“What’s her number, Della?” he asked.
“Three-thirty-eight-B.”
“Well,” Mason said, “we’ll go up and see what gives.”
“If he’s waiting in the apartment, what do we do?” she asked.
“Play it by ear,” Mason said. “But I think we get tough. If it’s a fight he wants, we can let him know it’s going to go the limit.”
They went up in the elevator, oriented themselves on numbers, walked to Apartment 338-B, and Della Street silently handed Mason the key.
Mason carefully inserted the key in the lock so as not to make the slightest noise, pressed gently against the key. Nothing happened. “The wrong key?” Della asked.
Mason tried the knob. “No, the door seems to have been left unlocked.” He twisted the knob, pushed open the door.
The apartment was empty and in perfect order.
Mason stood in the doorway, looking the place over. Della Street, standing directly behind him, placed one of her hands on his arm.
“No one’s here,” she said.
“That’s either a kitchenette out there or a bedroom,” Mason said. “Probably a kitchenette.”
The lawyer gently closed the door of the apartment, crossed over to the swinging door, pushed it open to disclose a tidy kitchenette with a pocket-sized refrigerator.
“There must be a wall bed,” Mason said. “Apparently that’s all there is to the place, except there’s a bath.”
Mason walked over, opened the door to the bathroom, then recoiled.
Della Street stifled a scream.
The body of a man was lying face down, the legs sprawled across the tiles, the upper part of the body lying in the shower stall.
Mason bent over the body.
“Is it...?” Della Street’s voice failed.
Mason said, “It’s Collin M. Durant, our obnoxious friend of last night, and he’s dead as a mackerel. Evidently these are bullet holes in the back.”
Mason bent over to touch the still form.
“How long has he been dead?” she asked.
“That,” Mason said, “is going to be the big question. Notice that all the lights are on, Della.”
“Then he must have come up here after he left us last night,” Della Street said. “The lights were on. Maxine would normally have turned them off — and Durant’s bed wasn’t slept in last night.”
“And,” Mason said, “was he up here before Maxine left her apartment or not? Can Maxine prove that she was waiting at a pay station telephone booth? We’ve got to get Homicide on the job right away, Della. Minutes are precious. They’ve got to determine the time of death and let’s not throw any obstacles in the way of an accurate determination— Hello, what’s this?”
“What?” Della Street asked.
Mason turned back the coat slightly. “Look at that inside pocket,” he said, “filled with hundred-dollar bills. And this is the boy who lost a couple of cars because he couldn’t keep up the payments, the man who was two months behind in the rent on his apartment, the fourflushing playboy who didn’t have any ready cash.”
“How much is in there?” Della Street asked.
“Heaven knows,” Mason said, “and I don’t want to take the responsibility of counting it. We’re not supposed to touch anything.”
The lawyer straightened.
“How long does it take rigor mortis to develop?” Della Street asked.
“It’s a variable,” Mason said. “It depends on temperature, on the activity of the body just prior to death, on the degree of excitement. It usually takes eight to twelve hours, but it can last for eighteen hours after it develops. Notice that rigor has fully developed in this body and hasn’t as yet begun to leave.”
Della Street said, “Good heavens! This changes the complexion of the entire case, doesn’t it?”
“It not only changes the complexion,” Mason said slowly and thoughtfully, “it changes the case. Come on, Della, we’ve got to telephone Homicide and let our friend, Lieutenant Tragg, interrogate us as to how it happened we discovered another body.”
They started for the door. Abruptly Mason said, “Della, I’m going to have to put you out on the firing line.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re going to have to telephone Homicide and tell them the story.”
“What story do I tell them?”
“Tell them that Maxine Lindsay was a witness in a case, that while I was not an attorney of record I was interested in the case, that she told you last night she was leaving and gave you the key to her apartment and asked you to see about the canary.”
“Heavens, yes, the canary,” Della Street said. “I almost forgot about it. Where is it?”
“And that’s a good question,” Mason said, looking around the place. “There isn’t any sign of a cage, no sign of a bird — no sign that there ever was a bird — nothing to indicate that she ever owned a canary.”
Della Street exchanged glances with the lawyer. “And what would that mean?” she asked.
“That might mean lots of things,” Mason said. “Della, be very, very careful. Tell the police the exact truth about the time that we met Maxine. Don’t tell them about the time she telephoned us, about the number she gave us, the place where she said she was.”
Della Street said, “Gosh, Chief, I just made a note of that number long enough to call her and then tossed it in the wastebasket because she said it wasn’t her apartment but was a phone booth.”
Mason’s eyes were thoughtful. “Tell them she gave you the key to her apartment,” he said. “Tell them that you don’t feel that you can tell anyone what reason she gave until you have an okay from me. She gave you the key to her apartment and that’s all — that’s it, period. You took the key and came up here with me. You can’t tell them anything about the case until you have my permission. You must, however, tell them everything connected with the discovery of the body, all about the time and how we happened to be here, and that we found the door unlocked.”
“Do I tell them you were here with me?”
“Sure.”
“And where do I tell them that you are? They’ll want to know.”
“Tell them I couldn’t be detained at the moment, I had to go out on business. They’ll be furious but with me, not with you.”
“Aren’t you supposed to report a body just as soon as you find it? Aren’t you supposed to hold yourself available and—”
“I’m reporting it,” Mason said. “That is, you are, and you’re my employee. What I do through my agents I do myself. On the other hand, I can’t afford to stick around for a lot of police questioning right at the moment. I’m going to have to go places.”
“Where?” Della Street asked.
Suddenly before Mason could answer she said, “Oh, I know. You’re taking a plane north.”
“Exactly,” Mason said, “and you’re not to tell anyone where I’m going and we aren’t going to let the police know anything about Paul Drake being on the job and putting a lot of shadows on Maxine. We’ll tell them that later.”
“Can you get there in time?” Della Street asked.
“I think so,” Mason said. “I’ll get a plane to San Francisco and then charter a plane if I have to. I may be able to get a through plane to Sacramento and then pick up a Pacific Airlines plane or charter one. — Anyway, I’ll get there, Della.”
“And I’m to tell no one where you are.”
“That’s right,” Mason said. “You don’t know.”
“And I telephone the police now?”
“Right now,” Mason said. “Ask for Lieutenant Tragg at Homicide — and you’d better lock up here and use the phone in the lobby. There may be fingerprints on that telephone the police would like to save.”