The Case of the Fenced-In Woman (7 page)

"A main line."

"You have a key that will fit that side of the house?"

"Sure I have a key. That is, it used to fit, but I don't dare use it. I-"

"Give it to me," Mason said.

Eden hesitated for a moment. "You know you could get in trouble with this and-"

"Give me the key," Mason told him. "Hurry!"

Eden took a leather key container from his pocket, selected a key and unsnapped it from the container. "This did fit the side door," he said. "I don't know whether it does now…"

Mason didn't wait to hear him but, grabbing the key, dashed out through the door, hesitated a moment as he surveyed the fence, then decided he could make better time rounding the fence in his car than by trying to run for it. He jumped in the car, switched on the ignition and sent gravel flying as he spun the wheels in taking off down the driveway.

When he came to the heavy post embedded in cement, the lawyer slammed on the brakes, whipped the car into a skid – ding turn around the end of the fence, dashed up the driveway on the other side of the house, stopped his car directly in front of the side door, ran up the steps and fitted his key.

The key clicked back the lock.

Mason hurried into the house through the utility room, looking frantically for the telephone, found it in the kitchen, picked up the receiver and dialed the number of Paul Drake's office.

A few seconds later, when he heard Drake's voice on the line, Mason said, "Paul, this is Perry. Get this; get it right, get it first and get started."

"Okay, go ahead."

"Nadine Palmer, a divorcee living at 1721 Crockley Avenue, left her apartment house with me about an hour ago, maybe a little longer. When we reached the main intersection – there's a row of apartments there called Nester Hill-she saw a cab standing at the place reserved for a two – cab stand on the right – hand curb. She took that cab and went somewhere. I want to find out where she went. When you find her, I want her tailed.

"You're going to have to contact the cab company. You're going to have to find out what cab was there. You're going to have to find out where it went. You're going to have to pick up the trail of Nadine Palmer and do it fast. I want to know everywhere she goes. I want to know everyone she sees. I want to get the whole dope on her and I don't want her to know it, and I don't want anyone to-"

Mason turned abruptly as he heard an exclamation from behind him.

Vivian Carson, her arms full of grocery bags, stood in the doorway looking at him with indignation.

"Well," she said sarcastically, "make yourself right at home, Mr. Mason! If there's anything you want, just go ahead and take it."

"I'm sorry," Mason said, hanging up the phone, "I had to get to a telephone in a hurry."

"So it would seem," she said. "I heard your instructions. I presume it's all right to eavesdrop in one's own house."

Mason said, "I'm sorry."

"I'm afraid simply saying you're sorry isn't going to be enough. I regard this as a deliberate violation of Judge Goodwin's order."

"That's all right," Mason told her. "I'll be responsible to Judge Goodwin. Now let me ask you where you've been."

"I've been shopping," she said.

"How long have you been gone?"

"None of your business."

"It may not be my business," Mason said, "but it's going to be the business of the police."

"What do you mean, the police?"

"I mean," Mason said, "that your ex – husband, Loring Carson, lies murdered just on the other side of that fence. Someone pushed a knife into his back and it just might be a good plan, Mrs. Carson, to find out whether-"

Vivian Carson's arms opened. First one bag of groceries, then the other crashed to the floor. A carton of milk spilled open, a bottle of salad dressing broke. Milk and salad dressing mingled together on the waxed tile floor.

"My husband.. mur.. murdered," she repeated, as though trying to accustom her mind to the words.

"That's right," Mason said, "murdered, and the police-"

He broke off as the sound of a siren screaming around the turn in the road died to a low – pitched growl.

"The police," Mason finished, "are here now. Are there any oilier groceries in your car?"

"Two full bags," she said.

"Permit me," Mason said. "I'll bring them in for you."

The lawyer detoured the mess of spilled groceries on the door, said, "Perhaps you'd care to show me just where they arc."

Vivian Carson started to follow him, then shook her head, braced herself against a wall for support, moved a few staggering steps to a chair and collapsed into the seat.

Mason went out to her car, noticing the squad car on the other side of the fence at the Morley Eden entrance.

The lawyer opened the car door, carefully looked in, found two shopping bags filled with groceries, took them in his arms, carried them to the house, noticing, as he did so, that all of the police activity was centered at the other side of the residence. Apparently the officers had not seen him.

Mason brought the groceries into the house, paused before Vivian Carson.

"Where do you want these, Mrs. Carson? In the kitchen?"

"Yes," she said. "Please."

"Come on," Mason told her.

"I… I can't… I…"

"Nonsense," Mason told her. "Get up out of that chair and tell me where to put these groceries."

At the peremptory tone of his voice, she arose from the chair, took a few uncertain steps, then led the way slowly into the kitchen.

Mason dropped the groceries on a table, said, "Now look, Mrs. Carson, I want to be absolutely fair with you. While I'm in here, I'm going to look around."

"What do you mean?"

"Your husband was murdered," Mason said. "The police are on the other side of the house right now. The minute you open the door between the kitchen and dining area you'll see them in the living room on the other side of the fence. They're going to question you."

She nodded silently.

"Now then," Mason said, "you're a pretty poised young woman. You have been around. You know what it's all about. You hated your husband's guts. I don't know why you should be so shocked over his murder unless you had something to do with it."

"What do you mean?"

"Did you kill him?" Mason asked.

"Who, me?… Heavens, no!"

Mason nodded in the direction of a long magnetic bar which was just to the right of a big electric range. A dozen or more knives were suspended from this magnetized bar.

"It looks as if there might be a gap there," he said, pointing to a vacant space. "All of the other knives are arranged symmetrically and evenly spaced, then there's this gap and-"

"One knife is in the icebox," she explained. "I put it in there with some bread I had been slicing. Why this sudden attempt to pin a murder on me? Do you have some client you're trying to protect?"

"Let's put it this way. I'm giving you a dress rehearsal before the police start asking you questions. How long has this shopping trip of yours kept you away from the house here?"

"A couple of hours, I guess."

"Just getting groceries?"

"I stopped at the supermarket and got the vegetables on the road home."

"And where were you during the rest of the time?"

"Driving around and doing a little window – shopping."

"See anyone you knew?"

She shook her head.

"In other words," Mason said, "no alibi."

"What do you mean, no alibi? Why do I need an alibi?"

"Figure it out for yourself," Mason invited.

"But you said Loring was on the other side of the fence, in the other part of the house and…"

"His body," Mason said, "is lying within a few inches of the barbed – wire fence. He may very well have staggered a few steps before he fell. He could have stood on one side of the fence, you could have stood on the other, and you could have pushed that knife through the fence.

"There's one other possibility. You could have slipped into the pool, dived under the barbed wire, entered the living room, stabbed your husband and then returned the same way."

"All right, I could have! That doesn't mean I did."

"Where's your bathing suit?"

"It's a skimpy suit. I've been a model, Mr. Mason, and frankly I think a lot of our so – called modesty about our figures is the result of hypocrisy and unclean thinking. I'm proud of my figure. I guess I'm something of a nudist. I-"

"Never mind all that," Mason interrupted, "and never mind how skimpy your bathing suit is, where is it?"

"In the shower room off the pool-and it's wet. I took a late afternoon swim yesterday and washed out my suit. I intended to hang it out in the sun to dry today but realize now I forgot to do so."

"All right," Mason told her. "I'm glad to see I've snapped you out of it. Someday you'll thank me."

"What is it you're supposed to have snapped me out of?"

"Of the blue funk that was gripping you when you first realized you were going to be questioned by the officers. Now then, clean up that mess, get rid of the broken glass and all of the junk before the police get over here to question you. You've got your self – possession back, now keep it."

Mason ran quickly from the kitchen through the utility room to the side door, walked out and got in his car. No one noticed him as he drove down the graveled driveway to the big post set in cement and to which one end of the fence was anchored.

He left his car in the driveway, ran up the steps to the house, found the front door standing open and was about to enter when a uniformed officer in charge of the small group of newspaper photographers and reporters herded the group out of the door. "You boys know the rules as well as I do," the officer said. "We'll give you all the facts we feel we can release, but you can't go trooping around getting all the clues messed up and you know it. You had no business down there in the first place. Now you're going to have to wait outside until the inspection is over. We can arrange for you to use the phone, but that's all."

Mason walked through the reception hall to the arched doorway and looked down. One officer was roping off the section of the living room where Carson's body was lying. Another was questioning Morley Eden, who looked up and said, "Oh, there you are, Mason! What the devil! I've been looking all over for you. The officer wants to know who put in the call, who discovered the body, what you had to do with it and all of that stuff. I told them they'd better ask you." He came up the steps.

"Quite right," a dry voice said from behind Mason's shoulder. "You should make an explanation, Perry."

Mason turned to face Lieutenant Tragg's enigmatic professional smile. "Another body?"

"Another body," Mason said.

"Getting to be quite a habit with you, isn't it?"

"It's also a habit with you, isn't it?" Mason asked.

"That's my business," Tragg said. "I come in contact with bodies."

"So do I," Mason told him. "I didn't discover this one. The reporters discovered it."

"And you happened to be here at the time?"

"I happened to be here at the time."

"How delightfully opportune," Tragg said. "Now perhaps you'd like to tell us about it, Mason."

Mason said, "I think you'd better take a look down there first, Lieutenant. The reporters have done a lot of trampling around."

Tragg frowned, looked down at the sprawled body and said, "The officers seem to have the case in hand now. I'll talk with you for a moment. What's the idea of the fence running through the house, Mason?"

"Judge Goodwin's idea," Mason said. "This house was involved in a divorce action. Judge Goodwin divided it."

"Who's living on this side?"

"Morley Eden, the gentleman standing there beside you."