“Seems Stephanie Falkner, the attractive young woman whose father was murdered some time back in a case which so far has never been solved, received some threats which caused Perry Mason considerable concern. Homer Garvin, the high-powered used car salesman, and Stephanie had at one time been quite ga-ga. It is to be presumed that Garvin’s recent marriage terminated the romance, but apparently not the friendship.
“When the noted lawyer called to Homer Garvin’s attention the fact that Stephanie might be in danger, Garvin promptly produced a gun and suggested that Miss Falkner be given an adequate means of protection.
“Perry Mason was all in favor of the deal, and picked up the gun to test the balance, and decide whether the mechanism functioned perfectly.
“It functioned.
“The result was considerable excitement in the offices of the used car dealer, a long deep furrow, ploughed in the veneered desk, and a rather red face on the noted attorney.
“Inasmuch as Mason’s face rarely becomes red, the occasion was considered unique by an interested but somewhat apprehensive audience. However, all’s well that ends well, and, since police have been wondering whether the gun which they found in Stephanie Falkner’s apartment with one exploded shell in the mechanism had been used in connection with a homicide, it gives this column great pleasure to point out that they need look no farther than Homer Garvin’s desk to find the bullet that is missing.
“It was reported that the used car dealer had been planning on having a new desk installed immediately, but as salesmen piloted in a procession of potential customers to view the damages, and the customers somehow affixed their signatures on dotted lines before leaving the place, Garvin has decided to feature the ‘wounded’ desk as his main attraction — sort of a corpus deskus.”
Mason had just finished reading the account in the paper when the telephone on Della Street’s desk jangled.
Della Street answered the telephone, and nodded to Perry Mason. “It’s Paul Drake. He’s coming right down.”
“Hear anything from Homer Garvin?” Mason asked her after she had hung up.
“Senior or Junior?”
“Either.”
“Junior telephoned. He’s tickled to death with the publicity. He’s sold five cars to prospective purchasers who originally came in to survey the damage in the desk.”
“He’d better give me a commission,” Mason said. “Hear anything from Stephanie Falkner?”
“Not a word.”
“That’s a little strange, Della.”
“She may be a late sleeper,” Della Street said.
Mason frowned. “Give her a ring. Wake her up.”
Della Street picked up the phone, said, “Ring the Lodestar Apartments, Gertie. We want to talk with Stephanie Falkner.”
While she was waiting, Paul Drake’s knuckles tapped the code knock on the door.
Mason got up to let him, and Della Street said, “She doesn’t seem to answer, Chief.”
“Tell Gertie to keep trying,” Mason said. “Hi, Paul, what’s new?”
Drake said, “George Casselman had a criminal record. He served time, once for pimping, once for extortion. He was killed sometime between seven and eleven-thirty o’clock Tuesday night by a .38 caliber bullet which was fired from a gun that was held against Casselman’s chest. It made what is described in medical circles as a contact wound. You know what a contact wound is.
“The muzzle of the gun is held directly against the body into which the shot is fired. The bullet not only enters the body, but a lot of explosive gases from the gun also enter and cause quite a bit of internal damage.”
“Anyone hear the shot?” Mason asked.
“Apparently not. In cases of contact wounds, the sound of the shot may not be much louder than that of an inflated paper bag being smashed.”
“Then no one heard it?”
“No one heard it.”
“What else, Paul?”
Before Drake could answer, the telephone on Della Street’s desk rang again.
Della Street picked up the telephone, said, “Hello,” in a subdued voice, then said, “Yes, he’s here,” turned to Paul Drake and said, “For you, Paul. It’s your office. They say it’s most important.”
Drake moved over to the telephone, said, “Hi, this is Paul,” waited a moment, then said, “The devil!..” There was a long silence. Then, “They’re sure...? Okay.”
Drake hung up the phone and stood for a moment in puzzled perplexity.
“Well,” Mason said impatiently.
“This,” Paul said, “is the best-kept secret of the day. Police knew about it yesterday and managed to keep it buttoned up.”
“Well, what is it?”
“Bullets fired from the gun police found in Stephanie Falkner’s apartment match the fatal bullet that killed George Casselman.”
“Which gun?” Mason asked sharply.
“Which?” Drake asked in surprise. “Why, there’s only one, the one Garvin gave her.”
Mason’s eyes narrowed.
Drake said, “This means that you had the fatal gun in your possession and that you discharged one shell into the desk at Homer Garvin’s office in the used car lot. Quite naturally police felt at first that you were engaged in some sort of a hocus-pocus trying to confuse the issue somehow. They picked young Garvin up and are giving him a shakedown. The original idea was that you must have planted the murder weapon in his desk.”
“They’ve changed their minds now?” Mason asked tonelessly.
“They’re changing their minds,” Drake said. “At the moment they have a brand new suspect, in the person of Mrs. Homer Garvin, Jr. It seems she was employed as a resident hostess, bathing beauty and ornamental model at one of the Las Vegas hotels out on the strip. She knew Casselman. No one seems to know how well. They found Casselman’s unlisted number written down on a memo pad by her telephone.
“Casselman was a blackmailer. The young woman just got married. Figure that one out and you have a perfect sequence.
“That, in the words of the police, makes your clumsy attempt to fake a didn’t-know-it-was-loaded accident at Garvin’s used car lot a diabolically clever attempt to mix up the ballistic experts.
“Police don’t like that. The ruse almost worked. They’re examining all the evidence carefully. The D.A. would love to book you. If he could catch you tampering with evidence, he’d turn the department upside down trying to get a conviction.”
Mason nodded to Della Street. “Tell Gertie to get Junior on the telephone. He probably won’t be in, but have Gertie leave word for him to call.”
Mason pushed back the chair from his desk, got up and began pacing the floor. Abruptly he turned, said to the detective, “Paul, I want to know what’s going on. I want all the information you can get on what the police are doing. They probably have both Stephanie Falkner and Garvin, Jr. Thank heavens Senior is across the State line! They’ll have to unwind some red tape before they can drag him in. There’s something fishy about this whole business.”
Drake said, “Watch yourself, Perry. Keep in the clear on this thing. Police are going to want to know how it was that you had such unerring insight as to go out to Garvin’s used car lot, ask for a gun, fire a bullet into Garvin’s desk, and then take the gun up and leave it with Stephanie Falkner in a place where police would be sure to find it.”
“You aren’t telling me anything,” Mason said, “but there’s a lot back of all this that you don’t know. Get busy and start finding things out.”