Mason said angrily, “That’s what I get for instructing my secretary to call the police.”
“No,” the officer said, “that’s what you get for finding so damn many bodies. You get around too much. According to the way the Sarge thinks about it, you should stay in your office and let people come to you. You always get out on the firing line some place, and seem to have a knack for being around about the time somebody gets bumped off.
“You know, when it comes to pennant winning I like a team that has the old power house. You get fellows that can bunch their hits and that’s what counts. Funny the way some teams are like that. Some just scatter their hits all through the game; and then you can take a power house gang that’s playing along just ordinary baseball, and all of a sudden somebody sparks a play, and the next thing you know the whole team is going crazy, batting pitchers out of the box, slamming balls all over the diamond. They bring in a fistfull of runs and then they settle down. They can afford to. They’ve got the game won.”
Mason said wearily, “Runs are what win a ball game.”
“You said it, buddy. Now you take the Giants. Ever since Durocher got in there the team is like a unit. You can figure everything is teamwork. They’ll play machine-precision baseball until something happens to give them a break, and then they pounce on that break like nobody’s business. They...”
The door opened.
A tall, affable, good-looking man in plain clothes, stood on the threshold smiling at Perry Mason.
Mason got up out of his chair and said, “Well, well, Lieutenant Tragg himself. This is a pleasure. I thought I was going to have a session with Sergeant Holcomb’s bull-necked stupidity.”
Lieutenant Tragg shook hands. “You shouldn’t run down one officer to a brother officer, Mason,” he said. “Sergeant Holcomb is busy interviewing — others.”
“I hope he isn’t using his tact and diplomacy on Della Street,” Mason said.
Lieutenant Tragg walked over to the table and sat down.
“All right, Mason,” he said, “what’s the story?”
The door opened. A plain-clothes man with a shorthand notebook came in, sat down at the table, opened the notebook, took a fountain pen from his pocket, unscrewed the cap, shifted his position in the chair as though trying to get his hips and elbows in just the right place, then nodded to Lieutenant Tragg.
“You can begin at the beginning,” Lieutenant Tragg said to Mason.
“In the beginning,” Mason said. “Della Street and I were in my office. The switchboard kept clattering away. It’s rather annoying. Ordinarily we wouldn’t answer calls at night, and ordinarily we wouldn’t have any calls. But we took the call. Somebody asked us to go out to Benjamin Addicks’ place.”
“Someone?” Tragg said.
“That’s right.”
“Who was someone?”
“I didn’t recognize the voice myself,” Mason said, “not well enough to swear to it.”
“Well, you’ve got your opinion, haven’t you?”
“I thought you wanted evidence.”
“Are you going to be difficult, Mason?”
“No, just cautious.”
“All right, I’ll put it to you straight. Was it Mrs. Kempton on the line?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did the voice say it was Mrs. Kempton?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“What do you mean, you can’t tell me? Don’t you know what the voice said?”
“Yes, but I haven’t had a chance to talk with my client.”
“How long has she been your client?”
“There again,” Mason said, “we get into a matter which I would like to talk over with my client before I discuss it with the police. If you’ll give me an opportunity for a five or ten minute private talk with my client, I can save us both a lot of time.”
“We might surprise you by doing just that,” Tragg said casually, as though conceding a minor point. “So you went out to the Addicks’ place. What did you find when you got out there, Mason?”
“A door.”
“Good heavens, you astound me! And what did you do when you found the door?”
“I rang the bell. Nobody answered. I tried the door. It was open. I looked inside. I didn’t like what I...”
“Yes. Go on,” Tragg said as Mason hesitated.
“I didn’t like the setup,” Mason said.
“So what?”
“So I told Della Street that if I wasn’t back in five minutes to call the police. I didn’t get back in five minutes, and she called the police.”
“Why didn’t you get back?”
“I was busy.”
“Doing what?”
“Playing tag with a bunch of gorillas who seemed to want to play a little rough, and finding bodies.”
“Where was the body when you found it?”
“I presume exactly where it was when you found it. Lying face down on a bed.”
“Face down?”
“Well, the body was lying on its stomach, but the head had been turned slightly to one side so you could see the man’s profile. There was a wound in the neck, and a knife was sticking out of the back, pretty nearly between the shoulders, just a little to the left side of the backbone, I would say.”
“And where was Mrs. Kempton when you found her?”
“Lying on the floor.”
“Doing what?”
“Breathing, and that’s all.”
“Then what?”
“Then we left the house and the police picked us up.”
“I’d like a little more,” Tragg said.
Mason shrugged his shoulders.
Tragg pushed back the chair, grinned at the officer, said, “Take Mr. Mason into the room where Mrs. Kempton is being held. Tell the officer in charge that I want them left alone. I want them given an opportunity to have a ten minute conversation that is absolutely private. Then Mason can come back.”
“Thank you,” Mason said.
“Not at all. It’s a pleasure,” Tragg told him.
The officer escorted Mason across a corridor, into another room where Mrs. Kempton was seated in a chair with an officer on guard.
Mason said rapidly, “Lieutenant Tragg has arranged that we are to have a ten or fifteen minute conversation in private, Mrs. Kempton.”
“Oh, I’m so glad.”
Mason looked at the officer.
“In private.”
The officer in the room received a nod by way of signal, got up and walked out through the door.
As soon as the door closed Mason whipped a fountain pen from his pocket, pulled out a notebook and said, “Now, Mrs. Kempton, just try to relax and tell me exactly what happened.”
He put the notebook down on the table and wrote, “There’s undoubtedly a microphone in this room. Tell me that you’re too nervous to talk.”
Mrs. Kempton said, “Oh, I couldn’t... I couldn’t tell you much now, Mr. Mason. I’m too terribly nervous.”
“You’ve talked with the police?” Mason asked.
“No.”
“Well, you must have told them something.”
“I told them you were my lawyer.”
“What else?”
“I told them if they wanted any statement from me they could get it from my lawyer.”
“Well, that’s fine,” Mason said. “However, we can discuss matters now and then I’ll know what to tell the police. Although perhaps... well, if you’re nervous we’ll try and go at it gradually.”
Mason wrote on the notebook. “Tell me that you don’t want to make any statement until James Etna is here with me.”
Mrs. Kempton cleared her throat and said, “Well, I would like to tell you exactly what happened — as far as I know, Mr. Mason.”
“That’s right,” Mason said. “Of course you can only tell what you know, and only as much as you know.”
“But, after all, I have another lawyer, James Etna. I don’t know why we couldn’t get him. I wouldn’t want to tell you and then tell him all over again. I think I’d better wait, Mr. Mason, until I can get Mr. Etna and then I can tell both of you everything that I know, which isn’t much — and, of course, I’m terribly nervous now.”