“Why didn’t he?”
“He got in touch with me. I jumped in my car and beat it down to the yacht club. I persuaded Father not to call the police until we knew what sort of shape Milfield was in. The dinghy was tied at the float. I got aboard and dashed out to the yacht.”
“What did you find?”
“Milfield was lying on the floor — dead. He’d evidently hit his head against the threshold of the stateroom when he was knocked down.”
“Why didn’t you notify the police?”
“I couldn’t — because of that thing in Father’s past.”
“What was it?”
“He’d had a fight with a man several years ago in New Orleans. The man fell against an andiron and was killed. There were no witnesses. Father got out of it all right, but now if the police found out about his past record, they’d say that both cases had been deliberate murder; that Father had knocked the man unconscious and then deliberately cracked his head against the andiron, and had done the same thing in this case.”
Mason began pacing the floor.
Carol said, “You know the rest of it. I went back and told Father Milfield was dead. Father almost killed himself that night. Then I worked out this scheme of giving him an alibi. I knew that Lassing and a party were at the Surf and Sun Motel. He’d telephoned late Friday night and again Saturday morning trying to get in touch with Father. So I had Judson Beltin rush me up to the Surf and Sun Motel. We tried to catch Lassing before he’d checked out, but Lassing had gone.”
“So what did you do?”
“So Beltin paid the rent for another day on the apartment, pretending that he was one of Lassing’s party.”
“And then you planted the stuff?”
“Yes.”
“Where was your father?”
“He was keeping under cover at the restaurant where we found him.”
“How did the police know he was there?”
She said, “At an hour which had been very carefully arranged between us, Judson Beltin rang up the police and gave them an anonymous tip. I wanted the police to find him there and then for us to come in at just the right psychological moment and have Father pull the key out of his pocket — well, you know how it happened.”
Mason said, “You almost made it stick.”
“I know.”
“Did you,” Mason asked, “try to tamper with Lassing?”
“Yes. That’s where I made my big mistake. I rang Lassing up and told him as a favor to me to refuse to answer any questions about the people who were with him; to pretend that they were big-shots and if anybody asked if Father had been there to — well, he wasn’t to tell any lies, but was simply to refuse to answer questions in such a way that it would seem that Father and some business associates had been there and Lassing was simply not giving out the information.”
Mason said, “All right, let’s get back to what happened at the yacht. How soon after his trouble with Milfield did you get there?”
“It was an hour or so. I was at a cocktail party.”
“Where was your father?”
“He stayed at the office.”
“What time was it when you got to the yacht club?”
“I don’t know. It was still daylight, I remember that.”
“You jumped in the dinghy and started the outboard motor and went out to the yacht?”
“Yes.”
“And found Milfield’s body?”
“Yes.”
“Where was it lying?”
“Stretched out on the floor. The head was within just an inch or two of that brass-covered threshold.”
“The body wasn’t there when the police found it.”
“I know, the boat tilted when the tide went out and the body rolled over to the starboard side of the cabin.”
“How about that bloody footprint?”
“I didn’t know I’d stepped in the blood until I’d started up the stairs. Then the minute I put my right foot on the tread I felt that peculiar sticky feeling and looked down and saw what had happened.”
“What did you do?”
“I took my shoe off — both shoes, climbed up the companionway in my stocking feet.”
“Then what?”
“After I got in the dinghy I washed my shoes off. I thought I’d got rid of all the blood. It wasn’t until afterwards that I realized that I hadn’t. Some of it had dried between the upper part and the sole. I didn’t know how to get rid of them. So I simply decided to wrap them in a parcel, take them down to the parcel checking counter at the Union Terminal and leave them.”
“And the boat was on an even keel and the body of Fred Milfield hadn’t been moved when you got aboard?”
“That’s right. It was lying right there, the head almost touching the threshold.”
Mason said, “There has to be a way out of this mess. Not on your account. Not on your father’s account, but on Della’s account.”
He continued pacing the floor. Carol watched him silently.
Abruptly Mason whirled, picked up the phone. “They weren’t following Della Street,” he said. “That means they were following you. They’d followed every move you made. There must have been more than one detective. This claim check fell out of your purse. Someone picked it up and handed it to Della. Did you see him do it?”
“I remember seeing a man hand her something.”
“What did he look like?”
“He was around fifty and wore a gray suit. He had a very agreeable smile and...”
“Forget that agreeable smile. That was come-on. What color were his eyes, what color was his hair?”
Carol shook her head dubiously and said, “There was something funny about his nose. It seemed — it seemed rather broad.”
“Broken?”
“It could have been. Yes, that could have been it.”
“How tall?”
“Medium height.”
“Heavy?”
“Well, broad-shouldered.”
Mason dialed Paul Drake’s number on the telephone. “Paul,” he said, “I want all the dope on any police detectives who might be connected with homicide. I want to find out something about a man who may have been a prize fighter in his earlier days, about fifty, broken nose, broad-shouldered, medium height, light complexion, gray suit. Drop everything else and get the dope on him.”
“What’s so important about him?” Drake asked.
“He’s the one who handed Della Street the claim check after Carol dropped it. I’ve got to try to show that he was a police detective and that the police themselves pushed this claim check into Della’s hand. Make a police frame-up out of it. Get me?”
“I get you,” Drake said dubiously, “but that isn’t going to be easy. If you...”
Peremptory knuckles banged on the door of Mason’s private office.
Mason quietly dropped the receiver back into place, walked across the office and pulled the door open.
Lieutenant Tragg and two uniformed officers were standing in the hallway. Tragg’s smile was quietly confident.
“I told you I’d be back for her. Mason,” he said. “And this time it won’t do you any good to have a magistrate waiting. We’re ready to make a charge now.”
Mason turned to Carol Burbank. “Okay, sister,” he said grimly, “this is it.”
She said to Mason, “Please find Father and...”
“Don’t be silly,” Mason said. “The reason Tragg is ready to put a charge against you now is that he’s...”
“Got your father,” Tragg interrupted to finish.
“Exactly,” Mason said.
Chapter 16
Judge Newark presided at the preliminary hearing of Roger Burbank and Carol Burbank, and the crowded courtroom gave evidence that the public realized only too well the underlying significance and far reaching importance of this hearing.