Part 18 (1/2)
Ellen Robb dug her fingers deep into Mason's coat sleeve. ”Mr. Mason, how in the world-- They're crazy. I didn't shoot Nadine Ellis. I never fired that gun at all. I--”
”Just sit tight,” Mason said, warning her with a glance. ”Don't make any statement. Newspaper reporters may try to get you to say something. The police may question you again about that gun. Sit tight, keep quiet. And whatever you do, don't lie to me.”
”I'm not lying to you.”
”You have been,” Mason said.
She shook her head. ”If that gun fired a bullet into the body of Nadine Ellis, somebody did it before the gun came into my possession and then put it in my suitcase.”
Mason studied her face searchingly. She returned his gaze with level-lidded frankness. ”I cross my heart and hope to die,” she said.
”That,” Mason told her, ”may not be an empty expression. If you're lying to me, the situation may be a lot more serious than you think.”
Mason nodded to the policewoman to take Ellen Robb into her custody, and left the courtroom with Della Street.
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
In the small private dining room of the restaurant where Perry Mason, Della Street and Paul Drake so frequently lunched during the noon recess, the trio seated themselves at the table.
”I don't see what makes this seem such a devastating surprise to you,” Paul Drake said to Mason. ”I told you quite a while ago this client of yours was no lily-white angel. I take it, she's been lying to you.”
”It's more serious than that, Paul,” Mason said.
”How do you mean?”
”I'll let you in on a secret,” Mason said. ”If that gun committed the murder, I personally am mixed in it.”
”Mixed in what?”
”Mixed in the murder.”
”You are!” Drake exclaimed incredulously.
”Call it an accessory after the fact or suppressing evidence or anything you want, Paul. I just don't believe that gun could possibly have been used in the killing.”
”Nevertheless, it was,” Drake said. ”The evidence shows it.”
Mason, his face granite-hard with concentration, paid no attention to Drake's words and might not have heard him.
Drake turned to Della Street and said, ”I don't get it. I've seen him skate on some awfully thin legal ice, but I've never seen him like this before.”
Della Street shook her head warningly, indicating that Drake was not to pursue the subject.
Drake said, ”What became of the gun that you gave me to test, Perry? That was registered in the name of George Anc.l.i.tas.”
”Just don't ask questions,” Mason said. ”Just eat your lunch.”
The waiter brought in their orders, and Mason ate in thoughtful silence.
”Well,” Drake said, as he pushed back his plate, ”thanks for the lunch, Perry. I have had more cheerful meals.”
Mason merely grunted in acknowledgment of Drake's remark.
”I'll get the ch.o.r.es done,” Drake said, and left the dining room.
Della Street glanced solicitously at Perry Mason, started to say something, then checked herself.
As though reading her mind, Mason said, ”I know you're wondering what's worrying me. The thing that worries me is whether the district attorney's office has baited an elaborate trap for me and I'm walking into it, or whether they have considered the case so dead open-and-shut they don't need to worry.”
Della Street shook her head. ”Hamilton Burger has his faults, but he's not entirely dumb. He would never consider a case, in which you were representing a defendant, a dead open-and-shut case.”
”But,” Mason said, ”he sent this Donovan Fraser in to try the case unaided. Fraser is a young eager beaver, a relatively new trial deputy. He's anxious to win his spurs and prove himself, and he's probably a little more belligerent than he will be after he has had five more years of courtroom practice under his belt.
”Now, why did Hamilton Burger pick that particular trial deputy to oppose me? He has some veterans in the office who are remarkably good lawyers.”
”Isn't Fraser a good lawyer?”
”I think he is. The point is, he's relatively inexperienced, and in this business there are some things you can learn only as the result of experience.”
”That's the only reason you think he may be laying a trap for you?” Della Street asked.
”No, that's only one of the reasons,” Mason said. ”The thing that bothers me is that in preparing this case they have apparently taken so much for granted--and I don't think they'd do that.”
”In what way?”
”For instance,” Mason said, ”this gun that they took from Ellen Robb is, as far as the case is concerned up to this point, simply a gun. Apparently they didn't make any effort to trace the registration of the gun. Now, I just can't understand that.”
”Well, after all, they found it in her possession and they found that the test bullet matched the bullet found in Nadine Ellis' body.
”If you were district attorney, you'd call in any trial deputy who happened to be unattached and say, 'Here's a case you can't lose. Regardless of the fact that Perry Mason is on the other side, you can't possibly conceive of any set of facts that would keep a judge from binding the defendant over to the Superior Court on this sort of showing.”
Mason nodded.
”Well?” Della Street asked.
”I'll grant all that,” Mason said, ”but somehow I have a feeling that they may be laying a trap. It's almost impossible to think that they wouldn't have taken the number of the gun and tried to trace it through its various owners. Now then, if . . . if they can trace that gun to my possession, then what happens?”
”Then,” she said, ”you're in the soup.”
”That's what I'm thinking,” Mason said.
”And if you're going to get in the soup,” she said, ”isn't it better to become righteously indignant in court and claim that someone has doctored the evidence, that someone has subst.i.tuted the bullets, that the murder simply couldn't have been committed with the weapon that was found in the possession of Ellen Robb because you, yourself, had been the one who had handed her that weapon and you had handed it to her at a time that was after Ellen had gone to the yacht?”
”How do we know it was after?” Mason asked.