The Case of the Troubled Trustee (10 page)

"How do you know?"

"He went into a telephone booth and called someone. One of Drake's men was shadowing him. He put a wire recorder on the outside of the telephone booth and walked away. It's a very sensitive recorder, compact but highly efficient. After Dutton drove away, Drake's man came back and picked up the recorder, ran it back, found out what the conversation was about and went out to the Barclay Country Club."

"He didn't follow Dutton out?"

"No, Dutton went through red lights and generally drove like crazy. So, after trying to follow him, Drake's man went back and picked up the recorder, ran it back to the starting point, listened to the conversation, and was able to make out that an appointment had been made at the Barclay Country Club."

"And he drove out there right away?"

"Yes. He went right out there."

"And Dutton's car was out there?"

"That's right. Dutton's car and two or three other cars."

"Was one of them this car that you gave me the license on?" Lt. Tragg asked Drake.

"I don't know as yet, but we will know," Drake said.

The telephone rang-a sharp strident sound in that room of eternal silence.

Tragg strode over to the instrument, picked it up, said, "Yes… speaking."

The officer listened for several seconds; then a slow grin spread over his face. "That does it," he said. "Okay."

Tragg hung up and said, "All right, we've got our corpse identified. His name is Rodger Palmer all right. He was an employee of Templeton Ellis until Ellis died; then he went to work for the Steer Ridge Oil and Refining Company.

"Now then, do any of those activities tie in with what you fellows know?"

Mason chose his words carefully. "Templeton Ellis was the father of Desere Ellis. Kerry Dutton is the trustee of money which was payable to her under her father's will. Some of the stocks, I believe, which were included in the estate at one time were shares of the Steer Ridge Oil and Refining Company."

Tragg turned to Drake. "What's the name of your detective, the one with the wire recorder?"

"Tom Fulton."

"Where is he now?"

"On his way up from Ensenada."

"Where's he going to report when he reaches the city here?"

"To my office."

"I want to see him as soon as he reports," Tragg said, "and I want to be very, very certain that nothing happens to that recording. That is evidence in the case and I want it."

"You'll have it," Mason promised.

"Getting facts out of you two," Tragg said, "is like pulling hen's teeth with a pair of fire tongs, but thank you very much for your co-operation."

"We gave you what we had," Mason said.

"You gave me what you hadto give me," Tragg amended, "but I appreciate it just the same. It's bad business when we can't get a corpse identified."

"But even without the identification, you felt you had a case against Kerry Dutton?"

Tragg grinned and said, "We brought him in for questioning."

Mason said, "They told me down in Mexico that he was under arrest; that there was a warrant out for him, charging first-degree murder."

"Tut, tut," Tragg said.

"You didn't extradite him?"

"We couldn't have extradited him without preferring a charge."

"But he is under arrest?"

"He's been brought in for questioning."

"He's my client," Mason said. "I want to see him."

"If he's charged with anything, you can talk with him. As soon as he's booked, he can call an attorney."

"Where is he now?" Mason asked.

Tragg said, "I'll put it on the line with you, Perry. As far as I know he's between here and there."

"There meaning?"

"Tecate," Lt. Tragg said, grinning. "It was a lot easier for us to pick him up there than it would have been in Tijuana, so when the Mexicans deported him as an undesirable alien, they put him back into the United States at Tecate."

Mason turned to Paul Drake. "Okay, Paul," he said, "let's go to the office. Della should be there by now with your car."

"Better hang around your office," Tragg said. "If Kerry Dutton wants to call you, we'll give him one telephone call."

"One should be enough," Mason said.

Chapter Eleven

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."