“Why?”
“Tampering with the evidence.”
“Tampering with what evidence?”
“With the testimony of a witness.”
“How?”
“Well, trying to influence him.”
“Influence him to do what?”
“I don’t know what was said by the people who were in that taxicab.”
“Then,” Mason said, “there’s no need for you to worry. What else do you know?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“Not if there’s anything else.”
“Well, of course, the police felt that Keddie had the right idea. They’re covering taxi drivers who were at the Union Station, seeing if they can find a taxi driver who remembers picking up a fare dressed as this woman was dressed.”
“I see,” Mason said.
“You’re awfully damned noncommittal about this thing,” Drake blurted out.
“Who did you want me to commit?” Mason asked. “Myself?”
“Well,” Drake told him, “I thought you should know that—”
The telephone rang. Drake said, “That may be for me, Perry. I left word that if anything important came up in this case, they were to call me here.”
Della Street picked up the telephone and nodded, said, “It’s for you, Paul.”
Drake picked up the receiver, said, “Yes, this is Paul... Give me that again, will you?”
Drake said, “Okay, I’ll pass the word on to Mason. Nothing else, is there?... Okay. Thanks.”
“Okay,” Drake said wearily to Mason. “Here we go again.”
“Where?” Mason asked.
“On one of those wild run-arounds of yours. The police have found the murder weapon.”
“Where?”
“Someone had thrown it down on the bank to the north of the house.”
“How nice,” Mason said. “What did they find out from the weapon?”
“They found that it was a Smith and Wesson thirty-eight calibre revolver, with a five-inch barrel, that it had been fired three times, that the number on the gun had not been tampered with, that, tracing the number, the police found the sale had been made to Enright A. Harlan of 609 Lamison Avenue.
“At about the same time, the police got a lead from a taxi driver who had picked up a fare at the Union Station whose description matched the girl’s they were looking for. This cabbie remembered that he had gone to someplace on Lamison Avenue, but he couldn’t remember the exact number. It was someplace between Fifth and Ninth.
“So police got the taxi driver to see if he could locate the house, and it was 609 Lamison Avenue. Police went in and invited Mr. and Mrs. Enright A. Harlan to headquarters for a little chat with the district attorney. They’re there now.”
“Well,” Mason said, “that’s going to make an interesting case.”
“You make such masterpieces of understatement,” Paul Drake groaned. “That’s going to make an exciting case, and if they should find out what you did with that taxi driver—”
“What did I do with him?” Mason asked.
“You did... Hell, I don’t know what you did with him. Probably, you’ve arranged to confuse the issues in some way. You’ve—”
The telephone rang again. Della Street picked it up and again nodded. “For you once more, Paul.”
Drake picked up the telephone, said, “Okay, shoot. This is Paul... Who is it, Jim?... Oh, I see. They are?... Well, let me have it.”
Drake was silent for almost a minute, then he said thoughtfully, “Well, I guess that’s all there is to it, Jim. Just keep me posted. Thanks for letting me know.”
Drake hung up the telephone and said, “Well, you were being so damned smart, Perry, you should have advised your client to use a little more care.”
“In what way?” Mason asked.
“Police opened her purse and found the receipt issued by the taxi driver for the run down to the Union Station. The amount was two dollars and ninety-five cents, which is exactly the way the cab driver remembers it because he remembers she gave him three and a half, which left him a fifty-five-cent tip. The number of the taxi cab, number seven-sixty-one, is on that receipt. It seems to me, you might at least have had foresight enough to have your client drop that receipt in a wastepaper receptacle someplace. Now, we’re hooked.”
“Who’s hooked?”
“You and I.”
“You haven’t anything to do with it.”
“I wish I didn’t — you had me locating that cab.”
“Now look here,” Mason said. “You do a lot of work for me, Paul. The things that you do for me are confidential.”
“What if the police ask me? I can’t lie to them.”
Mason said, “Paul, your stomach is bothering you. You’re living on greasy hamburgers and half-fried onions. You’re eating entirely too much fried food. You’re eating at irregular hours. You need a good rest — start taking it.”
Drake looked at him in surprise.
“I have a job in La Jolla that I want you to work on,” Mason told him.
“What is it?”
“I’ll phone you details after you get down there.”
“I’m to leave now?”
“Immediately,” Mason said. “Get a nice unit in a motel, enjoy the ocean breezes and relax.”
“I think I’m going to like this,” Drake said.
“I knew you would,” Mason told him. “Who’s going to handle your office while you’re gone?”
“Harry Blanton. I’ll have to go to the bank to get some money.”
“Give Paul some money out of the safe, Della,” Mason said.
She nodded.
“So,” Mason said, looking at his watch, “there’s nothing holding you back, Paul.”
Chapter 9
Perry Mason sat in the visitors’ room, while on the other side of the table and separated from him by a mesh screen, Sybil Harlan smiled happily.
“Well,” Mason said, “you don’t look like a girl who’s in trouble.”
“I’m not. I’m happy as a lark.”
Mason said, “You’re going to be charged with murder in about fifteen minutes, as soon us the district attorney can get the papers filed.”
“Then what?”
“Then,” Mason said, “you will be arraigned and a date set for a preliminary hearing.”
“What happens at the preliminary hearing?”
“Actually, it’s a hearing before the magistrate to determine if there is probable cause for believing you guilty. If the magistrate finds that a crime has been committed and there is probable cause to believe you committed the crime, he will hold you over for the Superior Court. Then the district attorney will file an information, and after that you’ll be tried before a jury.”
“Well?” she asked.
“Everything depends on that taxi driver. That’s going to be the district attorney’s case.”
“You mean at the preliminary?”
“Yes.”
“Can you upset that?”
“If you can keep your mouth shut, I think I can.”
“I’ve kept it shut. That’s why I’m here. The district attorney told me that if I’d explain just what I was doing out there on the road, just where I had been, and how I happened to take the taxicab, he wouldn’t file any charges against me. Otherwise, he’d have to proceed.”
“What did you do?”
“I smiled sweetly at him and told him that I didn’t think my lawyer would want me to answer any questions unless he was here.”
“Now that you’ve phoned for me, won’t your husband suspect that you were the one who had me buy the stock?”
“No. I think I did it very cleverly, Mr. Mason. He started talking about what you did at that directors’ meeting, and I told him that if I ever got in trouble I’d most certainly ask for you.