The Case of the Fenced-In Woman (11 page)

"For your further information, we're watching the airport and making a check on the thruways. Whoever drives Loring Carson's car anywhere is going to be stopped, is going to have to answer questions, and is, in all probability, going to be the number – one suspect.

"In the meantime, much as I value your suggestions, Counselor, I think the police can investigate this case without you. In view of this discovery, which changes the whole complexion of the case, I am now escorting you to the door. You're getting out and you're going to stay out. Mrs. Carson here and Morley Eden are going to ride downtown in my car; you have your own car here. I know you have a number of very pressing matters to which you must give your attention, and I am not going to detain you any longer… We're starting now-and I don't want anyone to touch that tile. I'm going to have the fingerprint men go to work on it-so just keep away from it, if you will.

"We're going now. I'll leave instructions with my men as we go out."

Chapter Nine

MASON FITTED his latchkey to the spring lock on the corridor door marked "PERRY MASON-PRIVATE," entered his office and encountered Della Street's startled eyes.

"You must have run into quite a mess out there," she said.

"I did," Mason admitted. "Do you know what happened?"

"Loring Carson was murdered, and at the moment I know very little else. What do you know?"

Mason said, "I know that the sleeves of his shirt were wet. His coat sleeves weren't wet, indicating that he had had his arms immersed up to the elbow while his coat was off; that he had put his coat on afterward.

"Lieutenant Tragg, following up that clue, found a cunningly concealed ring back of the cement steps leading down to the shallow part of the swimming pool. By pulling on that ring, one of the patio tiles swung back on a hinge, disclosing a steel receptacle that was approximately eighteen inches square and two feet deep. There's every indication that this was used as a concealment for valuables, but no one can prove it.

"Now then, Della, I want to get the time element straight. It seems to me that our client, Morley Eden, became rather vague about it. I'd like to fix the time of the murder as nearly as we can and I'd like to check up on a few other things.

"What time was it that Loring Carson came to the office?"

"I'll find out by consulting my daybook," Della Street said, "and can tell you exactly."

She crossed over to her secretarial desk, took out her daybook, said, "He was here a little after nine thirty – five. I've got a plus mark by the time. And he left here shortly before nine forty – five."

"Paul Drake was in the corridor and got a good look at him," Mason said. "Now then-and by the way, what about Paul? Has he made any report on that job I phoned in about?"

"He just told me he was working on it and told me that Loring Carson had been murdered."

Mason said, "See if you can get Paul on the line. Now let me see, I finished dictating that complaint in the fraud case about nine o'clock, didn't I?"

"A little before that, I think. You put the complaint on the dictating machine and I know that I had the typists come early this morning and they started typing a little before eight – thirty. The complaint was all typed before you went out, which was at about five minutes to ten… Did you get your hair trimmed?"

"I got the works," Mason said. "I got my hair trimmed, had a shave, a massage, a manicure and a shine. You told me that I needed to look my best for newspaper photographers and I thought it was a good idea."

"Or did you think that you needed to look your best for this Nadine Palmer?"

"Nadine Palmer," Mason said, "had something on her mind. Della, suppose you were going swimming with nothing but your underthings on. What would happen?"

"Me?" she asked.

"You."

She said, "My underthings are in the mode and somewhat negligible. They are nylon and not designed for concealment when wet. I trust the question is scientific and impersonal."

Mason frowned. "It's scientific and impersonal and puzzling."

Della Street, whose fingers had been dialing the telephone as she talked, said, "Is Paul there?… Mr. Mason is in his office and he'd like very much to see him if he could step down for a minute.

"Okay, thanks," she said into the telephone, hung up and said, "Paul will be down here right away."

Mason took the cigarette from his side coat pocket.

"What's that?" Della asked.

"That," Mason said, "was a very damp cigarette. Now then, Della, let us suppose that a young woman went swimming in panties and bra and then divested herself of her wet garments but didn't want to leave them where they would subsequently be found. She'd naturally put them in her purse, wouldn't she?"

"Unless she decided to wear them and let them dry while they were on her,"

"I'm inclined to think Nadine Palmer squeezed the surplus water out of her undergarments and pushed them into her purse," Mason said.

"And why the swim in the near nude?" Della Street inquired.

"That," Mason said, "is something that may concern us very deeply. She-"

He broke off as Paul Drake's code knock sounded on the door. Della opened the door.

"Anything on Nadine Palmer?" Mason asked as Drake stepped inside the office.

"Not a thing," Drake said.

Della Street said demurely, "There seems to have been very little on Nadine Palmer."

"How come?" Drake asked.

"It's just a theory I had," Mason said. "What did you do about the taxicab, Paul?"

"Oh, I found the taxi all right," Drake said. "She had the driver take her to the airport; but what happened when she got to the airport is anybody's guess. She may have taken a plane or she may have simply switched taxicabs and taken another cab back to town.

"If she took a plane, she didn't take it under her own name. My office has been telephoning every major airline trying to find a booking for Nadine Palmer and getting no place.

"I can tell you something else about your girl, and that is the police are looking for her."

"They are?"

"That's right. They have been making inquiries and told the landlady at the apartment house not to let anyone in the apartment until they could get a search warrant. They sealed up the apartment tight as a drum."

"Now that's something," Mason said. "Why would they do that?"

"I don't know, but they're working on a lead. The only thing is that they didn't know, or at least didn't seem to know, where she took the taxicab so we're one jump ahead of them on that."

Mason's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "I said something to her," he said, "that touched off a whole chain reaction. I wonder what it was."

"What's this about her having nothing on?" Drake asked.

Mason said, "It was just a theory I had from a damp cigarette. Here's the cigarette, Paul."

"And how did you think the cigarette got wet?" Paul asked. "Being dunked in a swimming pool?"

"No," Mason said, "I had an idea Nadine slipped off her outer garments and went swimming in her undies. Then she took off the undies and squeezed what water she could from them, put them in her purse, got into her dress, and went home. And something I said to her rang a bell somewhere in her mind. I remember I was talking about Loring Carson and… Hey, wait a minute, I asked her…

"Della, start playing tunes on the telephone. Get me on the first available flight to Las Vegas. I'll call you when I get to the airport to find what one. I'll grab a taxicab and get out there just as fast as I can so I won't have any problem with parking. I should call you by the time you've got a confirmed reservation.

"Paul, stay on the job. Find out everything you can about Nadine Palmer. See if you can consult the records and find out what sort of an affidavit the police made in order to get a search warrant for her apartment.

"Della, the police are holding Morley Eden for questioning and they also have Vivian Carson. I don't think they'll hold either of them very long. As soon as they're released, Eden will probably call the office. Get him to come in. Tell him I'm concerned about the time element in the case. Get him to talk about everything connected with the time element; where he went; what he did.

"Make notes in shorthand, but don't be too obvious about it. I don't want him to get the idea we're putting him on the grid and applying pressure. The police have probably been all over it with him and his recollection should be fairly fresh at the moment. I'm on my way."

"I could drive you out," Drake said, "and-"

"I'll grab a cab," Mason told him. "You keep on the job here."

Mason jerked the door open, dashed out into the hall and sprinted for the elevator.

Chapter Ten

THE LAS VEGAS bellboy regarded the three one – dollar bills which Mason dropped into the palm of his hand and said, "Genevieve.. sure, Genevieve is one of the hostesses."

"How about pointing her out?" Mason asked.

"Right this way."

The boy led the way down past a bar into a huge casino, where roulette wheels, wheels of fortune and rolling dice furnished a background of sound. Jacketed young women in tight – fitting slacks sat behind tables dealing twenty – one. At the far end of the room a bank of slot machines, whirring away busily, kept a continual monotone of sound interspersed occasionally by a voice over the loudspeaker announcing, "A jackpot on machine number twenty – one.. jackpot on machine twenty – one… Machine fourteen hits the double jackpot. Machine fourteen hits the double jackpot."

The bellboy said, "There she is over there."

"Which one?" Mason asked.

"The snaky one."

"They all look snaky to me," Mason said.

The bellboy grinned. "They're paid to look snaky. She's the snakiest. The one on the right."

"Thanks," Mason said.

Mason walked through the milling crowd of sightseers and gambling customers to the far end of the room.

The young woman who had her back toward him was wearing a glittering, dark gown which fitted her like the skin on an onion. She turned as Mason approached, surveyed him with large, dark eyes that looked him over with a trace of impudence in their depths.

The gown followed the line of cleavage between her swelling breasts in a low – cut V that started wide then narrowed until it seemed to stretch almost to her waist.

"Hello," Mason said.

"Hello," she said.

"I'm looking for Genevieve."

"You've found her."

"My name is Mason."

"Don't tell me the first name is Perry?"

"It's Perry."

"I thought I'd seen your picture somewhere. Now what in the world brings you to Las Vegas?"

"I'm looking for amusement."

"You're standing in the exact geometrical center of some of the best amusement in the world. Only don't make any mistake about me, I'm a shill, sucker bait, window dressing. I'm not for sale."

"Or rent," Mason said casually.

She smiled. "One might consider a long – term lease," she said, her large dark eyes looking up to the lawyer's rugged features and making no attempt to veil their interest.

Mason said, "I want to talk. Are you permitted to talk during working hours?"

"That's my business. I could lead you to a gambling table and…"

"My attention might become engrossed in other things," Mason said. "Could we have a drink?"

"That is not encouraged," she said, "except as a preliminary, but under the circumstances I think it might be done."

"In a booth?" Mason asked.

"In a booth," she said, "but there again remember that I'm on duty and in circulation. I'm supposed to lead customers to the gambling tables, to see that everyone is happy and once in a while to take a stack of chips and show the gamblers how easy it is to win."

"Is it easy to win?" Mason asked.

"If you know how," she said.

"And how does one learn how?"

"Come on, I'll show you."

She took Mason's arm, led him over to the roulette table.

"Give the man twenty dollars for a stack of chips."

Mason handed over twenty dollars and received a stack of chips.

"Now then, I'll make a bet with your money," she said. "You get the winnings."

She watched the wheel for a moment, then put chips on the number seven.

The wheel stopped on number nine.

"That easy?" Mason asked.

"Hush," she said, "I'm getting the feel of the thing. Put a couple of chips on twenty – seven and put some on double – zero. Put five chips on the red and three chips on the third twelve."

"At this rate," Mason said, "twenty dollars will last fast."

"And then," she said, in a half whisper, "I'll be free to go to a booth with you. They'll know I'm cultivating a customer."

The ball clicked into a pocket. "See," she said.

Mason watched the croupier push out the chips.

"Now," she said, "you have a lot more than when you started."

Mason gravely handed her half of the winnings. "Could I make you a free – will offering?" he asked.

She accepted only a part of the chips, made quick bets around the board, leaned against him as she reached for the far end of the table so that Mason could feel her breast pressed against his left arm. Her lips were close to his ear. "I'm not allowed to cash chips," she said, "but cash is always acceptable later on after you've cashed in."

Mason said, "This is all rather new to me, Genevieve."

"When you're winning," she said, "press your luck. When you're cold, quit."

"That's the only recipe for success?"

"That's all there is to it. The trouble is the customer can't do it. When he gets cold, he starts trying to force his luck. When he's hot, he tends to get a little conservative. You're hot; shoot the works."

Mason watched her spread chips around the board.

Twice more the croupier handed out large piles of winnings.

Following Genevieve's lead, Mason started scattering chips in various places around the table and from time to time more chips were pushed across toward him.

People who were wandering aimlessly around came to watch the phenomenal success of the pair at the table. Soon the table was ringed with players so that spectators were crowded back into the second row. The play became so heavy that it took the croupier some time in between rolls of the wheel to rake in the chips, pay off the winners.

For a while Mason seemed to hit almost every third roll of the wheel, then there were five consecutive rolls during which he won nothing.

Abruptly the lawyer crammed the remaining chips into the pockets of his coat.

"Come on," he said to Genevieve, "I want a recess. I want to have a drink, I'm thirsty."

"You can have a drink served right here," she said so the croupier could hear her.

"I want to sit down and drink leisurely. Can I pay for it with these chips?"

"Oh, sure," she said, "or you can cash the chips in at the cashier's window and come back and buy another stack."

Mason followed her over to the cashier's window, handed in the chips, which were carefully counted, and received in return five hundred and eighty dollars.

The lawyer took Genevieve's arm, surreptitiously pressed a one – hundred – dollar bill into her palm, said, "Is that acceptable?"

"That's quite acceptable," she said without looking at the amount of the bill.

She led him past the bar over to a section of booths, slid in behind a table, smiled at the lawyer with full, red lips parted to show pearly teeth.

"You're a gambler," she said.

"I am now," Mason told her. "I've been initiated. Is it always that easy?"

"It is when you're hot."

"And what happens when you're cold?"

"When you're cold," she said, "you get mad. You start plunging. You get to feeling the board owes you money. Then you look at me with a jaundiced eye and think maybe I'm a hoodoo. About that time I slip one of the other girls the wink and she sidles over to the table, gets interested and makes a bet, leans up against you so she's pressing her form against you, says, 'Pardon me,' and smiles. You say something to her, and I'm sort of pushed into the background. Then if you don't do something to recapture me, I drift away and you have another hostess on your hands."

"And she collects a tip?"

"Don't be silly," she said. "No one who is losing gives anyone a tip, but when a man is winning he gets generous.

"My gosh, I've even seen 'em tip the croupiers down in a joint in Mexico until their pockets were bulging."

"Can the croupier control what happens?" Mason asked.

"How you talk," she said, laughing.

"I was talking about down in Mexico," Mason said.

"I know you were," she said, smiling at him invitingly.

A waiter paused by the table.

Mason raised his eyebrows inquiringly and Genevieve said, "Scotch and soda please, Bert."

Mason said, "Gin and tonic, double, please."

Genevieve adjusted her dress beneath the table, lowered her eyes, then suddenly raised them with an expression of surprise. "That was a hundred dollars you gave me," she said.

"Right," Mason told her.

"Well.. bless your soul," she said, "and thanks."

"I may as well tell you that I want something," Mason said.

"All men want something," she said, smiling. "I hope what you want is something I can give. Something easily accessible."

She moved seductively toward him, then laughed and said, "Oh, let's forget it. Come down to earth. What do you want, Perry Mason?"

He said, "I want to know whether you know a Nadine Palmer."

"Palmer, Palmer, Nadine Palmer," she said, squinting her eyes thoughtfully and frowning slightly with an effort of recollection.

Slowly she shook her head. "The name means nothing to me," she said. "I might recognize her if I saw her. I know lots of people that are faces without names. Does she live here?"

"She lives in Los Angeles."

Again Genevieve shook her head.

"Do you know Loring Carson?" Mason asked.

Her eyes snapped up to his with hard appraisal, the pearly teeth vanished from behind the red lips.

"I know Loring Carson," she said.

"Have you seen him lately?"

She frowned. "It depends on what you mean by lately. I saw him… Well, let's see. He was here last week… I think it's been about a week since I've seen him."

"He's dead," Mason said.

"He's.. he's what?"

"He's dead," Mason said. "He was murdered today, late this morning or early this afternoon."

"Loring Carson dead?"

"That's right. Murdered."

"Who killed him?"

"I don't know."

She lowered her eyes. For some ten seconds her face remained expressionless, then she sighed, raised her eyes to Mason and said, "All right, he's dead. He's gone."

"He was a friend?" Mason asked.

"He was a-a good guy; let's put it that way."

"You knew he was having trouble with his wife?"

"Virtually all men have trouble with their wives sooner or later. All the men that I meet do."

"He gambled quite a bit?" Mason asked.

"We don't discuss the affairs of customers publicly, but he gambled quite a bit."

"And won?"

"He was a good gambler."

"And that means what?"

"Doing just what I told you. There's no secret about it. Plunge like the devil when you're hot, lay off gambling when you're cold. Do that and you'll win, at least in Las Vegas. But people can't do that."

"Why not?"

"I don't know," she said.

"Carson wasn't like that?"

"Carson was a good gambler and when he was cold, he… he'd do what you're doing."

"What?"

"Take me out of circulation and buy me drinks."

"The management permits that?"