“How about that wire tapping?” Mason asked. “What have you found out about it?”
“Not a darned thing,” Drake confessed. “And the more I dig into it, the less I know.”
“Some of the gambling element,” Mason asked, “wanting to get a line on what’s happening in this vice crusade?”
“Not a chance,” Drake told him.
“Why not?”
“The gamblers aren’t worried.”
“Why?”
“Because they aren’t. They’re too strongly entrenched.”
“That Citizens’ Committee was digging up a lot of evidence,” Mason said.
“Not evidence that would convict anybody of anything. Just evidence that gives rise to a lot of suspicion. Gamblers, and all forms of organized vice, figure on that stuff, Perry. Every so often there’s a clean-up and a shakedown. Some of the small fry try to fight back. They struggle against the stream. The big fish don’t; they just drift along with the current and wait for the police to clear things up.”
“The police?” Mason asked.
“Sure,” Drake said. “Figure this, Perry. Whenever there’s a recognized vice district, or open gambling, there’s police graft. That doesn’t mean all of the policemen are in on it. It means some of the policemen are, and it means some of the higher-ups are. Whenever there’s a squawk, the big shots in the vice game simply sit back and say to their cronies on the police force, ‘Okay, you birds tell us when it’s safe to open up again. In the meantime, we’re both losing income, so you’d better hurry.’ ”
“Then you don’t think the big-shot gamblers were trying to listen in on Sabin’s telephone conversations?”
“Not one chance in a hundred. They just pulled in their horns and took a vacation... To tell you the truth, Perry, it looks more like a private job to me.”
“You mean private detectives?”
“Yes.”
“Employed by whom?” Mason asked.
“Mrs. Sabin, on a hunch,” Drake told him. “Taken by and large, Perry, that woman doesn’t seem to me to be exactly dumb.”
“No,” Mason admitted, “her mother didn’t raise many foolish children... You have your car, Paul?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I have a job for you.”
“What is it?”
“You’re going with me,” Mason told him, “and we’re making a rush trip to San Molinas.”
“What for?” Drake wanted to know.
“We’re going to steal a parrot,” Mason said.
“Steal a parrot?”
“That’s what I said.”
“You mean Casanova?”
“Yes.”
“What the devil do you want with him?”
Mason said, “Get right down to brass tacks, Paul, and what do you have? You have a case which entirely revolves around a parrot. Casanova is the key clew to the whole affair. Notice that whoever killed Sabin was particularly solicitous about the welfare of the parrot.”
“You mean that it was someone who loved the parrot, or was tender-hearted about birds in general?”
Mason said, “I don’t know yet exactly what the reason was. However, I’m commencing to have an idea. Notice, moreover, Paul, that lately Casanova says, ‘Put down that gun, Helen... don’t shoot... My God, you’ve shot me.’ ”
“Meaning that Casanova must have been the parrot which was present when the shots were fired?” Drake asked. “And that whoever committed the murder took Casanova away, and subsequently substituted another parrot?”
“Why,” Mason asked, “would a murderer do that?”
“To tell you the truth, Perry, I don’t know. That parrot angle sounds goofy to me.”
“Well,” Mason said, “any explanation which has been offered to me so far sounds goofy; but my best hunch is that that parrot offers the key to the situation. Now, Helen Monteith isn’t home. The sheriff and the district attorney of San Molinas County are wandering around here trying to chase down developments at this end, with the help of Sergeant Holcomb. It should be an excellent time to raid San Molinas.”
“If they catch you cutting corners in that county, you’re going to jail,” Drake warned.
“I know it,” Mason admitted, grinning, “and that’s why I don’t want to be caught cutting corners. If you have your car here, let’s go.”
“You going to lift cage and all?” Drake asked.
“Uh-huh,” Mason said, “and I’m going to put another parrot in place of the one that’s there.”
He picked up his telephone, dialed a number, and after a moment said, “Hello, Helmold, this is Perry Mason, the lawyer. I’d like to get you to run down to your pet store and open the place up. I want to buy a parrot.”
Chapter seven
THE parrot, in the back of the car, squawked from time to time slumberous noises of parrot protest as the lurching of the car forced him to fight for his balance.
Drake, at the wheel, seemed particularly pessimistic as to the probable outcome of their mission, while Mason, settled comfortably back against the cushions, smoked cigarettes and stared in meditative silence at the unwinding ribbon of moonlit road which flashed past beneath the headlights of the speeding car.
“Don’t overlook the fact that Reno isn’t so very far away — not by airplane,” Drake said. “If Mrs. Sabin was in Reno, and if she was the one who employed private detectives to tap Sabin’s telephone line, then you’d better forget this Monteith woman.”
“How much do you charge for tapping telephone wires?” Mason asked.
Drake was sufficiently startled to take his eyes momentarily from the road. “Me?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.”
Drake said, “Listen, Perry, I’ll do darn near anything for you, but tapping a telephone line is a felony in this state. I’m certainly not going to do that for you.”
“That’s what I figured,” Mason observed.
“What’re you getting at?” Drake wanted to know.
“Simply this, Paul; those telephone lines were tapped. You don’t think the gamblers did it. It doesn’t look as though the police did it. You think a private detective agency did it. It’s my guess a detective agency would think twice before it went in for wire-tapping.”
“Some of ’em would,” Drake said, “some of ’em wouldn’t. There are some chaps in this game who would do anything for money. However, I get your point, Perry, and you may be right. Remember this, that most of the wire-tapping these days is done by the police.”
“Why the police?” Mason asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. Of course, they figure that laws don’t apply to them. You’d be surprised to know how extensively they do tap telephone lines and listen in on conversations. It’s almost a matter of investigative routine.”
“Well, it’s an interesting subject for speculation,” Mason agreed. “If the telephone lines were tapped by the police, Sergeant Holcomb must have known about it. And if that’s the case, the police must have records of the conversations which took place over that telephone... You check up on those divorce records first thing in the morning, Paul.”
“I’m going to,” Drake said. “I have two men waiting in Reno. They’re going through the records just as soon as they become available.”
They drove for several miles in thoughtful silence, until a sign announced the city limits of San Molinas.
“Want to go directly to Helen Monteith’s house?” Drake asked.
“Make certain we’re not being followed,” Mason said, sliding around in the seat so he could look through the back window.
“I’ve been checking pretty carefully on that,” Drake told him.