“Did you telephone her?”
For a moment, there was silence.
Mason said, “Of course, the police will check the calls.”
“What do the police have to do with it?”
“I don’t know,” Mason said, and then added significantly, “yet.”
“I don’t see where it needs to concern the police at all.”
“How many drinks had Fleetwood had?”
“A couple. We didn’t start drinking until after dinner. I guess it was about nine o’clock when we started drinking.”
“Were they loaded pretty heavy?”
“He seemed to be pretty thirsty,” she admitted. “I held him down as much as I could.”
“How big a flask?”
“A pint.”
“Any left in it?”
“No.”
“Did you telephone Pat?”
“Yes.”
“Ask Pat to come up?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I... I wasn’t certain that what I was doing was for the best. I wanted to have a showdown.”
“Tell your husband that over the telephone?”
“No. I didn’t phone Pat until nine o’clock, just before the office at the Snug-Rest closed up. Bob stole my car shortly after I called.”
“What did you tell Pat over the phone?”
“Just where I was, is all.”
“Ask her to come up?”
“Not directly.”
Mason looked at Patricia.
“I tried to call you,” she said. “You didn’t answer.”
“And why didn’t you call the Drake Detective Agency?”
“I thought I’d have a talk with Mother first.”
“Did you?”
“The cabin was empty when I got there.”
“You went in?”
“Yes.”
Mason turned to Mrs. Allred. “How long did it take you to get here?”
“I don’t know. I guess it was hours. Sometimes car after car would go by without stopping. Then the people who did stop seemed to want to go up the side roads. It was an experience I wouldn’t want to repeat. I’m a little hazy on the time element.”
“Yes,” Mason said drily, “I can see you are. You both are.”
Mason walked across to the telephone and was just about to pick up the receiver, when knuckles pounded on the door of the apartment.
“Good heavens,” Mrs. Allred said. “Who’s that?”
The knuckles pounded again, harder, more authoritatively.
Mason said, swiftly, “Both of you get this. Don’t do any talking. Let me do the talking.”
“But won’t it be worse if we don’t explain?”
“Don’t say anything,” Mason warned. “Let me do the talking.”
The chimes sounded, and again there was the sound of knuckles. Mason walked across and opened the door.
Lieutenant Tragg of the city homicide squad and Frank Inman of the sheriff’s office seemed far more surprised to see Mason than the lawyer was to see them.
“Come in,” Mason invited.
“What the hell,” Tragg said.
Mason said, “Mrs. Allred, this is Frank Inman of the sheriff’s office, and Lieutenant Tragg of the homicide squad. Gentlemen, this is Mrs. Bertrand C. Allred and her daughter, Patricia Faxon. Miss Faxon has rented this apartment under the name of Maurine Milford, because she is intending to become an authoress. She wanted a place where she could write without being disturbed.”
“Mrs. Allred, eh? Well, well, well,” Lieutenant Tragg said sarcastically. “And we have a Master of Ceremonies too! Suppose you let the women do the talking for a while, Mason.”
“Mrs. Allred has a cold,” Mason said, “and her daughter has a slight impediment of speech. Suppose you do the talking first.”
Tragg said, “You’re sure this is Mrs. Allred, Mason?”
“Her daughter should be sure.”
Tragg said to Mrs. Allred, “You ran away with Bob Fleetwood, didn’t you, Mrs. Allred?”
She started to answer the question.
Mason held up his hand, said, “Tut, tut, gentlemen. Can’t we be more diplomatic?”
Inman said, “What the hell are you doing in this, anyway?”
Tragg said, “He’s the mouthpiece. The fact he’s here at all is the best indication of guilt I know.”
Mason laughed and said, “As a matter of fact, I’m here on a civil case.”
“How do you know we aren’t?” Inman demanded.
“Merely from the personnel,” Mason said. “Suppose you tell us what’s happened?”
“We’d like to have some questions answered first.”
Mason said, “We’re allergic to questions until we know what happened.”
Inman said, “What the hell! I can take these women down and throw them in the hoosegow if I have to.”
“Sure you can,” Mason said, “and I can get a writ of habeas corpus if I have to.”
Tragg said, “This isn’t getting us anywhere. All right, if you want it the hard way, we’ll take it the hard way. When did you see Bob Fleetwood last, Mrs. Allred?”
“I... I...”
“Find out the reason for the question before you answer it, Mrs. Allred,” Mason said.
Tragg flushed. “All right, I’ll give you the reason for the question. Mrs. Allred’s automobile was found down at the bottom of a canyon on a mountain road. Bob Fleetwood was in it, and he was quite dead. Now suppose you do some talking, Mrs. Allred.”
“Bob Fleetwood dead!” she exclaimed.
“That’s what I said.”
“Take it easy,” Mason cautioned.
“Why,” she exclaimed, “he must have had too much to drink, then. He...”
“What was he doing driving your car in the first place?”
She said, “I don’t know. He simply took my car and drove away.”
“Without your permission?”
Mason stepped behind Tragg, frowned at her, and placed a finger to his lips.
She said, “That must explain everything. He was trying to get away. I thought he was suffering from amnesia, but I knew it might be just a gag. I told him I was his sister and he seemed to believe that and seemed perfectly willing to wait for his mind to clear.”
“This is a hell of a mixed up statement,” Inman said.
Tragg motioned him to silence and glanced significantly at Perry Mason. “We’re lucky to get anything,” he said, in a low voice.
Mrs. Allred said somewhat defiantly, “Mr. Mason, under the circumstances, I don’t see why we should run the risk of being misunderstood. I think that these people are entitled to a frank statement of what happened. Mr. Fleetwood was suffering from amnesia. I tried to bring him back to familiar surroundings by posing as his sister. I told him my husband was his brother-in-law. We thought that would keep him quiet and keep him from worrying, and would give his mind a chance to clear.
“We were staying at a motor court, and I was waiting for my husband. I had a flask of whisky and Bob Fleetwood had several drinks. He kept loading them pretty heavy. I tried to get him to stop, but he stayed with it until he emptied the flask.”
“You drink anything?” Lieutenant Tragg asked.
“I drank just as much as I felt that I could. I knew that after he got started, Bob was going to empty the flask, and I didn’t want him to do that. I mean I didn’t want him to get tight. I knew that every drop that I drank would leave that much less for him. I...”
“How many drinks did you have?”
“I had two. He had three.”
“Then what?”
“Then he took my car and started back to town.”
“Without your permission?”
“Yes.”
“Without your knowledge?”
“Yes.”
“And then what happened?”
“That’s all I know, but if he had an accident — well, it was on account of the liquor he’d been drinking. You can check that in some way, can’t you? Can’t you analyze his blood and find out?”