“Very interesting,” Mason said.
“That changes the whole setup. You can probably see it from the D.A.’s viewpoint.”
“Anything else on Hollister’s movements that afternoon?”
“At four-thirty Monday when the housekeeper left the place, Hollister was just about ready to leave. His car was in the driveway. He told her six o’clock was the absolute deadline. We haven’t been able to locate him.”
“What does the housekeeper look like?”
“Not bad. About forty. She says he was playing around with Lucille and that Lucille had nicked him for furniture. Oriental rugs, an antique desk and a lot of other stuff.”
“She evidently doesn’t like Lucille?”
“Definitely not.”
Mason nodded. “She wouldn’t. Which direction was the car headed when it was run off the grade, Lieutenant — upgrade or downgrade?”
“It’s hard to tell from the tracks. There’s a wide place there, then the drop. The tracks are very faint and almost at right angles with the road. But the car must have been driven up from Santa del Barra.
“Someone pulled the usual stunt of locking the car in low gear, easing it off the road over to the edge, then jerking open the hand throttle and jumping from the running board to the ground.”
“Then, of course, you’re looking on all of the steep turns and sharp drops farther up the grade?”
“Up the grade?”
“That’s right. If someone had wanted to dispose of something in the car, and then wanted to dispose of the car, he’d find the place to run the car over the cliff, and he’d naturally dispose of the object after he’d located the place.”
“Then it would be down the grade. The car must have been driven up from Santa del Barra.”
“That’s right. The driver would first spot the place to dispose of the car.”
Tragg thought that over.
“But the heavy object would have to be disposed of while he still had the car.”
Tragg arose hurriedly. “I’d better be going.”
“Well, drop in any time,” Mason said.
Tragg shook hands. “Thanks, I will.”
When he had left the office Mason winked at Della Street over the circling wisp of cigarette smoke.
She said, “You virtually promised him you’d make Sergeant Holcomb wish he hadn’t boasted about that identification, chief.”
“Did you get that impression, Della?”
“Well, in a way, yes.”
“Then Tragg must have got it.”
Della frowned as she studied Mason’s face. “He likes you, doesn’t he? — I mean personally, not officially.”
“He should,” Mason said.
Chapter 24
At noon on Sunday, the ninth, Paul Drake called up Perry Mason on the unlisted telephone at the lawyer s apartment. “News for you, Perry.”
“Okay,” Mason said, stretching himself out luxuriously in the reclining chair, and propping the telephone to his ear, “let’s have it.”
“They’ve discovered Hollister’s body.”
“Where?”
“About a mile and a half up the grade from where Hollister’s car was found.”
“Well, well,” Mason said, “that’s very interesting.”
“And he too had been shot in the head, but with a .45 caliber automatic.”
“Death instantaneous, I suppose?”
“Practically.”
“Where was the body?”
“It had been thrown over a cliff and then someone had gone down, rolled the body against the steep face of the bank and pushed dirt over it, a rather effective but very hasty burial.”
Mason said, “Now get this, Paul. It’s important. Was there anything unusual about that body — its position?”
“Yes. It was wrapped in canvas and trussed up with the knees pulled up across the chest, the head drawn forward, and the shoulders tied to the knees.”
“Anything to show time?”
“Hollister’s smashed wrist watch had stopped at 5:55. The clock on the dash of the car at 6:21. Police think Hollister must have been shot by a hitchhiker who drove the car up a side road, went through Hollister’s pockets and tied him in a bundle so he could be rolled down the cliff. Then twenty-six minutes later got rid of the car. Hollister usually carried a good roll. There wasn’t a dime in the pockets.
“But, of course, the police aren’t at all certain. Because of his connection with Lucille Barton, they’re moving very slowly.”
“In other words, the police are pretty badly confused?”
“Well, they’re starting to clarify the situation. They’re filing a complaint charging Lucille Barton with murder, and they’ll hold a preliminary hearing just as soon as they can rush it through.”
“That’s fine,” Mason said. “How did they happen to find the body, Paul?”
“Well, Lieutenant Tragg evidently doped it out. He felt that Hollister’s car had been ditched by someone who had wanted to conceal the body of the owner, that the car had been taken up the grade from Santa del Barra, then turned around and headed back down. He felt certain the body must have been ditched above the place where the car turned around, so he found a wide place in the road where it was possible to make a turn, then started looking for steep cliffs. Starting from there, he began to look for freshly dug ground and — well, he found it — incidentally he’s taking a lot of kudos for some damn good detective work.”
“I’m glad of that,” Mason said. “He’s certainly entitled to it. Didn’t say anything about how he happened to get that hunch, did he, Paul?”
“No, it was just clever detective work on his part.”
“I see,” Mason said. “And what else did they find other than the body?”
“Nothing. Isn’t that enough?”
“No.”
“What do you mean?”
“If Hollister was starting out on a trip, he’d have had...”
“Oh, you mean baggage?”
“Yes.”
Drake was silent for a few seconds, then said, “It’s a good point, Perry. I don’t think there was any.”
“Well, thanks a lot for calling, Paul. I don’t think they’ll try to arrest anyone else until after Lucille Barton’s preliminary. You should see a lot of action there, Paul.”
“Heaven help us both if I don’t,” Drake said wearily as he hung up the telephone.
Chapter 25
Perry Mason., surveying the crowded courtroom, walked over to engage in a whispered conference with Paul Drake and Della Street.
“Hamilton Burger, the district attorney, is going to take charge of the preliminary personally,” Mason said in a low voice. “That means he’s gunning for me. He...”
The door from the judge’s chambers opened and Judge Osborn walked into the courtroom and took his place on the bench.
“People versus Lucille Barton,” he said. “This is the time fixed for the preliminary hearing. Are you ready, gentlemen?”
Hamilton Burger, big, ponderous, dignified, built like some huge bear, was on his feet, his voice suave, plausible, his manner radiating a synthetic impartiality, which was deadly in its effect on jurors.