“All right. What did Vera do?”
“She went out to the Monroe residence. She was out there for a couple of hours, then Maureen drove her back to the hotel. Vera Martel got a room and took the first southbound plane.”
“Where to?”
“Back to Los Angeles.”
“Then what? Did she call on anyone we know?”
“I haven’t found out what she did there,” Drake said, “but her air travel card shows she took a plane to Las Vegas the next day.”
“Can your man find out anything about what happened up there?”
“No. Maureen Monroe is in San Francisco or Los Angeles. Her father is someplace in Oregon.”
Mason thought for a moment, then said, “Give me the number of the telephone where this guy is waiting in Redding, Paul. What’s his name?”
“Alan Hancock. I told him to wait at a telephone. I can call him and have him call you there at the booth. It may be easier than for you to try and put through a long-distance call.”
“Okay,” Mason said. “I’ll wait here. Tell him to call me at the restaurant.”
Mason returned to the table.
“What was it?” Della Street asked.
Mason told her.
“But, Chief,” Della Street said, “that was... gosh, that was more than a week before the murder. More than that. It couldn’t have had anything to do with the murder.”
“How do we know?” Mason asked.
“Well... we don’t,” Della Street said.
“When you start putting a jigsaw puzzle together,” Mason said, “you have to consider the sequence of events. The sequence may be equally as significant as the events themselves.”
“I don’t understand,” Della Street said. “What sequence...?”
A waiter approached the table and said, “There’s a long-distance call for you, Mr. Mason, from Redding. A gentleman named Hancock says you’re expecting the call. Do you wish to take it?”
Mason nodded. “Bring a telephone,” he said. “I’ll take it here at the table.”
The waiter brought a phone, plugged in the jack and handed the instrument to Mason.
Mason said, “Hello, this is Perry Mason... Yes, I’m expecting the call. Put him on.”
A moment later, a man’s voice said, “Mr. Mason, this is Mr. Drake’s correspondent in Redding, Alan Hancock. He said you wanted to talk with me.”
“That’s right,” Mason said. “What about this Monroe family? What can you tell me about them?”
“Mr. Monroe is the town’s leading citizen.”
“How old?” Mason asked.
“Oh, about fifty-two or fifty-three, I would judge. He’s made a fortune in lumber.”
“His wife?”
“She died a couple of years ago.”
“Now, when Vera Martel came up to Redding,” Mason said, “she had business with Mr. Monroe. Monroe sent his daughter down to pick Vera up— Now, do you have any inkling as to what the business could have been?”
“No, sir, I don’t. I do know that Mr. Monroe must have been expecting this Martel woman. He made the drive down from Dunsmuir, went directly to his house, stayed there until after Miss Martel had departed and then had his daughter take Miss Martel to the hotel. Mr. Monroe left the next morning.”
“What are his initials?” Mason asked.
“G. W.,” Hancock said. “Stands for George Washington.”
“What about the daughter? How old?”
“Right around twenty.”
“Good-looking?”
“Beautiful.”
“Ever been in any trouble?”
“Not that anyone knows about. She’s a wonderful girl. She’s engaged to be married.”
“Oh-oh,” Mason said. “When’s the wedding?”
“Next month.”
“What’s the man’s name?”
“Harvey C. Kimberly.”
“What do you know about him?”
“Nothing. He’s in New York, I believe. He’s from Phoenix, Arizona. His family is very wealthy. There’s quite a background of yachts and all that. But I guess the young fellow is all right. He’s a bit older than she is — twenty-five, I believe.”
Mason said, “All right. Dig up everything you can find in the line of newspaper publicity. There must have been quite a bit of it.”
“Heavens yes, there was lots of publicity.”
“Photographs of the prospective bride and groom and the family?”
“That’s right.”
“You can put your hand on pictures of G. W. Monroe?”
“Oh, yes.”
“How long will it take?”
“Not very long.”
“When can you get a plane out of there?”
“Well, let’s see. Tomorrow morning...”
“Forget it,” Mason said. “Round up all of the pictures you can get. Get all of the newspaper stories. Find out everything you can, and then charter a plane about two or three o’clock in the morning that will get you down to Sacramento so you can pick up the first airliner from Sacramento in here. If you can’t pick up a regular airliner, charter planes to get here. I want you to meet me here in court at ten o’clock in the morning. Drake will give you detailed instructions. Don’t leave Redding until the last minute. Put in all the time you can scouting around up there and getting every bit of information and gossip you can pick up. I’ll be seeing you at ten o’clock.”
The lawyer hung up the telephone, turned to regard Della Street with thoughtful but unseeing eyes.
After a moment, she shifted her position and said, “Well?”
Suddenly Mason grinned. “Get Paul Drake on the phone,” he said. “There’s a rich young man, Harvey C. Kimberly, from Phoenix, Arizona; a background of wealth, yachts, polo ponies and what-not, but with it all he’s supposed to be a good Joe who is probably trying to fit himself to carry on in the footsteps of an illustrious father and manage a family business which probably runs into the millions.
“Tell Paul I want everything we can get on Harvey C. Kimberly and I want it by ten o’clock tomorrow morning. I want—”
Suddenly Mason ceased speaking. His eyes again showed the extent of his concentration. After a few moments, Della Street asked, “Anything else?”
Mason shook his head and said, “I’m toying with an idea, Della. It’s the damnedest idea anyone ever had, but it accounts for the ten thousand dollars.”
Chapter Sixteen
Word had been flashed around the courthouse and the courtroom was jammed as Judge Alvord took the bench.
“We’ll resume the hearing of the Case of the People versus Gilman,” he said. “I may state to counsel that I am advised that the witness, Hartley Elliott, wishes to purge himself of contempt and is now willing to come forward.
“The Court will, therefore, direct that proceedings be interrupted for Mr. Elliott to again take the stand and he will then be given an opportunity to purge himself of the contempt.”
Elliott emerged from the witness room.
Mason turned to Paul Drake. “Where the devil is Hancock?”
“The plane was late getting in,” Drake said. “There’s fog over the airport and they’re having trouble with landings.”
“Hang it!” Mason said. “He should have chartered a private plane and—”
“He’d have been in worse trouble on a private plane,” Drake said. “The field is pretty well socked in. But they’re bringing the planes in. Hancock was due in at eight thirty this morning. He probably has landed and is on his way to the courthouse now.”
“Find out,” Mason said. “Get someone to call the airport. See what’s happened to his flight. I may have to ask for a continuance.”
Hartley Elliott seated himself on the witness stand.
“Young man,” Judge Alvord said, “I understand that you have decided to subject yourself to the orders of the Court in order to purge yourself of contempt.”