“I’ll want her purse. Did you look in it?”
“Only just to be certain it was hers.”
Tragg scraped a match into flame and puffed the end of his cigar into a glowing red circle. “Okay,” he said, “let’s see it.”
She opened a drawer, took out a purse and handed it to Lt. Tragg, who started to open it and look inside, then changed his mind.
Mason said, “I’d like to fix the time element, Miss Harper. Can you tell me exactly when Dawn Manning picked you up?”
“Not the exact minute. I would say it was somewhere between eight-forty and — oh, say a few minutes before nine, right around there sometime.”
“And when you had the accident?”
“It must have been nine o’clock or a few minutes after that.”
“Then Ansley got out of his car and came running over to where Dawn Manning was lying?”
“That’s right.”
“And from that point on you were in his company until... well, suppose you tell us. Until about what time?”
“I would say I was with him there in the grounds until right around nine-twenty, and then he drove me to the Ancordia Apartments.”
“Do you think there’s any chance you’re mistaken about the time — about any of the times?”
“No. That is, my times are approximate only.”
“But you’ve fixed them as best you can?”
“Yes.”
Tragg’s eyes narrowed. “You know, Mason,” he said, “you’re trying to cross-examine this witness. You’re getting her story sewed up as much as possible.”
“I’m assuming she’s telling the truth,” Mason said.
“In that event, somebody else isn’t.”
“I have to make allowances for that also, Lieutenant.”
Tragg said to Loretta Harper, “I suppose you know that you violated the Motor Vehicle Act in not reporting an accident where a person was injured.”
“I don’t think I did,” she said. “I wasn’t driving the car.”
“And,” Tragg went on, “since an assault with a deadly weapon was made on you and you didn’t report that to the police, you concealed a felony.”
“I don’t care to prosecute for private reasons. And I don’t think the law compels me to go into court and file a complaint on which I wouldn’t prosecute.”
Tragg twisted the cigar around in his mouth. “Well,” he said, “you’re going to have to take a ride up to the D.A.’s office and talk things over a bit. Mason, this is where you came in.”
Mason grinned. “You mean this is where I go out.”
“The same thing,” Tragg said.
Mason shook hands with him. “Thanks, Lieutenant.”
“Don’t mention it,” Tragg said. And then added with a grin, “I’m sure I won’t!”
Chapter Eight
Mason called Beatrice Cornell’s number. “Perry Mason talking,” he said when he heard her voice on the line. “How well do you know Dawn Manning?”
“Not too well.”
“Would she lie?”
“About what?”
“About a murder.”
“You mean if she were involved?”
“That’s right.”
“Sure, she’d lie,” Beatrice Cornell said. “Who wouldn’t?”
“How is she otherwise?”
“Nice.”
“What do you mean by nice?”
“I mean nice.”
“Boy friends?”
“What the hell, she’s normal.”
“Do you keep records of your calls there?”
“Yes.”
“What time was it when someone rang your doorbell and then didn’t go on in?”
“I can’t tell you that. I don’t keep records of things like that, but I think it was about ten.”
“Do you remember when I called you and asked you about an automobile accident and you said you hadn’t been in one?”
“Of course.”
“Would you have a record of the time of that call?”
“Sure,” she said. “I record all telephone conversations.”
“And the time?”
“And the time,” she said. “I have a tape recorder and whenever the phone rings, and before I answer it, I pick up a time clock stamp and stamp that on the piece of paper. Then I mark down the figure which shows on the footage indicator of the tape recorder, switch on the tape recorder and then answer the telephone.”
“And what about this particular call that I placed?”
“I simply marked that personal.”
“But the conversation would be saved?”
“Yes.”
“On the tape recorder?”
“That’s right.”
“And the time?”
She said, “While I’ve been talking with you, Mr. Mason, I’ve been pawing through papers looking for the time sheet. Give me just a minute more and I think I can find it.”
Mason grinned. “How about this conversation? Is it being recorded?”
“It’s being recorded,” she said. “I... Here we are. It was ten-twenty-three when you called, Mr. Mason.”
“Thanks a lot,” Mason told her. “Try and keep that record straight, will you, so you’ll know the time?”
“It’s all straight,” she said, “and this conversation is recorded. I can always refer back to it and tell you the time I gave you.”
“That’s fine,” Mason told her. “Thanks a lot.”
He hung up and called his office.
“Hello, Gertie,” Mason said when the receptionist and switchboard operator answered the phone. “Della isn’t around, is she?”
“No,” she said. “You told her to take the day off because she’d been working late last night.”
“That’s right, I did. She hasn’t shown up?”
“No.”
“Anyone looking for me?” Mason asked.
“Lots of people.”
“Anyone in the office now?”
“Yes.”
“Waiting?”
“That’s right.”
“Anyone who looks official?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Can you tell me who it is?”
“He says his name is Ansley, George Ansley. You left a message for him.”
Mason’s voice showed excitement. “Put him in my private office, Gertie,” he said. “Lock the door of the private office and don’t let anyone in there. Tell him to wait. I’m coming right up.” Leaving his car parked in the parking lot at the Family Kitchen Cafeteria, Mason took a cab direct to his office, went up in the elevator, hurried down the corridor, unlocked the door of his private office and found George Ansley seated in the big, overstuffed chair reading a newspaper.
“Hello, Mr. Mason,” Ansley said. “Gosh, I’m glad you showed up. What’s new?”
“You should ask me!” Mason told him.
Ansley raised his eyebrows. “What’s the matter?”
“Have you been out of circulation all day?” Mason asked.
“Not all day. I checked in about two o’clock this afternoon and... well, I saw the paper.”
“That was the first you’d known about it?” Mason asked.
Ansley nodded.
“Now, look here,” Mason told him, “I want to know exactly what happened at your interview with Borden, everything that was said by either party, and I want to know whether you went back to Borden’s place after you left me.”
Ansley straightened in the chair. “I go back to Borden’s place?” Mason nodded.
“Good heavens! You don’t mean that anyone would think I could have gone back there, and—?”
“Why not?” Mason asked. “The building and contract construction inspectors start picking on you. You get the tip to go and see Meridith Borden. Borden is a crooked politician. He’s smart enough so he doesn’t hold office himself, but acts as go-between.
“It was to Borden’s financial advantage to have you come and see him. Surely you aren’t so naive that the possibility hadn’t occurred to you that Borden was responsible for all of your troubles — putting you in such a position that you’d have to come to him.”