The Case of the Daring Divorcee (8 page)

Mason broke off as there was a tapping on the door to his private office.

Mason nodded to Della Street.

Della Street opened the door.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hastings," Mason said. "You must have got up early and had quite a drive."

"I did."

"Where are your dark glasses?"

"Heavens, I don't wear dark glasses except when I'm crossing the desert in the glare of daylight. I never wear them around the city."

"But you do have a pair of dark glasses?"

"Certainly. A person can't drive across the desert between here and Las Vegas without having dark glasses to protect the eyes."

"Quite a glare?"

"A terrific glare."

"What do you do with your dark glasses after you take them off?"

"I put them in my handbag, in a case."

"Were your dark glasses in the handbag that I turned over to you?"

"No."

"Then someone was wearing them."

"Of course."

"You found the empty leather case in your handbag? It was in there when I gave it to you."

"Yes, it's there."

"You now have another pair?"

"Yes. I stopped at a drugstore on the road home yesterday and picked up another pair."

"And you have your purse and handbag with you this morning?"

"Yes."

"Everything was in it, just as I gave it to you?"

"Yes. Why are you asking these questions, Mr. Mason?"

"Let's see your dark glasses," the lawyer said.

She opened her purse, took out a leather case and took out a pair of dark glasses.

"How does it happen those glasses fit the case as though they had been made for it?" Mason asked.

"I have a particular brand of dark glasses that I buy, and I was able to pick up a pair that were the same brand and the same size lenses as those I'd lost."

"So they fitted in the leather case?"

"Yes."

"Suppose there's any chance the clerk who sold you the glasses would remember you?"

"I doubt it. No one sold them to me. I walked into the drugstore, picked out the type of glasses that I wanted, the price was on the glasses and I simply caught the attention of the clerk who was busy waiting on someone else, put the money on the counter, held up the dark glasses and he nodded and waved his hand, indicating it was all right, so I just left the money and walked out. I was in a hurry and he was busy."

"All right," Mason said, "could you find the drugstore again?"

She frowned and said, "I don't know whether I could or not. It was-I think I could. I'd know it if I saw it again. That is, I think I would. It was just another drugstore as far as I was concerned."

"Now, where did you get the money that you used in paying for these dark glasses?"

"I told you my husband gave me five hundred dollars. I told him about someone stealing my purse and he gave me five hundred dollars and told me to get another purse and that would see me home, that probably I'd get all the contents of my purse back except the money. He said that thieves were usually considerate in the matter of driving licenses and things of that sort. He said they didn't like to have incriminating things in their possession. He said there was nothing distinctive about money that could be identified, so they'd take out the money, then put the other things in a big envelope and mail it back to me. He said I'd probably have it by the time I got home."

"All right," Mason said, "let's hear all of your story. What brings you here?"

She said, "You're responsible. I kept thinking over what you said last night. I think something's happened. I'll never feel relaxed again until I know definitely one way or the other."

Mason said, "Would you mind putting on your dark glasses and letting me take a look at you with them on?"

She picked up the glasses and put them on.

Mason regarded her thoughtfully. "Those have very big lenses."

"The biggest they make," she said. "When you're out in the desert, particularly during the summer months, the glare can be absolutely intolerable. You want to shut out as much of it as possible. I'd use goggles, only they are so hot on your eyes. So I've compromised on these glasses. They're the Willikens Glasses, Number 24-X. That's the code number indicating the large lenses and the heavy coloring. They cost ten dollars."

"And tax?" Mason asked.

"No, they're priced at an odd figure so that the ten dollars includes the sales tax. That's true everywhere. No matter what the tax is, the glasses cost ten dollars. The Willikens line is standard. They do a lot of advertising in the slick magazines."

Mason nodded, said, "All right. You called Simley Beason this morning?"

"Yes. It was just before I called you. Simley was worried. He said he had called the house two or three times and that the tape-recording answering service was still on. He said my husband had that important appointment at the office, that when my husband had an appointment of that sort he nearly always arrived ten or fifteen minutes early."

"The appointment hadn't been canceled?" Mason asked.

"No, the man whom my husband was to meet was there in the office waiting. Simley said that if Garvin didn't show up within the next five or ten minutes he was going to drive out to the house to see what the trouble was."

"Would he have a key to the house?" Mason asked.

"He could get one," she said. "There's a key to the house which my husband keeps at the office so that if he's out of town and telephones and wants anyone to go out to the house and get something, the person he sends can pick up the key, and let himself in."

Mason looked at his watch, said, "Then we should know something within the next few minutes. If your husband was called out somewhere he would have left a note and-"

"If he'd been called out," she interrupted, "he would have called the office immediately. I'm afraid he's sick or…"

"Or?" Mason prompted, as her voice trailed into silence.

"Or what you thought last night," she said.

Mason consulted his watch, said to Della Street, "Let's give Paul Drake a ring."

Della Street dialed Drake's number.

Mason got on the line and as soon as he heard Drake's voice said, "Perry, Paul. How are you coming with that assignment?"

"I've got two girls that meet the requirements. One of them is a friend of my receptionist. Another one came from the secretarial agency on the third floor. There's also a secretarial agency on the top floor and I think we can get one or two girls from there. I have an operative up there now."

"The parking lot?" Mason asked.

"No dice down there. At least, so far. I've had an operative down there who hasn't had any luck. Women of that description who put their cars in there are very definitely intent on shopping and, moreover, they're rather suspicious. Even when my operative shows them his identification and tells them that it's a routine matter of just a few minutes' work, they fight shy."

"Even at fifty dollars for an hour's work?" Mason asked.

"Even at that price, they fight shy."

Mason looked at his watch again and said, "I'm fighting the second hand of the watch, Paul. Do the best you can."

"Good Lord," Drake said, "I'm doing the best I can… Here comes my man from the secretarial agency on the top floor. He's got two young women with him who answer the description."

"That's fine," Mason said. "Stay with it. Let me know just as soon as you're ready and remember the call that will trigger the thing. Della will just mention her name and hang up."

"I wish I knew what the hell you were getting at," Drake said.

Mason said, "It's probably better that you don't, Paul."

"How soon will you want these girls?"

"Probably within a matter of five or ten minutes," Mason said. "You'll be bearing from me."

Mason dropped the telephone into its cradle, frowned thoughtfully.

"What's all this?" Adelle Hastings asked. "Does this have to do with my case?"

Mason looked at her thoughtfully. "What case?" he asked.

She seemed embarrassed. "Why, I-Well, of course I expect to pay you for your time, Mr. Mason. You'll be compensated."

Mason said to Della Street, "Get Homicide at police headquarters, Della. See if Lieutenant Tragg is in. I'll talk with him, but if he isn't in I'll talk with whoever is in charge."

Della Street nodded, asked for an outside line, then put through the call herself.

"Homicide, please," she said. Then after a moment, "Is Lieutenant Tragg there? Perry Mason calling."

She turned to the lawyer and said, "They're calling him to the phone, Perry."

Mason picked up his phone and nodded to Della Street that she was to monitor the conversation.

Tragg's voice, dry, crisply efficient, came over the line. "Hello, Perry," he said. "Haven't found another body, have you?"

"Would it surprise you?" Mason asked.

"No."

"I don't know what I've found," Mason said. "It's something that bothers me."

"That's fine," Tragg said. "Anything that bothers you is certain to bother me. What seems to be the trouble?"

"A client of mine living in Las Vegas, Nevada, lost her purse a couple of days ago; that is, her handbag-the big bag that a woman carries, including lipstick, coin purse, cigarettes and all the rest of the paraphernalia."

"Go on," Tragg said.

"This woman," Mason said, "was Adelle Sterling Hastings, the wife of Garvin S. Hastings. At present Mrs. Hastings has separated from her husband and is residing in Nevada."

"Come on," Tragg said, "get to the point, Mason."

"Yesterday noon while I was out at lunch, and while Della Street was also out at lunch, a woman came to my office-a woman wearing large dark glasses, who said her name was Mrs. Hastings and that she would wait until I returned from lunch. She waited in the outer office for a few minutes and then left rather hurriedly, saying she would return but she never returned.

"Sometime later in the afternoon we discovered a woman's handbag or purse in the office and on making an inventory of that purse we found credit cards, driving licenses, etc., which established the ownership."

"And it was Mrs. Hastings' purse?"

"That's right."

"Then give it back to her," Tragg said, "and-Oh-oh, now, wait a minute, Perry. You're sneaking up on my blind side. Was there by any chance a gun in the purse?"

"There was."

"A permit to carry it?" Tragg asked.

"No. Mrs. Hastings doesn't carry the gun. The last time she saw it, it was in the drawer of a bedstand in her apartment."

"Now, wait a minute," Tragg interrupted. "Had that gun been fired?"

"Twice."

"All right," Tragg said, "come clean, Perry. Where's the corpse that goes with the gun?"

"I don't know that there is any. However, naturally, I'm worried."

"You should be. Where can I find Mrs. Hastings? What's her address in Las Vegas?"

"Her address is 721 Northwest Firston Avenue, but as it happens, she is in my office at the present time. We have been discussing the situation and she feels that something should be done. I felt it would be advisable to notify you, in case you wanted to take a look at the evidence or-"

Tragg's voice was as crisp as a cold lettuce leaf. "All right, Mason, what does she say about the gun having been fired?"

"She knows nothing about it," Mason said. "Her handbag and her keys were stolen, and then the gun was stolen. Moreover, she was not the woman who left the handbag in my office. It was some other woman using her name."

Tragg said, "Why not call the Las Vegas police in case those bullets found a mark in human anatomy somewhere? The body is probably in Nevada."