“I want to thank you for your professional courtesies and I can assure you that you will have no reason to regret them. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m really terribly busy this morning, but I did want you to understand the situation as soon as you came in.”
Alder shook hands and once more made a dignified exit through the door to the corridor without once looking back.
Mason glanced at Della Street, then looked down at the address on the memo pad.
“Well, Della,” he said, “it looks as though you and I were going to have dinner at a Mexican restaurant tonight.”
“An early dinner?” she asked.
“An early dinner,” Mason said, “and in the meantime well get hold of Paul Drake, give him this address, get him to dig up a description of Carmen Monterrey and put some of his men on the job watching the place.”
“Sounds like an interesting evening,” Della Street said.
“Darned if it doesn’t,” Mason grinned.
“And,” she pointed out, “if your client was grateful for what you had done up to last night, think of how she’s going to feel tonight.”
“I’m afraid to.”
“I think,” Della Street told him, “you’d better have your secretary take notes during your next interview with Dorothy Fenner. How long will they hold her?”
Mason shrugged his shoulders and said, “That depends on whether she follows my instructions and doesn’t talk”
“Suppose she doesn’t?”
“Then they may hold her for quite a while.”
“Suppose she does talk?”
“Then they’ll turn her inside out and let her loose, and promptly start trying to twist her statements so they can be used against her.”
“And what are we going to do?”
“We,” Mason said, smiling, “are about to prepare an application for writ of habeas corpus, Della, and in the event Dorothy Fenner doesn’t communicate with us by two o’clock this afternoon, we’ll drive down to call on Judge Lankershim, of Department One, who seems to be a reasonable chap, and get him to issue a writ of habeas corpus. And that will force the sheriffs office to either fish or cut bait”
“Perhaps they’ll decide to fish.”
“Then,” Mason said, grinning, “we’ll cut the bait and try our best to arrange it very temptingly on a very sharp hook.”
Chapter 12
PAUL DRAKE SAID, “WELL, PERRY, HERE’S THE DOPE, WE’VE tried our damnedest to trace that woman who was at Los Merritos and find out where she came from. Such a person was there, all right. The description seems to answer that of Corrine Lansing. This person was suffering from amnesia, hallucinations, complete hysteria, and what they refer to as manic-depressive psychosis.
“She was there on the date Minerva Danby wrote that letter. She never did tell them who she was, so they could depend on what she said. She was kept in the south wing where they had that disastrous fire about four months ago. Some half-dozen inmates were burnt alive. She was one of them.”
“Hie body?” Mason asked.
“Burnt beyond recognition,” Drake said. “Identified, however, by means of a metallic tag.”
“Any chance it wasn’t the same person?”
“Lots of chance that it wasn’t Corrine Lansing,” Drake said, “but no chance that it wasn’t the person who had been confined there and whom Minerva apparently identified on the day of her death.”
“No other clues?” Mason asked.
“No. We just can’t find out a single thing that will give us a definite answer. She was picked up on the streets of Los Angeles about two o’clock in the morning. The first diagnosis was that she was drunk. She was confined as an alcoholic, then taken to the psychopathic ward, then sent to Los Merritos.”
“That’s a private institution?”
“That’s right. Here’s what happened. Police naturally were trying to locate relatives. They had this person listed with Missing Persons and all that stuff. A woman who was looking for a sister who had disappeared thought this person answered the description, was taken to see her said that it was not her sister but listened to her ravings, became sympathetic and said she would send money for private treatments. The superintendent naturally thought the contribution would be in the form of a check. It wasn’t. It was in the form of cash, a package of currency which was delivered by messenger, and a note stating that the woman preferred to remain anonymous.”
“In other words,” Mason said, “there’s absolutely no chance of making an identification now, either that the body is or is not that of Corrine Lansing.”
“That’s right.”
“Burial?” Mason asked.
Drake shrugged his shoulders. “She was listed as ‘Unidentified Dead.’ You know what happens in those cases The bodies are tmned over to the state for purposes ol dissection and what have you. They’re supposed to be held for thirty days.”
“A burnt body?” Mason asked.
“I understand they’re somewhat in demand, in classes on police administration, arson, criminology and homicide investigation.”
“And how about this message in the bottle?”
“If police found it there in Alder’s desk they certainly have clammed up. They haven’t let out a peep. What do you hear from your client?”
“I don’t I filed habeas corpus a couple hours ago.”
“The sheriff thinks he has something on her, Perry. Incidentally, police, acting on the sheriff s orders, grabbed the night clerk at the Monadnock Hotel Apartments, and are keeping him sewed up as a material witness. Now why would they want him unless he could give them something on Dorothy?”
Mason said, “Damn it, Paul, Dorothy Fenner was in her apartment when the crime was committed. She was released from jail and went directly to her room in the hotel. I drove her up to the place. Now, I’ll tell you in confidence why the sheriff wants that night clerk. He may be able to prove that George S. Alder came to see Dorothy Fenner at her room at the Monadnock Hotel Apartments, but that’s all they can prove. Dorothy Fenner assures me that she was in her room all the time.”
“Well,” Drake said, “there’s something funny about the way they’ve got this night clerk sewed up, Perry.”
Mason said, “It’s just as I told you, Paul. They’ve got him sewed up because they want to prove that Alder came to call on Dorothy Fenner. I know all about that. He gave the clerk five dollars to let him go up without being announced. So what? That doesn’t prove anything.”
“Well, the sheriff seems to think it does. They’re certainly laying for you.”
“Let them lay,” Mason said grimly. “They may find they’ve laid an egg. Did you locate Pete Cadiz?”
“Yes. He’s a specialized sort of beachcomber who lives on a sailboat. You want us to get a statement?”
“Gosh, no. Lay off of the guy, Paul. I can’t even show any interest in him without tipping my hand. I’m not supposed to know anything about that letter. Do you suppose it was taken by the murderer, Paul?”
“I don’t know a thing about it, Perry. All I do know is that the police here are working with the sheriff’s office and they’re all feeling very smug.”
Mason frowned. “Hang it, Paul, they must be barking up a wrong tree. Have you located Carmen Monterrey?”
“She’s at the restaurant address, acting as hostess and fortuneteller. She’ll be there tonight, but no one seems to know where she is today. I have men covering the place. Want anything special on her?”
Mason shook his head. “Della and I are going to eat there tonight—and have our fortunes told.”