The Case of the Fenced-In Woman (6 page)

Mason took one of the cigarettes from the package she handed him, surreptitiously dropping the first cigarette into the side pocket of his coat.

"Thanks," he said.

"I should have put you on your honor to close your eyes," she said. "Now just be patient for a minute. I'm going to let you drive me to the nearest downtown bus stop."

She whirled and, making a feeble and somewhat futile attempt to grab the negligee around her, hurried back to the bedroom.

The lawyer again snapped his lighter into flame. The new cigarette which she had handed him caught instantly and burned slowly. Mason looked in the open purse. The package of cigarettes in the purse seemed to be exactly the same as the package from which he had extracted the damp cigarette. Examining the pack, however, he found each cigarette was perfectly dry.

Puzzled, Mason withdrew the other cigarette from his side pocket, felt it with an exploring thumb and forefinger. That cigarette was definitely water – soaked.

Mason sat in thoughtful silence smoking the cigarette, from time to time watching the smoke eddying up from the smoldering tip.

Before the cigarette was entirely finished, Nadine Palmer, attired in a neat, well – tailored suit, was in the room carrying an overnight bag, her purse and a small suitcase.

"I'll let you do the honors with the suitcase," she said. "Do you have a car here?"

"I have a car."

"Then may I ride with you until I can get a bus?"

"Certainly," Mason said.

"Which way are you going?"

"I'm on my way to see my client, Morley Eden. He's the one who purchased the Loring Carson property and had Carson build the house."

"You're on your way out there now?" she asked, almost, it seemed, in dismay.

"Yes."

"I'll ride part way with you," she said. "I'll get off at the first through bus line we encounter."

"You don't want a cab to come here?"

"I want to leave here with you because I don't want to be traced," she said, "and when the reporters get on the track of a spicy story of this sort they are veritable demons. They can ask the most embarrassing questions."

"I take it," Mason said, "that the registration was not in the name of Mr and Mrs. Norbert Jennings, but was in your own name, at least as far as you're concerned."

"The registrations were okay," she said, "but they were very definitely weekend trips, and just as I told you, Mr. Mason, I'm not a girl, I'm a woman. People have a tendency to draw their own conclusions when they're dealing with a divorcee- and I'm a divorcee. Shall we go?"

Mason picked up the suitcase, led the way to the elevator, then out to his car. He saw Nadine Palmer give a hasty, apprehensive look over her shoulder as he held the car door open. She jumped in with a flash of graceful legs and a dazzling smile.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Mason," she said. "You're a help, a big help-perhaps more of a help than you realize at the moment."

"Well," Mason said somewhat awkwardly, "it occurred to me that Judge Goodwin was thinking entirely of Vivian Carson and I thought that someone should think of you because, after all, you're just as much of an innocent victim as Vivian Carson."

"Not in the judicial mind," she said. "After all, I did permit myself to become interested in Norbert Jennings. I did go on various weekend trips with him."

"Where?" Mason asked.

"All sorts of places. You'll be reading about it in the papers. I'm afraid I was-oh, damn it, 'indiscreet' sounds like such a prissy word. I will put it this way: I was uncareful. I naturally didn't expect that a detective would be following along behind, keeping notes on everything I did."

"Was it so terrible?" Mason asked.

"It could be made to appear that way. After a floor show in Las Vegas Norbert escorted me to my room. We had some drinks there and talked. I guess it was two – thirty in the morning when he left. And, of course, there was this sneaky detective parked around the corner with a notebook and a stopwatch, keeping track of the time-and, of course, drawing his own conclusions."

Mason started the car, drove slowly down the street. "Did you," he asked, "ever know a woman in Las Vegas, a hostess by the name of Genevieve Hyde?"

"Why?" she asked.

"She seems to have been the girl friend of Loring Carson," Mason said. "As such she might be of some importance. Did you know her-ever meet her personally?"

She frowned thoughtfully. "I don't think so. I saw some of the hostesses, of course, and have talked with many of them without knowing their names. I've been to Las Vegas quite frequently."

"With Jennings?"

"I've made several trips with him-I've made other trips. I like Las Vegas. I like the glitter. I like the excitement. I… I'll be frank with you, Mr. Mason. I like to gamble."

"Have you ever been there just by yourself?"

"Never. I always go in a foursome or with perhaps some escort as in the case with Norbert Jennings and-well, gambling is a little expensive for a working girl… If an escort wants to furnish me with chips, I…"

"You say you didn't ask for alimony?" Mason asked, as her voice trailed away. "May I inquire just how you do get along?"

She said hurriedly, "There's a taxicab right over by those apartments, Mr. Mason! If you'll let me out here, please, right here at the corner! I'll take a cab instead of a bus."

She lowered the car window. "Taxi," she called. "Taxi."

Mason eased the car to a stop. The cab driver nodded, opened the door of the cab and hurried over to pick up the baggage from the lawyer's car.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Mason," she said.

She blew him a saucy kiss, then turned to the cab driver.

Behind Mason a car honked its horn and the lawyer moved on into traffic.

Chapter Six

PERRY MASON drove up to the Eden side of the house, noting that half a dozen automobiles were filling every available parking space there. As he rolled smoothly to a stop in the middle of the driveway, a newspaper photographer with a camera and flashgun came running toward the car.

Other photographers, seeing the running cameraman, scurried into activity and soon Mason's car was surrounded with popping flash bulbs.

As Mason opened the car door, a reporter said, "What the hell? We've been out here nearly fifteen minutes! This guy says we can't get in the house until you arrive."

"I'm sorry if you were kept waiting," Mason said.

"You can't keep a newspaper waiting," the man said, "but the city editor wants an interview from you. Come on now, we're in a rush. Let's get the door open and take a look. What the hell is this all about?"

"Have you tried to get in the other side of the house?" Mason asked.

"No one answers the doorbell and the door is locked. We've been around and got photographs of the exterior and all that, but the place is all locked up. I understand Mrs. Carson was a model, and Eden says she parades around in a very abbreviated bathing suit."

"I didn't say any such thing," Eden interrupted indignantly. "I said nothing about her parading around. I said that at one time she was taking a sunbath in an abbreviated bathing suit."

"It's all the same," the reporter said. "Come on, you've got a key to the joint, let's open it up."

Another reporter said, "My city editor wants an interview with Mason. How about telling us what it's all about, Mason?"

The lawyer said, "I'll give you a very brief summary of the facts in the case. I would prefer not to have my photograph taken. As an attorney I'm not courting newspaper publicity and-"

"Phooey," the reporter interrupted. "My editors want an interview and they want photographs. We've got photographs. Now come on, tell us what's it all about."

Mason briefly sketched the background of the litigation.

"And you filed this suit for fraud?" the reporter asked.

"That's right. We've asked for punitive or exemplary damages, as well as actual damages."

"And Carson told Eden that he had the deadwood on his wife, that he had a detective who had traced her to various weekend resorts where she'd been having a torrid affair with some guy. Is that right?"

"As to that," Mason said, "you can get your facts from Morley Eden, or from the pleadings. I prefer not to discuss that phase of the case, and naturally I would prefer not to have it tried in the press but in a courtroom."

"Lawyers have ideas about ethics and all that stuff," the reporter announced, "but newspapers exist for the purpose of getting news. This is a hell of an interesting situation. You may not want to talk about it, but the newspaper is going to make a whale of a yarn out of it. If you give us the facts we'll have them straight. If we have to get them from someone else we may have them garbled. You have any idea when Mrs. Carson is going to be back?"

Mason shook his head. "I didn't know she was away."

"We need a little cheesecake," the reporter said. "A photograph of her in that bikini suit on one side of the barbed – wire fence, and Morley Eden on the other, would be a knockout. He says she handed him a cup of coffee early one morning. Maybe we could get her to pose handing a coffee cup through the barbed wire."

"I have nothing to say about Mrs. Carson," Mason said.

"Your client would go for it if we could fix it up?" the reporter asked.

Mason caught Eden's eye. "My client would probably go for it," he said.

"This is going to make a helluva story," one of the reporters said. "Any objection to us going in now and going through the place?"

"Only one side of it," Mason said. "Morley Eden's side."

"Well, it is his house. He had it built. Does he have keys to the other side?"

"He has keys to the other side, but there's a restraining order. He can't set so much as a foot on the property. He can't even put his hand or arm through the barbed – wire fence unless he has permission from the owner of the property on that side."

The reporter said, "Damn it, I'll bet my editor is going to make us wait here until we get cheesecake to go with the art work."

He turned to Morley Eden. "Haven't you any idea where Mrs. Carson is? Didn't you see her go out?"

"I got here just about the same time you did," Eden said. "If you remember, you drove in right behind me."

"And you haven't as yet been in the house?" Mason asked.

Eden shook his head. "Miss Street told me not to open up until you got here. I was afraid to unlock the door for fear they would push in past me. These fellows are in a hurry and they want a story."

"We're not in such a big hurry we aren't going to get the whole story," the reporter said. "Let's go inside. We want a picture of you standing on the springboard of the swimming pool in a bathing suit but afraid to dive for fear you'll come up on the other side of that barbed – wire fence. Haven't you any idea where Mrs. Carson is?"

Eden shook his head, took a key ring from his pocket and unlatched the front door.

"But you do have a key to the other side of the house?" the reporter asked.

"I have a key that did fit the side door. I haven't tried it since the restraining order was served on me. I don't know whether the locks were changed or not. I do know they had a locksmith out here so they could get the door open. It may be he changed the locks."

Reporters and photographers moved in a compact group into the reception hallway. "Which way to the swimming pool?"

Eden pointed.

They started hurrying down the steps to the living room, then suddenly the leaders recoiled.

"Hey, what's this?" one of the men said.

"Someone's lying there!" Eden exclaimed.

"Someone's not only lying there," Mason said, "but there's a pool of blood. You boys had better keep back and…"

His words were wasted as reporters and photographers surged forward. Flashlight bulbs filled the room with spasmodic spurts of brilliant illumination.

Mason moved far enough forward so he could see the features of the man lying on the floor, then whirled and raced for a telephone. He found one in the hall.

"Operator," he said, "this is an emergency. Get me police headquarters."

When he had police headquarters he said, "Homicide, please… I want Lieutenant Tragg. Is he in?"

"Who is this talking?"

"Perry Mason."

"He's around some place, Mr. Mason. Just hang on. He… Here he is now. Hold on."

Mason heard the man's voice say, "Lieutenant Tragg, Perry Mason wants to talk with you." Then, after a moment, Tragg's dry voice came over the wire, "Now, Perry; don't tell me you've found a body."

"I haven't," Mason said, "the reporters have and they're trampling all over the place getting photographs."

"What place? What body? What reporters? Where are you talking from?" Tragg asked crisply.

Mason said, "It's a house that was put up by Loring Carson on property selected by Morley Eden. Morley Eden is here now and the man who is sprawled in the living room, and who apparently has been murdered, is Loring Carson. It's a difficult place to find, but my secretary, Della Street, has a map that will show you exactly how to get here and-"

"We've got maps here," Tragg said. "Give me the street and number. If there isn't a number on the street, give me the description from the tax record or the deed. Give me anything and keep those reporters away from that body."

"I stand as much chance keeping reporters away from that body as I would keeping a flock of moths away from a light," Mason said. "Here, I'll let you talk with Morley Eden. He'll tell you how to get here."

Mason nodded to Eden, who had moved up close to the attorney. "You tell him, Eden," Mason said. "It's Lieutenant Tragg of Homicide. I want him to get here before all the clues have been obliterated."

The lawyer handed the phone to Eden and ran back to the living room.

One of the reporters was kneeling beside the body.

"Look at those diamond cuff links," he said. "See what the guy has done. He's put some kind of black stuff over those diamonds so they don't glisten, but you can see where some of it came off. That's a diamond underneath all right and… Hey, you fellows, his shirt sleeves are all wet."

Mason bent down beside the reporter. "Homicide is on its way out here," he said. "They'd like to have the scene kept intact."

"Sure they would," the reporter said, "and my newspaper wants the news. Now as I understand it, this guy is Loring Carson. He's the divorced husband of the woman living on the other side of the fence; he's the man who built the house, the fellow who sold the lots to Morley Eden?"

"That's right."

"What's he doing here?"

"I don't know," Mason said. "How wet are the shirt sleeves?"

"They're good and wet, but the sleeves on the coat aren't wet."

"How did he die?" Mason asked. "I noticed blood. Was there a shot or-"

"Look around on this side and you can see how he died," the reporter said. "There's a wooden – handled butcher knife sticking into his back, and I mean it's sticking all the way in. Just the handle protrudes."

"Both shirt sleeves are wet?" Mason asked.

"That's right, both shirt sleeves, but the sleeves of the coat aren't wet."

"How high are the sleeves wet?"

"To the elbows. I'm not going to take the coat off or disturb the position of the body in any way. You can feel the wet cuffs and shirt sleeves."

Abruptly one of the newspaper reporters broke away from the group and sprinted for the hall.

As though his departure had been a signal which triggered action, there was a general scampering exodus.

One of the men grabbed Morley Eden. "A phone," he demanded. "Where's a phone?"

"There's one in the hall and-"

"That's being used."

"There's one in my bedroom."

"An extension or a main line?"

"A main line."

"Lead me to it."

"Hey, Mac," one of the others said, "you can't hog it. You can get first call but that's all."

"The hell I can't hog it. I'll stay on the line until I've got my story in and it's quite a story."

"Where's the next nearest phone?" one of the men asked Mason.

The lawyer shook his head. "There's a service station up where this road leaves the main highway. I don't know of any other place."

A few moments later the lawyer was left alone in the room with the sprawled figure of Loring Carson.

Mason surveyed the dead man, then moved slowly along the room.

Near the body, and at a point almost directly under the barbed – wire fence, the glint of reflected light caught Mason's eye. He bent down to examine the source of the light and found two little pools of water, perhaps no more than three teaspoons of water in each pool, and directly between them the mark of a foot where evidently one of the reporters had been standing in such a way that he caused water from the edge of one of the little pools to spread into a muddy smear.

Hurriedly Mason moved to the door which opened onto the patio and looked across to the swimming pool.

There could be no question that there had been activity around the pool. There was still a puddle in a shaded section of the tiles on Morley Eden's side, and on the sunny side at the shallow end there were very definite indications of recent moisture.

Mason turned and hurried back into the house.

"Morley," he called. "Oh, Morley."

They met in the hall, Morley Eden emerging from the direction of the bedrooms.

"Any more phones in this house?" Mason asked.

"Not on this side. There's one in the other side."

"A main line?"