“No, you don’t!” Fleetwood yelled. “You’re not taking me any place. You... Let me out of here!”
The officer kicked the prop under his motorcycle as Della Street brought the car to a stop. Fleetwood struggled with the door, trying to get past Gertie.
The officer said, “Wait a minute, buddy. Let’s take a look at this.”
“No, you don’t!” Fleetwood yelled. “You can’t arrest me! I haven’t done anything.”
“What’s this all about?” the officer asked.
“Police want this man,” Mason said calmly, “for questioning in connection with the murder of Bertrand C. Allred.”
Fleetwood jerked the door open.
“Hey, you!” the officer shouted. “Hold it!”
Fleetwood hesitated.
“Come on back here!” the officer said. “I don’t mean maybe! Hold it. What is this?”
Mason said, “This man is Robert Gregg Fleetwood. He was the last man to see Bertrand Allred alive.”
“Who are you?” the officer asked.
“I’m Perry Mason.”
Fleetwood shouted, “You’re Perry Mason!”
“That’s right.”
“Why, you dirty shyster!” Fleetwood shouted. “You’ve tricked me. You’re Lola Allred’s lawyer. I know all about you.”
“And how did you know I was a lawyer?” Mason asked. “And how did you know that Mrs. Allred’s first name is Lola?”
Fleetwood paused for a moment, took long breaths, and suddenly clapped his hand to his forehead, “I’ve got it now!”
“Got what?” the officer asked.
“The whole thing,” Fleetwood said. “It all comes back to me! For a minute my mind was going around in circles and now I suddenly know who I am. I’m Robert Gregg Fleetwood!”
“And where have you been?” Mason asked.
“I can’t remember,” Fleetwood said. “The last thing I can remember is a rainy night. I was talking with Bertrand Allred and I started to go home to get dressed for dinner and something hit me. I can’t remember a thing after that. My mind is a blank!”
Mason grinned at the officer, flashed him a broad wink, but his voice was sympathetic as he said, “Poor Fleetwood! He’s subject to fits of amnesia. Now when we picked him up in the mountains, he didn’t know who he was. He couldn’t remember his name at all.”
“It’s come back to me now,” Fleetwood said.
“And where have you been in the last two or three days?” Mason asked.
“I don’t know,” Fleetwood said. “I feel sick. I’m nauseated. My mind is a blank as far as the last few days are concerned.”
Mason said to the officer, “You want to use the siren and clear the way to police headquarters? I think Lieutenant Tragg of the homicide squad wants to talk with this man.”
The traffic officer said, “This is going to be a feather in my cap, Mason. I guess I owe you one for this. Come on, let’s go! Can this girl follow the siren?”
“You get your siren going good and loud,” Mason said, “and don’t look behind you. She’ll have the radiator pushed right up against the rear wheel of your motorcycle.”
“Let’s go!” the officer said.
Gertie slammed the car door shut. Fleetwood settled back into sullen silence, between Mason and Gertie.
The officer kicked on his red spotlight and the siren. Della Street threw the car into second gear and then after the second block, slammed it back into high.
They screamed their way through the frozen night traffic of the city, until, within a matter of minutes, the officer flagged them to a stop in front of police headquarters.
He walked back to the car, said to Fleetwood, “Okay, buddy, you come with me!”
Fleetwood opened the door of the car, crowded past Mason.
“Right this way,” the officer said to Fleetwood.
Fleetwood gave Mason a venomous look, turned and followed the officer.
13
Mason waited until the officer and Fleetwood had entered police headquarters, and then he, himself, entered the building and found a telephone booth, dialed the number of Paul Drake’s office and said to Drake’s night secretary, “Perry Mason talking. I have to get in touch with Paul immediately. Where can I locate him?”
“He’s home, getting some shut-eye,” she said.
“Okay. I’ll call him there.”
Mason hung up, dialed the number of Drake’s apartment, and after a few moments heard Drake’s voice, thick with sleep, on the wire.
“Wake up, Paul,” Mason said. “We’re in the middle of a mess!”
“Oh, Lord,” Drake groaned. “I should have known it. You spend all day sleeping in Gertie’s apartment, and then...”
“Sleeping, hell!” Mason interrupted. “Playing cards, trying to keep awake sitting in a chair, and dozing. A more unsatisfactory day’s sleep I’ve never had!”
“All right, all right!” Drake said. “What’s wrong now?”
“We got Fleetwood,” Mason said. “I got him to police headquarters. He didn’t know who I was. Then I suddenly sprung it on him in front of some witnesses. That trapped him. He started cussing me for being Mrs. Allred’s lawyer, and then realized he’d trapped himself into a betrayal of the amnesia business. So he clapped his hand to his head and said his memory had come back with a rush.”
“Good stuff!” Drake said.
“A lot depends on what happens in the next sixty minutes,” Mason said. “Have you got someone you can use here at headquarters to...”
“That’s easy,” Drake said. “One of the men I use is accredited as a special correspondent and has the privileges of the pressroom. Unless there’s quite a hush-hush...”
“Get him on the job quick,” Mason said. “I’m going to need some co-operation. And get dressed and get up to your office, Paul. We’re going to have to do something fast.”
“How come?”
“I think this fellow, Fleetwood, may be half smart,” Mason said, “and we may either win or lose this case, as far as my client is concerned, within the next sixty minutes.”
“Okay,” Drake said, “I’ll get my man on the job and have him up there. Anything else?”
“That’s all for now,” Mason said. “Well, wait a minute! This rancher, Overbrook, looks like a big, good-natured, rugged individual, but I’d like to find out something about him.”
“Didn’t you talk with him, Perry?”
“Sure, but I couldn’t talk with him the way I wanted to because of Fleetwood being there and because I had to pretend Fleetwood was Gertie’s husband.”
“I see. Okay, I’ll try and get everything I can lined up. I’ll start working on the telephone from here, and then I’ll be up at the office in fifteen minutes.”
“That’s fine,” Mason said. “I’ll be seeing you there.”
Mason left the phone booth, walked to the office of the homicide squad, said to the officer who was at the switchboard, “How about Lieutenant Tragg? Is he in?”
“Fortunately, he is,” the man said. “A big break in the Allred case found Tragg in his office.”
“Tell him Perry Mason wants to see him.”
“He won’t see anyone for a while. He’s interviewing a witness and...”
“You get the word to him that Perry Mason is out here and wants to see him for about two minutes. Tell him it may make a difference in the way he questions Fleetwood.”
“Okay, I’ll tell him,” the officer said, got up from the switchboard, and walked down to Tragg’s private office.
A minute later he came out and said, “Stick around for a few minutes, Mr. Mason. Tragg will come out just as soon as he gets a chance.”
Mason nodded, took a cigarette and settled back in one of the uncushioned oak chairs.
The cigarette was half gone when the door was pushed open explosively, and Lieutenant Tragg came bustling out.