Attorney about having money in her possession, that she had received from Frances Celane?"

"I don't know," said Gleason.

Perry Mason chose his words carefully. "If," he said, "the District Attorney's office has any proof of Frances Celane having any of that money, it came through Mrs. Mayfield. In other words, they found Mrs. Mayfield with the money, and she passed the buck to Frances Celane. Now, if that happened, there's just as much reason to believe that Mrs. Mayfield was in the room at the time of the murder, and took the money from the body of the dead man, as to believe that Frances Celane gave it to her."

"Are they sure that there was a woman in the room at the time of the murder?" Gleason inquired.

"Don Graves says there was."

"He didn't say that the first night."

"We can't prove what he said the first night because the police have torn up the notes of the statement he made."

"He says now that there was a woman there?"

"Yes, he says there was a woman. I think he's going to say it was a woman who wore a pink negligee."

"Did he see her plainly enough to identify her?"

"He saw her shoulder and arm, and part of her head – probably the back of her head."

"Then Mrs. Mayfield is trying to pin this crime on Fran?" asked Rob Gleason.

"I'm not saying that," said Mason. "I'm simply giving you the facts as I know them. If the District Attorney's office has proof of any money, that's where they got it."

"How much chance do you stand of getting Fran off?" asked Gleason.

"One never knows what a jury is going to do. She's young and attractive. If she keeps her temper and doesn't make any damaging admissions, I stand a pretty good chance."

Gleason stared through the screen at the lawyer for a few moments, and then said: "All right, I'm not attractive. I haven't got any of the things in my favor that Frances has. How much chance do you stand of getting me off?"

"It depends on the kind of a break I can get, and on what you've told the District Attorney," said Mason. "Now, I'm going to tell you what I want you to do. You go back to your cell and get some paper. Say that you want to write out what happened, in your own handwriting. Take that paper and scribble a lot of meaningless stuff on a few pages of it, and then tear it up. Let them believe that you used up all the paper, but take the rest of the paper and write out a copy of the statement that the District Attorney has given you to sign. In that way, I'll know exactly what you said, and what you didn't say."

Rob Gleason swallowed twice painfully.

"If," he said, "you don't get the breaks, they may convict Fran?"

"Of course, she's charged with first degree murder, and there's some circumstances in the case that don't look so good."

"Would they hang her?"

"Probably not. She'd probably get life. They don't hang women, as a rule."

"Do you know what it would mean to a girl of her fire and temperament to be shut up in a penitentiary for the rest of her life?" asked Gleason.

Perry Mason shook his head impatiently.

"Of course I know," he said. "Let's not start worrying about that now. Let's get down to facts. Tell me, did you, or did you not, murder Edward Norton?"

Gleason took a deep breath.

"If," he said, "the case commences to look hopeless for Fran, I'm going to confess."

"Confess to what?" asked Mason.

"Confess to the murder of Edward Norton; confess that I married Frances Celane for her money; that I didn't care very much about her. I liked her well enough, but I wasn't crazy about her. She had a great big bunch of money, and was a good catch. I wanted the money bad enough to marry her, and I married her. Then I found out that because she had married, her uncle had the right to cut her off with almost nothing. Her uncle didn't know about the marriage until the night he was killed. He found it out then. He was going to exercise the discretion given to him under the trust, and turn everything over to the charitable institutions, leaving Fran with just a lousy thousand or two. I went in and argued with him. He wouldn't listen to reason. Fran went in and argued with him, and that didn't do any good. Then Crinston came, and he had an appointment with Crinston, so we had to let our matter go. Fran and I went back down to her room. We sat and talked things over. Mrs. Mayfield came in, and was furious. She'd been blackmailing Fran, threatening to tell Mr. Norton about the marriage, unless she got a bunch of jack. Edward Norton had found out about the marriage, and that had killed the goose that laid Mrs. Mayfield's golden eggs.

"I heard Crinston drive away. He took Don Graves with him. I went out to have a last word with Mr. Norton. I went up to his study, and on the stairs I ran into Mrs. Mayfield. She wore a pink negligee, and she was still weeping about the money that she'd lost. I told her if she'd keep her head, we could have lots of money. She wanted to know what I meant, and I told her I was going to give Norton one more chance to come through. If he didn't take it, I was going to smash his head for him before he had a chance to give Frances Celane's money to charity. She went with me up the stairs and into his study. I gave Edward Norton his ultimatum. I told him that if he didn't give Frances her money, he was going to be sorry. He told me that he was not going to give her a cent; that he was going to turn it all over to charity, and then I cracked him on the head. I went through his pockets, and he had a big bunch of dough in his pockets. I took some, and Mrs. Mayfield took some. We were talking about how we were going to make the murder look as though burglars had done it. Mrs. Mayfield said we could pry up a window and leave some footprints outside in the soft loam. I wanted to plant it on the chauffeur because I knew he was drunk. While we were talking it over, we saw the lights of an automobile coming down the hill, and I figured it must be Crinston coming back. Mrs. Mayfield ran down and fixed the window so it looked as though burglars had come in, and I ran down and planted a stick and a couple of the thousand dollar bills in Devoe's room. Then I jumped in my car and beat it."

Perry Mason looked at the young man thoughtfully. "What did you do with the money that you had?" he asked.

"I buried it," said Rob Gleason, "where it will never be found."

Perry Mason drummed with the tips of his fingers on the table. "So help you God," he asked, "is that what happened?"

Gleason nodded his head.

"That's in confidence," he said. "I'm going to beat the rap if I can. If I can't, I'm going to come clean so that Frances Celane won't have to take the jolt."

"Did you," asked Perry Mason, "take out the Buick automobile on the night of the murder? Did you use it at all?"

"No."

Perry Mason pushed back the chair.

"All right," he said. "Now I'm going to tell you something. If you ever spill that story, you're going to get Frances Celane sent up for life, if you don't get her hung. Probably you'll get her hung."

Rob Gleason's eyes grew wide.

"What ever in the world do you mean?" he asked.

"Simply," said Perry Mason, "that nobody will believe the story the way you tell it. They'll believe just half of it. They'll believe that you committed the murder all right, but they'll figure that it wasn't Mrs. Mayfield that was with you. They'll figure that it was Fran Celane, and that you're trying to protect her by dragging Mrs. Mayfield into it."

Gleason was on his feet, his face white, his eyes wide.

"Good God!" he said. "Can't I save Frances by telling the truth?"

"Not that kind of truth," said Perry Mason. "Now go back to your cell and get me a copy of that statement the District Attorney wants you to sign. In the meantime, keep your head and don't tell anybody anything."

"Not even the truth, the way I told it to you?" asked Gleason.

"The truth is the last thing in the world you want to tell," said Perry Mason, "the way you're situated. Because nobody's going to believe you if you do tell the truth, and you're a rotten liar."

He turned on his heel and walked away from the screen meshed table, without a single backward glance. The officer opened the locked door, and let him out of the visiting room.

He sat at the side of Perry Mason and stared surreptitiously at the crowded courtroom, at the nine men and three women who were in the jury box, being examined as to their qualifications as jurors. He strove to give the impression of being thoroughly at home, but his manner betrayed his nervousness.

Perry Mason sat at the counsel table, leaning back in the swivel chair, his left thumb hooked in the armhole of his vest, his right hand toying with a watch chain. His face was a cold mask of rugged patience. Nothing about the man gave any indication of the terrific strain under which he labored.

Behind him sat the two defendants: Frances Celane in a close fitting costume of black, with a dash of white and a touch of red, her head held very erect, her eyes calm and a trifle defiant.

Robert Gleason was nervous, with the nervousness of an athletic man who finds himself fighting for his life under circumstances that necessitate physical passivity. His eyes smouldered with the sullen fires of suppressed emotions. His head jerked from time to time as he turned to face the various speakers in the drama which so intimately concerned him.

The courtroom was filled with that peculiar atmosphere which permeates a crowded room where spectators are in a state of emotional unrest.

Claude Drumm was acting as the trial deputy for the state, but there was a rumor that the District Attorney himself would come into the case as soon as the jury had been selected, and the routine evidence disposed of.

Drumm had been on his feet much of the time in his examination of the jurors. He was tall, well-tailored and self-contained, yet forcefully aggressive, without displaying too much force. His manner held the easy assurance of a professional who is fully at home and who is driving steadily toward a predetermined goal which he is assured of reaching.

Judge Markham, beneath the cloak of his austere judicial dignity, held himself with wary watchfulness. Perry Mason had the reputation of being able to "stampede," every case he tried, and Judge Markham was determined that while the trial would be conducted with impartiality, it would be conducted with a proper regard for the dignity of law and order; that there would be no errors in the record, no opportunities for the dramatic manipulation of emotions which so frequently turned trials in which Perry Mason participated into spectacular debacles for the prosecution, crashing across the front pages of newspapers in glaring headlines.

"The peremptory," said Judge Markham sternly, "is with the people."

Claude Drumm dropped back to his chair and engaged in a whispered consultation with his assistant. He interrupted, to glance up at the court.

"If I may have a moment's indulgence, Your Honor."

"Very well," said the judge.

Everly looked at Perry Mason inquiringly, and caught a glint in the lawyer's eyes.

Mason leaned forward and whispered:

"Drumm wants to get number three off of the jury, but he thinks we have got to get off jurors nine and eleven. We've got twice as many peremptory challenges as he has, so he's wondering if he dares to pass his peremptory and hold it in reserve until he sees what the jury looks like later on."

"Does he dare to do it?" asked Everly.

"That," said Perry Mason, "remains to be seen."

There was a moment of tense silence, then Drumm got to his feet and bowed to the court.

"The people," he said, "pass their peremptory."

Judge Markham looked down at Perry Mason, and his lips moved to form the words: "The peremptory is with the defendants."

But the words were never uttered, for Perry Mason, turning toward the jury with a casual glance of appraisal, as though the entire matter had just claimed his attention, said, in a clear voice: "Your Honor, this jury seems entirely satisfactory to the defendants. We waive our peremptory challenge."

Claude Drumm was caught by surprise. Eyes of those who were wise in courtroom technique, saw the quick intake of his breath as he started unconsciously to register a protest which his consciousness knew would be futile.

Judge Markham's voice rang out through the crowded courtroom:

"Let the jurors stand and be sworn to try the case."

Claude Drumm made an opening statement to the jury which was remarkable for its brevity.

"Gentlemen," he said, "we expect to show that, at the exact minute of eleven thirty-two on the twenty-third day of October of this year, Edward Norton met his death; that he was murdered by a blow on the head, struck with a club held in the hand of the defendant, Robert Gleason; that at the time of the murder, there was present as an active accomplice, the defendant, Frances Celane; that at the time of the murder, Edward Norton had a large sum of money on his person in the form of one thousand dollar bills.

"We expect to show that at the hour of eleven fourteen on that date, Edward Norton telephoned to the police station, reporting the theft of one of his automobiles, a Buick sedan; that Frances Celane was, in fact, present in the study of Edward Norton at the hour of eleven thirty-two P.M., on the date of the murder, but that, for the purpose of trying to establish an alibi, and knowing that Edward Norton had reported this Buick sedan as having been stolen at the hour of eleven fourteen, the said defendant, Frances Celane, then and there stated falsely and willfully that she had been distant from the scene of the crime, in the said Buick automobile, from the hour of approximately ten forty-five until approximately twelve fifteen.

"We expect to show that immediately following the commission of the crime, the defendants left the bloody club with which the crime had been committed, and two of the one thousand dollar bills which had been stolen from the body of the deceased, in the bedroom of one Pete Devoe, who was then and there asleep and in an intoxicated condition; that this was done for the purpose of directing suspicion to the said Pete Devoe.

"We will also show that the defendants forced open a window and made footprints in the soil beneath the window, in an attempt to lead the police to believe burglars had entered the house.

"We also expect to show that immediately thereafter the defendant Robert Gleason fled from the scene of the crime; that both defendants gave false and contradictory accounts as to their whereabouts; that the club with which Edward Norton was struck down was a walking stick belonging to the defendant, Robert Gleason.

"We expect to show that an eye-witness actually saw the murder committed, and will identify Robert Gleason as the man who struck the blow, and will identify Frances Celane as the young woman who, attired in a pink dress or negligee, aided and abetted the commission of the crime."

Claude Drumm stood staring at the jurors for a moment, then sat down. Judge Markham looked inquiringly at Perry Mason.

"If the court please," said Perry Mason, "we will withhold our opening statement until the time we start to present our case."

"Very well," said Judge Markham. "You may proceed, Mr. Drumm."

Claude Drumm started building up the case with that calm, deadly efficiency for which he was noted. No detail was too small to claim his attention; no link in the chain of evidence was to be overlooked.

The first witness was a surveyor who had mapped and photographed the premises. He introduced diagrams drawn to scale, showing the room in which the body had been found, the furniture in the room, the location of the windows. Then he produced a photograph of the room, other photographs of various corners of the room. Each of these photographs was identified by locating it on the diagram of the room. Then followed photographs of the house, and finally, a map showing the house with reference to the winding road which climbed up to the boulevard. Following that came a contour map showing the various elevations of the windows in the house, with reference to the road along which the automobile had traveled.

"So that," said Drumm, suavely, indicating a place on the diagram where a curve in the road was shown, "it would be perfectly possible for a person traveling along this section of the road which I am indicating, in an automobile, to glance back and see into the room marked number one on the map, People's Exhibit A?"

Before the surveyor could answer the question, Perry Mason got to his feet and raised his voice in protest:

"Just a moment, Your Honor," he said. "That question is leading. It also calls for a conclusion of the witness. It calls for a conclusion which the jury is to draw in this case. It is one of the points upon which we intend to convince this jury of the improbability of the People's case. Whether or not…"

The gavel of the judge banged down upon his desk.

"The objection," he said, "is sustained. The argument, Mr. Mason, is unnecessary."

Mason dropped back to his chair.

With the manner of one who has scored a victory even in defeat, Drumm bowed smilingly to Mason.

"Counselor," he said, "you may inquire on cross-examination."

With the eyes of everyone in the courtroom riveted upon him, Perry Mason, fully aware of the dramatic advantage of the moment, and the interest which would attend upon his first question, strode to the map which had been fastened to the blackboard with thumb tacks, placed the index finger of his right hand upon the curve in the line which indicated the roadway from the house to the boulevard, placed the index finger of his left hand upon the location of the study in the house, and said, in a voice which rang with challenge: "Exactly how far is it from the point which I am indicating with my right forefinger, and which is the curve in this roadway, to the point which I am indicating with my left finger, and which is the point where the body was found?"

"If," said the witness in level tones, "your right forefinger is exactly at the point where the curve swings farthest south, and your left forefinger is at a point representing the exact point where the body was found, the distance is exactly two hundred and seventy-two feet, three and one-half inches."

Perry Mason turned, his face showing surprise.

"Two hundred and seventy-two feet, three and one-half inches?" he exclaimed incredulously.

"Yes," said the witness.

Mason dropped his hands to his sides with a gesture of finality.

"That," he said, "is all. I have no further questions to ask of this witness."

Judge Markham looked at the clock, and an anticipatory rustle of motion stirred the courtroom, as dead leaves on a tree are stirred by the first current of an advancing breeze.

"It has," said the judge, "approached the hour of adjournment. The court will adjourn until ten o'clock tomorrow morning, and during that time, the jury will remember the admonition of the court not to converse amongst themselves about this case, nor permit others to converse with them or in their presence about it."

The gavel banged on the desk.

Perry Mason smiled craftily, and remarked to his assistant: "Drumm should have carried on the examination until the hour for adjournment. Giving me the opportunity to ask that one question, will make the newspapers feature it to-morrow morning."

Everly had his eyes puckered in concentration.

"Two hundred and seventy-two feet is a long distance," he said.

"It won't," Mason assured him grimly, "get any shorter as the case goes on."