The Case of the Lazy Lover (19 page)

"Overbrook was a little suspicious. He looked me over pretty carefully. Finally he said he just had a bachelor's place there, that there was a spare room that had a cot in it, that it was just a cot and there were blankets on it but there were no sheets. He said that if I wanted to stay there that night, I could. I told him that would be fine, that I thought I'd have my memory back in the morning. I went into the bedroom and waited until he'd gone back to bed again. I had an idea of slipping out and listening to see when Allred regained consciousness and drove the car away. But I reckoned without the dog. Evidently Overbrook had told the dog to watch me, because when I tried to open the door a crack, the dog was standing right there in front of it with his lips curled back, and he gave a low growl.

"I went back and sat on the edge of the cot and I must have been there for about half an hour before I could hear the sound of a motor starting, and then the car drove away."

"What time did Allred get out to the Snug-Rest?" Mason asked.

"You've got me," Fleetwood said. "Allred had previously taken, not only my watch, but everything I owned except my money. When I pretended that I was suffering firm amnesia, Allred had been smart enough to see that I didn't have anything that would prove my identity in case I appealed to some stranger. I didn't have a watch. He'd even taken my handkerchief because it had a laundry mark on it, cleaned me out slick as a whistle."

"But he didn't take your money?"

"Not only did he not take my money, but I think he must have put at least a couple of hundred dollars more in the roll of bills I was carrying in my trouser pocket. He wanted me to have lots of money and nothing else."

Mason looked at Tragg.

Tragg shrugged his shoulders.

"How about Mrs. Allred's suitcase?" Mason asked.

"What about it?"

"When she packed up at her husband's request, she put this suitcase in the car?"

"Yes."

"And," the lawyer said sarcastically, "when she jumped out of that luggage compartment and started running for her life, do you want us to believe she was lugging this suitcase?"

"No, she wasn't, Mr. Mason. She was carrying a jack handle, or some metal rod; that's all. I could see that jack handle in her hand. The light from the tail light showed me that."

The lawyer smiled triumphantly. "When the car was found, her suitcase wasn't in it"

Fleetwood's face showed dismay. "The hell it wasn't! Of course, I couldn't see her too clearly."

Mason said scornfully, "It's a hell of a story. She's in danger of her life, yet she comes back for her suitcase."

"Wait a minute," Fleetwood said. "I'll tell you what must have happened. Mrs. Allred was trying to hitchhike back to town. Allred recovered consciousness, knew I'd given him the slip. He started to drive back to town. He met his wife on the road. She may even have tried to thumb a ride, not knowing who was back of the headlights. When he stopped the car and tried to force her to get in, she hit him with the jack handle. It was then she got her suitcase out of the car and drove it over the grade. He must have overtaken her right about at the place where the car went over the grade."

"Bosh!" Mason said "Believe me," Fleetwood said fervently, "Allred got what was coming to him, and if Mrs. Allred ran that car over a bluff, she certainly was acting in self-defense. I'll bet if you get her to tell the truth, you'll find that her husband picked her up, that he tried to manhandle her and she cracked him over the head with a jack handle. She…"

The phone on Tragg's desk rang.

Tragg hesitated a moment, then picked up the receiver, said, "Yes… who? Oh, yes, hello, sheriff… that's right. I've just got a new angle on it… okay, go ahead…"

Tragg held the phone to his ear for some twenty seconds, listening attentively. He frowned thoughtfully at Fleetwood while he was listening. Then he said into the mouthpiece, "I wish you'd take a look at them yourself, sheriff, and I want to go along. It may be important… I can start in ten minutes… I think we've got something there. I think this business is all beginning to fit into the component parts of a perfect picture… Okay, I'll be over. I want to ask a few questions and then I'll get in touch with you. You be all ready to go, will you… Okay, good-by."

Tragg hung up the phone, regarded Fleetwood thoughtfully for a few seconds.

"Where did you stop this car?" he asked.

"I told you, about a quarter of a mile from Overbrook's house."

"I know, but what sort of a place was it?"

"Well," Fleetwood said, "it was not too good a place. It looked all right from all I could see driving along with the headlights. It was a nice level place off the road. But when I got into it I found the going was pretty soft. It wasn't so bad at first, but up where I left the car, it was fairly soft."

Tragg said, "Now look, Fleetwood, you've played tag with us long enough. This is the second or third time you've changed your story. Now, if you try to cut any corners on me, I'm going to throw the book at you."

"I'm clean now," Fleetwood said. 'This is it, Lieutenant."

"I hope it is. Now you say Mrs. Allred jumped out of the car and ran?"

"That's right."

"Did she come back?"

"Come back!" Fleetwood said, and laughed. "You couldn't have dragged her back to that car with a block and tackle."

"You're certain?"

"Yes, of course. She was afraid of her husband, and she had reason to be."

"Did she know her husband was unconscious when she was running away?"

"I called to her," Fleetwood said, "but she kept on running."

"What did you say?"

"I don't know. I told her to come on back. And then I yelled and said, "I've got his gun and he's lying unconscious here in the car."

"What did she do?"

"I think she kept on running. But by that time, she'd gone far enough so I couldn't see. Remember, she was running from the rear of the car, away from the illumination of the headlights."

"Where were you?"

"I'd just started to walk around the car. I was standing right close to the headlights."

"Then she could see you in the illumination of the headlights?"

Fleetwood thought a minute, then said, "Yes. Certainly, of course she could. I was standing right in front of the headlights. From where she was standing, she could see me clearly."

"So you don't know that she kept on running after you called to her?"

"No, to tell you the truth, I don't. The night was dark. There was a cold drizzle falling and you couldn't much more than see your hand in front of your face. I had quite a time stumbling along getting to Overbrook's house. I couldn't see a thing. All I could do was walk toward the sound of the barking dog."

Tragg nodded. "I have a hunch you're doing all right for yourself, Fleetwood. But you're going to have to remain in custody for two or three hours."

"It suits me," Fleetwood said. "I'm clean now. And believe me, Lieutenant, it's a load off my mind."

"You're sure you threw that gun away?"

"You're damn right I threw it away. You can check on my story if you want, Lieutenant. You can find the place where I left the car, and you certainly should be able to find the gun. I threw it ahead of the car and to the left, and it must have gone about -- well, a hundred to a hundred and fifty feet. That ground was soft and I must have left tracks there."

"The tracks have been discovered," Tragg said drily. "I'm going up to take a look at them. They tend to corroborate your story a hundred percent. Now think carefully. You shut off the ignition on the car when you stopped it?"

"That's right."

"Did you switch out the headlights?"

"No, I left the headlights on."

"So the position of the car could be seen quite clearly?"

"Yes."

"And when you walked around the car, you walked in front of the car?"

"That's right."

"Where were you when you threw the gun away?"

"Standing right in front of the car."

"So the headlights were on you, is that right?"

"Yes."

"So anyone who was standing some distance back of the car could watch and see plainly what you had done?"

"Yes."

Tragg looked speculatively at Mason. "Your client tell you anything about this?"

Mason hesitated a moment, then shook his head.

"She should have," Tragg said.

"What do you mean?" Mason asked.

Tragg said, "Now I can begin to put the whole thing together. Your client ran down to the roadway, Mason. She stopped there. She heard what Fleetwood said about her husband being in the car and being unconscious. She waited. She watched Fleetwood walk around the front of the car and stand in front of the headlights. She saw him throw the gun away. Then she saw him start toward Overbrook's house. She waited. She had a jack handle in her hand. She knew her husband intended to kill her. She stood there in the drizzle, and in the darkness, waiting. When she saw Fleetwood didn't intend to come back, she tiptoed back to the car to make sure what Fleetwood said was correct. She found out it was correct. Her husband was just regaining consciousness.

"Mrs. Allred opened the car door on the left-hand side. She got in and proceed to club her husband to death with the jack handle. Then she backed the car around, drove it back to the highway, down to a place where there was a sheer drop, took her suitcase out, threw the jack handle away, got back in the car and headed it toward the cliff, jumped out, leaving her husband inside, stopped a passing motorist and hitchhiked to town. Now then, if she wants to co-operate, she can cop a plea of manslaughter."

Mason said, "She didn't do anything of the sort."

Tragg smiled knowingly. "Ibe tracks say she did, and tracks don't lie."

Mason said "Fleetwood, if your story's true, how did it happen that you didn't…"

Tragg suddenly got to his feet. "I think that will do, Mason."

"How's that?" the lawyer asked.

Tragg was smiling. "You've done me quite a favor, Mason," he said. "You've got this witness to quit stalling around. He's told a story now that checks absolutely with the facts. And right now I don't want you to do anything to spoil it. You'll have an opportunity to cross-examine this witness when he gets on the witness stand. We can dispense with any further questions from you. You're going home and get some sleep."

Mason said, "There are just a couple of questions I want to ask, Tragg. A couple of points I want to clear up."

Tragg smiled and shook his head.

Mason said, "Hang it, I developed this whole thing for you. I…"

Tragg turned to Fleetwood and said, "No matter what Mason says, Fleetwood, don't say another word as long as he's in the room. Do you understand?"

Fleetwood nodded.

Mason, recognizing defeat, pinched out the end of his cigarette, said to Tragg, "Well, it was nice while it lasted."

Tragg grinned. 'This is once," he said, "that not only does Perry Mason's client have her neck in the noose, but the great Perry Mason put it there."

"'That's all right," Mason said grimly. "What I wanted was the truth. I knew that Fleetwood was lying about that amnesia."

"Who didn't?" Tragg said "I was waiting for him to crack at the proer moment. But when you showed up here, I thought that perhaps you could soften him up for me. I didn't realize that you were going to play into my hands this far."

"I didn't either," Mason said grimly, and stalked out of the room.

Chapter 16

The clock on the wall of the visitors' room of the county jail said that it was ten minutes past nine in the morning. Mason sat on one side of the heavy steel mesh which separated the two ends of the room. Mrs. Allred sat on the other side. At the far corner a matron waited for the lawyer to finish his visit with his client.

"What did you tell Lieutenant Tragg?" Mason asked her.

"Not a thing. He never came near me."

"That's bad," Mason conceded.

"Why is it bad?"

Mason sketched out Fleetwood's story, while Mrs. Allred listened intently. When he finished, there was a few moments' silence.

Then Mrs. Allred said quickly, "It's all a complete lie, Mr. Mason."

Mason shook his head. "Something corroborates Fleetwood's story. I don't know yet what it is. If Tragg hasn't been hot after you for a statement, it means Fleetwood's story gets a good corroboration, all the way along the line. There are tracks, for one thing. There is only one explanation. You haven't been telling me the truth.

"Fleetwood stalled around long enough with one thing and another, but when he finally came through with the story, he came through with a humdinger. It's a story that puts you in the position of committing a nice little murder. And the nice part of it is that provocation is there. And motivation is there. The thing is so marvelously tailored that the jury will sympathize with you, but will decide that you're technically guilty, probably of manslaughter."

She said, "Fleetwood must have killed him, Mr. Mason."

The lawyer shook his head. "I'm not so certain," he said.

"But he must have! It had to be either Bob Fleetwood or me."

"So it would seem."

"And I know that I didn't kill him!"

Mason said, "I wish that I could find some way of making a jury share your conviction."

"Do you feel that – that I'm in a spot?"

"Fleetwood's story," Mason said, "is one that sounds convincing."

"Even to you?"

Mason said, "I make it a point in my business to believe my clients always."

"If I weren't your client, Bob Fleetwood's story would convince you?"

"It might," Mason admitted. "I wanted to see what you had to say about having been in the luggage compartment of that car."

"I never was."

"Do you know of anyone who was?"

"No."

"There's blood on the carpet. The officers found that."

"So I understand."

"And you can't explain that? You didn't have a bloody nose?"

"No."

Mason said thoughtfully, "You know, if it had only occurred to you to tell the story that Fleetwood told, but dress it up with a few variations, it might have accounted for everything, including the blood on the carpet of the luggage compartment."

"But I told you the truth, Mr. Mason." 'There are times," Mason said, "when an artistic lie can crowd the truth right off the stage. The interesting thing is that Fleetwood's story is so beautifully logical and puts you in such a sympathetic light in front of the public. But it also hangs the technical killing of your husband right around your neck. I wish you could find some way of accounting for how blood got on the carpet of the luggage compartment."

"Well, I can't."

"That's the nice part of Fleetwood's story," Mason said. "It accounts for everything. It gives the police a beautiful, beautiful case."

"Against me?"

Mason nodded.

"I didn't kill my husband, Mr. Mason."

"Well," Mason said, "you've got to talk. It's got to a point now where it's your story against Bob Fleetwood's. Your story can't explain certain things. Fleetwood's does. There's some evidence I don't know about. Tragg's out investigating it now. If that evidence corroborates Fleetwood's story the way it would seem to, the killing is wrapped around your neck. I can get you off with manslaughter, or I might get a self-defense acquittal, but the responsibility for the fatal blow is yours."

"What evidence is there that could possibly give such corroboration?"

"Tracks for one thing."

"Well, my story is the truth."

"I hope it is," Mason said and signaled to the matron that the interview was over.