“For instance, a man will come in at five or six o’clock in the evening. He’s been working on a case all day. Most of those fellows can bang out a report with two fingers on a typewriter if they have to, but it’ll be a pretty botchy job of typing and a pretty sketchy job of reporting, so I encourage them to sit down at a dictating machine and tell the story — not in too great detail, but enough of a picture so the client will really know what’s going on, and in that way we keep better records.”
Mason nodded.
“The girl who comes on at four o’clock and works until midnight transcribes part of them, and the girl who comes on at midnight and works until eight transcribes the rest of them, does the filing and does the odd jobs.
“Now, Minerva has been working on. that stuff, and apparently she’s made some bad boners. For instance, there has been trouble with the files, and probably it goes back to mistakes Minerva made. Then, again, some of those reports are pretty juicy, you know, Perry, and sometimes the fellows, when they happen to be working nights and come in to make a report before they go off duty, will kid along about the cases. The girls usually hand it right back — just the usual good-natured stuff that goes on around an office... Well, Minerva doesn’t stand for any of that. She’s Madam Queen as far as the operatives are concerned. She’s all efficiency and ice water.”
Mason said, “I suppose in the long run a girl gets so damn tired of hearing some of those near-smutty stories over and over and over again...”
“Oh, I know,” Drake said, “but a girl who’s really human will always manage to laugh as though it’s a new joke — just so things don’t go too far... What the heck, Perry, you know what I’m trying to tell you. We may have some trouble with this girl. It bothers me that she didn’t call me to tip me off.”
“What did you ring her up for?” Mason asked.
“I made up my mind I was going to fire her,” Drake said.
“For heaven’s sake, don’t do that. Not right now, anyway.”
“Why not?”
“It will look as though we’re taking it out on her because she made that identification of the photograph. That would antagonize a jury.”
“Of course,” Paul Drake pointed out, “the girl could really have been Dixie.”
“Yes,” Mason admitted dubiously. “She could have been.”
The telephone rang sharply.
“See who it is,” Mason said.
Della Street picked up the telephone, answered, said, “Yes, Gertie... Why, what... Just a moment.”
She motioned to Perry Mason with excitement. “Morris Alburg on the line.”
“Well, thank heavens,” Mason said. “It’s about time that boy made a report.”
Mason picked up the telephone, said, “Hello, Morris. What the devil is all this about and where are you?”
“I’m in jail,” Morris Alburg said.
“What?”
“In jail.”
“The devil you are! How long have you been there?”
“Since nine o’clock this morning.”
“Oh-oh,” Mason said, and then added, “Why didn’t you telephone me?”
“They wouldn’t let me.”
“Did you tell them you wanted to talk with your lawyer?”
“I told them everything. I haven’t been in this jail very long. They’ve been shunting me around, keeping me traveling in an automobile, taking me from one precinct to another...”
“You’re down at—?”
“That’s right. I’m at the Central Precinct now.”
“I’ll be there,” Mason said.
Mason hung up the telephone, dashed over to the closet and grabbed his hat.
“What is it?” Drake asked, as Mason made for the door.
“Same old run-around,” Mason said. “They’ve had Morris Alburg since nine o’clock this morning and they’ve been keeping him buried. Just now they’re letting him call his attorney. That means they’ve squeezed everything out of him they can possibly get... Stick around, Paul, so I can get you if I need you. I’ll be wanting you, and don’t fire Minerva — not yet.”
Chapter 14
“All right,” Mason said, as he settled himself in the straight-backed chair in the visitors’ room, “tell me what happened.”
Alburg put his head in his hands. “Honestly, Mr. Mason, I’m in a mess, one hell of a mess... You got my letter with the check?”
“Yes, I got your letter with the check,” Mason said, “and I knew just as much when I finished reading it as I knew before. How did you get picked up?”
“I was on my way up to your office.”
“My office?”
“That’s right.”
“What happened?”
“I get to the entrance of your building. A plainclothes man jumps out of the crowd. He grabs me. They shove me into an automobile. I’m away from there before I even have a chance to know what’s going on.”
Mason said angrily, “Why didn’t you stop some place and telephone me? I’d have told you to keep away from the office. You might have known they’d have a man planted there. That and your restaurant were the first places they’d look... Now, what happened? Go on, tell me the story.”
“The worst part you haven’t even heard yet.”
“All right,” Mason said, “give me the worst part.”
“I had the gun.”
“The gun?”
“That’s right.”
“What gun?”
“The gun the police say killed Fayette.”
Mason regarded him with frowning disapproval.
“It’s not what you think, Mr. Mason. It’s a long story and...”
“Well, tell it and make it short,” Mason said. “What’s Dixie Dayton to you?”
“She’s sort of related by marriage.”
“How come?”
“Thomas E. Sedgwick is my half-brother. Does that mean anything to you?”
“That means a lot,” Mason said.
“Sedgwick was making book. He was one of these smart boys. I warned him. He was in love with Dixie Dayton. She warned him. We kept trying to straighten that boy out. It’s no use.
“He thought he was smart. Sure, there was a payoff. So what? He thought he had a license. You don’t get a license from a payoff. You get trouble. You get money for a while, sure. Then you get trouble.
“All right. Tom gets trouble. He won’t listen. A new cop gets on the job. He gets a tip on Tom. He don’t make a pinch. Tom could square a pinch. He wants to get Tom so he can maybe prove a payoff. That’s hell.”
“Claremont had the goods?”
“On Tom I guess, yes.”
“On the payoff, I mean.”
“On the payoff he has suspicion only. That’s why he wants Tom. He wants it Tom should squeal, should sing to a grand jury. What a mess! Tom don’t get it at first. This cop gets the goods. He has Tom dead to rights. And he don’t do a thing. Tom thought he wanted a cut. He don’t want no cut. He wants Tom should squeal.
“Tom is dumb. Like I tell you, Mr. Mason, that boy thinks a payoff is a license. But the payoff ain’t dumb. He gets the tip. He tells Tom to sell out, to get out until things blow over. This cop is smart. He’s traced the payoff.”
“Who was the payoff?”
“Fayette. He’s the first step.”
“What happened?”
“Tom, he can’t stand any subpoena. You know what happens if he gets a subpoena to the grand jury. Tom sells out. He takes it on the lam.”
“Then what?”
“They say this cop was smart. He was watching for Tom to do that. Once Tom pulled that sell-out-and-run stuff, the cop had him. They say Tom bumped him off. I don’t know. Tom swears he didn’t. Dixie believes in him.”
“Oh, yes?” Mason said. “And how did Dixie explain to you the fact that Tom had Claremont’s service revolver among his cherished possessions?”