The Case of the Sleepwalker's Niece (8 page)

Mason signaled him to go ahead and land. The nose of the plane tilted sharply forward. The droning roar of the motors died to a humming noise which enabled Mason to hear the sound of air shrieking past the plane. The pilot swung it into a long, banking turn, flattened out, gunned the motors once, then tilted the nose forward. A moment later the little jolts running up through the plane signified the wheels were once more on the earth. Mason saw two men running toward him, waving their arms. One of them, he saw, was Kent, and the other one was a stranger to him. Mason emerged from the fuselage. "What happened?" he asked.

Kent said ruefully, "Motor trouble. We had to make a forced landing. I thought we were going to be there all morning. We got in about five minutes ago and this man from the Detective Agency met me. He telephoned your office and your secretary said for me to wait here, that you were due to land within five or ten minutes. She'd verified the time you took off from Los Angeles and knew just about when you were due."

"Where's Miss Mays?"

"I sent her on to the hotel. She wanted to freshen up a bit, and then she's going to the courthouse to wait for me."

Mason said, "We're all going to the courthouse and get that marriage over with. Is there a taxicab here?"

"Yes, I have a car waiting."

"There's just one chance in a hundred," Mason said, "an officer may be waiting to pick you up when you get in that car. I want to talk to you before anyone else does. Come over here." He took Kent's arm, walked with him some thirty steps away from the pilot and detective and then said, "Now, then, come clean."

"What do you mean?" Kent asked.

"Exactly what I said – come clean."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. I've told you everything. The information that I gave you concerning Maddox is strictly accurate. The…"

"The hell with Maddox," Mason said. "How about Rease?"

"You mean my half-brother?"

"Yes."

"Why, I've only told you all about him. He's really incompetent so far as money matters are concerned. He's rather radical at times. His attempts to make money have met with failure, so he's naturally resentful of the chaps who have been more successful. He…"

"At approximately seven-thirty this morning," Mason interrupted, "Mr. P. L. Rease was found dead in his bed. Death had been caused by plunging a sharp carving knife down through the bedclothes into his body. The knife had apparently been taken from a drawer in the sideboard in the dining room and…"

Kent swayed, clutched at his heart. His eyes grew wide. His face turned an ashen gray. "No," he whispered hoarsely, speaking with a visible effort. "Good God, no!"

Mason nodded.

"Oh, my God!" Kent cried, clutching at Mason's arm.

Mason jerked his arm away and said, "Stand up and cut out the dramatics."

Kent said, "You'll excuse me, but I'm going to sit down." Without a word, he sat down on the ground. Mason stood above him, watching him with calmly speculative eyes. "When… when did it happen?"

"I don't know. He was found about seven-thirty."

"Who found him?"

"I did."

"How did you happen to find him?"

Mason said, "We found a carving knife under the pillow of your bed. After we looked at the blade we started an investigation of the house – taking the census."

"Under my pillow!" Kent exclaimed, but his eyes did not meet those of the lawyer.

"Did you," Mason asked, "know that Rease wasn't sleeping in his own room last night? That he changed rooms with Maddox?"

Kent's eyes, looking like those of a wounded deer raised to Mason's. Slowly he shook his head. "Did he?" he asked.

"They exchanged rooms," Mason said. "Apparently you were about the only person in the house who didn't know the exchange had been made. The district attorney will claim that when you slipped the knife from the sideboard and went prowling through the house you believed the occupant of that room was Frank Maddox."

"You mean the district attorney's going to say I did it."

"Exactly."

Kent stared at Mason. His mouth began to quiver. His hand went to his face, as though trying to hold the muscles from twitching. His hand began to shake…

Mason said casually, "If I'm going to represent you, Kent, you've got to do two things: First you'll have to convince me that you're innocent of any deliberate murder. Secondly you'll have to cut out this business of putting on the jerks." As Kent continued to twitch and jerk, the spasm apparently extending all over his body, Mason went on as though he had been engaged merely in casual conversational comment: "Dr. Kelton says you don't do that right, that you might fool a family physician, but you couldn't fool a psychiatrist. Therefore, you can see how much you're weakening your case by putting on an act like that."

Kent suddenly ceased trembling and twitching. "What's wrong with the way I do it?" he asked.

"Kelton didn't say. He simply said that it was an act you were putting on. Now, why were you doing it?"

"I – er…"

"Go on," Mason said. "Why were you doing it?" Kent pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his forehead. "Go on," Mason told him. "Get up. Stand on your two feet. I want to talk to you." Slowly Kent got to his feet. "Why did you put on the act?" Mason asked.

Kent said in a voice that was almost inaudible, "Because I knew I was walking in my sleep again and I was afraid… God, I was afraid!"

"Afraid of what?"

"Afraid I was going to do this very thing."

"What, kill Rease?"

"No, kill Maddox."

"Now," Mason told him, "you're talking sense… Have a cigarette." He extended his cigarette case. Kent shook his head. "Go on and tell me the rest of it," Mason said. Kent looked around apprehensively. Mason said, "Go on, spill it. You won't ever have any safer place to talk. They may pounce down on you at any time now." He raised his finger and dramatically pointed to an airplane which, but little more than a speck in the sky, was heading toward the airport. "Even that plane," he said, "may hold officers. Now, talk, and talk fast."

Kent said, "God knows what I do when I'm sleepwalking."

"Did you kill Rease?"

"Before God, I don't know."

"What do you know about it?"

"I know that I walked in my sleep a year ago. I know I've been walking in my sleep from time to time ever since I was a boy. I know that these fits come on when there's a full moon and when I'm nervous and upset. I know that a little over a year ago, while I was walking in my sleep, I got a carving knife. I don't know what I intended to do with that carving knife, but I'm afraid – horribly afraid…"

"That you intended to kill your wife?" Mason asked.

Kent nodded.

"Go on from there," Mason said, eyes watching the plane which was banking into a turn in order to come up against the wind. "What about this last flare-up?"

"I walked in my sleep. I got the carving knife from the sideboard. Apparently I didn't try to kill anyone with it, or, if I did, I was prevented from carrying out my plan."

"What makes you think so?"

"The carving knife was under my pillow when I woke up in the morning."

"You knew it was there, then?"

"Yes."

"And do you know what happened after that?"

"I deduced what must have happened. I went in to take my shower and when I returned the knife was gone. At about that time Edna became very solicitous. That night, after I went to bed, someone locked my door."

"You knew that, then?"

"Yes. I wasn't asleep. The lock made a faint clicking sound."

"And you surmised it was Edna?"

"Yes. I felt certain it must have been."

"So what?"

"So when Edna started pulling her astrological stuff and suggested I see an attorney whose name had five letters, and was associated with rocks, I realized she was trying to put me in an advantageous position in case something horrible should really happen. So I ran over the names of the leading criminal attorneys in my mind, and made things easier for her by suggesting you."

"So you didn't fall for that astrological stuff?"

"I don't know. I think there's something to it. But as soon as she brought the subject up, I appreciated the advantage of coming to you before anything happened."

"And you suggested I get a doctor for the same reason?"

"That's right. My niece made that suggestion and I saw the advantages of it."

"And his shaking act?"

"I wanted to impress upon both of you that I was laboring under a nervous strain."

"So you put that act on to impress the doctor?"

"If you want to put it that way, yes."

"Why didn't you go to the police or put yourself in a sanitarium?

Kent twisted his fingers together until the skin grew white. "Why didn't I!" he asked. "Oh, my God, why didn't I! If I'd only done that! But no, I kept thinking things were going to be all right. Mind you, I'd put that carving knife under my pillow and hadn't done anything with it; and so I figured that, after all, I wouldn't actually kill anyone. Just put yourself in my position. I'm wealthy, my wife wants to grab my property and put me in a sanitarium. For me to do anything would have been to deliberately play into her hands. I was in a terrible predicament. The worry of it almost drove me crazy. And then, after I consulted you, and saw the capable way in which you were going at things, I felt certain everything was going to be all right. It was a big load off my mind. I went to bed and slept like a top last night. I can't remember anything until the alarm went off this morning… I was excited about my marriage… I didn't look under the pillow."

The airplane, which had swept into a landing, taxied up to a stop. Mason, watching the people disembarking from it, said, "Okay, Kent, I believe you. I'm going to see you through. If you've told me the truth, go ahead and tell your story to the officers. If you built this sleepwalking business up, as your wife claims you did in her case, to give you a chance to murder someone you wanted out of the way, say so now."

"No, no, I'm telling you the truth."

Mason raised his hand and called out, "Over this way, Sergeant."

Sergeant Holcomb, flexing his muscles, after emerging from the plane, started at the sound of Mason's voice, then, with Deputy District Attorney Blaine, at his side, came striding toward Mason and Kent. "What is it?" Kent asked in an apprehensive half whisper.

"Stick to your guns," Mason cautioned. "Tell your story to the officers and to the newspapers. We want all the publicity we can get…"

Sergeant Holcomb said belligerently to Perry Mason, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Mason, with an urbane smile and a gesture of his hand said, "Sergeant Holcomb, permit me to present Mr. Peter B. Kent."

Mason whirled to face Drake. "That nightgown sounds fishy," he said, "doesn't Kent wear pajamas?"

Drake shook his head. "Nothing doing, Perry. I thought we could bust Duncan's story with that nightgown business but there's no chance. Kent wears one of those old-fashioned nightgowns."

"I presume the district attorney's office grabbed it as evidence."

"Sure, they have the nightgown that was found on the foot of Kent's bed, presumably the one he wore."

"Any blood stains on it?"

"I can't find out, but I don't think so."

"Wouldn't there have been?"

"The theory of the Prosecution is that since the knife was plunged through the bedclothes, the blankets prevented any blood spurting up on the hands of the murderer or on his clothing."

"That sounds reasonable," Mason said, "reasonable enough to convince a jury, anyway. What time was the murder committed?"

"That's a question. For some reason or other, the district attorney's office is trying to make it a big question, claiming that it's hard to fix the time exactly. They've told the newspaper reporters it was sometime between midnight and four o'clock in the morning. But they've been questioning servants to see if they saw or heard anything around three o'clock."

Mason, standing with his feet planted apart, head thrust forward, scowlingly digested that bit of information. "They're doing that," he said, "to pave the way for Duncan to change his story. I'll bet you twenty bucks that they can fix the time of the murder within an hour, one way or the other, but Duncan said he saw Kent carrying the knife across the patio at quarter past twelve… Paul, did that clock in Duncan's room have a luminous dial?"

"I don't know, why?"

"Because, if it did," Mason said, "they're keeping the time indefinite until they can convince Duncan that it was three o'clock instead of quarter past twelve. A man with poor eyesight, looking at a luminous dial, could easily confuse the two times."

Della Street, looking up from her notebook, said, "Do you think Duncan would do that?"

"Sure he would. They'll hand him a smooth line, saying, 'Now, Mr. Duncan, you're a lawyer. It wouldn't look well for you to be trapped on cross-examination. The physical facts show the murder must have been committed at three o'clock. Now, isn't it reasonable to suppose that it was the small hand you saw pointing at the figure three on the dial of that clock instead of the large hand? Of course, we don't want you to testify to anything that isn't so, but we wouldn't like to see you made to appear ridiculous on the witness stand.' And Duncan will fall for that line, go home, think it over and hypnotize himself into believing that he remembers distinctly that the time was three o'clock, instead of quarter past twelve. Men like Duncan, prejudiced, opinionated and egotistical, are the most dangerous perjurers in the world because they won't admit, even to themselves, that they're committing perjury. They're so opinionated all of their reactions are colored by their prejudices. They can't be impartial observers on anything."

"Can't you trap him in some way," Della Street asked, "so the jury will see what kind of man he is?"

He grinned at her and said, "We can try. But it's going to take a lot of trapping, and in some quarters it might not be considered ethical."

"Well," Della Street said, "I don't think it's ethical to let a client get hung because some pompous old walrus is lying."

Drake said, "Don't worry about Perry, Della. He'll work out some scheme before the case is over that'll get him disbarred, if it doesn't work, and make him a hero, if it does. No client of Perry Mason's was ever convicted on perjured evidence yet."

"You're trailing Duncan?" Mason asked.

"Yes. We're putting shadows on every one who leaves the house, and I'm getting reports telephoned in at fifteen minute intervals."

Mason nodded thoughtfully and said, "I particularly want to know when he goes to an oculist."

"Why the oculist?" Drake asked.

"I've noticed he keeps looking through the bottom of his glasses," Mason said. "They're bifocals. Evidently they don't fit him. A lot's going to depend on his eyesight. The D.A. will want him to make a good impression. Right now he can't read anything unless he looks through the lower part of his glasses and holds it at arm's length. That won't look good on the witness stand when a man's testifying about something he saw in the moonlight at three o'clock in the morning."

"But he didn't sleep with his glasses on," Della Street objected.

"You'll think he slept with binoculars on by the time he gives his testimony," Mason remarked grimly. "The district attorney's a pretty decent chap, but some of these deputies are out to make records for themselves. They'll give Duncan a hint about what they're trying to prove, and Duncan will do the rest. How about Jackson; is he back?"

She nodded, and said, "Harris overheard a telephone conversation between Doris Sully Kent and Maddox. I think you'll want Paul to hear what Jackson has to say about that conversation."

"Show Jackson in," Mason said.

She paused in the doorway long enough to say, "Do you think it's on the level – Kent's plane having motor trouble?"

"Yes, I talked with the pilot. It was just one of those things. He made a forced landing in the desert. It didn't take so long to fix the ignition trouble, but he had to clear off a run-way by grubbing out a lot of greasewood. It was just one of those things that happen once in a million times."

"Then Kent isn't married."

"No."

"That means Lucille Mays can be a witness against him?"

"She doesn't know anything anyway. Bring Jackson in."

When she had left the room, Drake said in a low voice, "Would Kent have had any reason for making a detour with that airplane, Perry?"

Mason said tonelessly, "How the hell do I know? He said he had motor trouble, and so did the pilot."

"And he's your client," Drake remarked.

"He's my client – and yours," Mason admitted. "But don't be so damned cynical. I think he had trouble."

"Perhaps he did," Drake admitted, "but try and make a jury believe it."

The door opened to admit Jackson. Mason nodded. "Give us the low-down, Jackson."

Jackson was excited. "I've just been talking with the Clerk's office in Santa Barbara. I put my name, address and telephone number on the back of that final decree of divorce when I filed it as attorney for Peter Kent."

"Well?" Mason asked, as Della Street unobtrusively slipped through the door and to her secretarial desk.

"The Clerk called me to say that Doris Sully Kent, acting through Hettley and Hettley, of this city, had filed an action alleging fraud on the court in connection with the entire divorce action, claiming there's been collusion; that Kent had persuaded her to file a divorce action; and that he'd lied to her about the community property, in that he had an undisclosed interest in a patent on a valve-grinding machine, and that he was a part owner in the Maddox Manufacturing Company of Chicago; that the patents controlled by that company are worth more than a million dollars and that they're community property. She also alleges that the final decree was a fraud on the court, and has filed an affidavit and application under Section 473 of the Code of Civil Procedure, alleging that she discharged her Santa Barbara attorneys and retained Hettley and Hettley; that she was under the impression the interlocutory decree had been granted on the fifteenth and told them such was the case; that they didn't have an opportunity to look up the matter until last night; that they sat up all night, getting the action ready to file."

"When were the papers filed in Santa Barbara, Jackson?"

"The action to set aside the interlocutory decree was filed around nine-thirty. They figured no final decree would be issued before ten o'clock anyway."

"And the affidavit and motion under 473?"

"Just a short time ago. They found out about the final when they got up there, and evidently prepared and signed those papers in Santa Barbara. The Clerk's office didn't telephone me until an attack had been made on that final decree."

Mason said to Della Street, "Send someone down to the Clerk's office here, find if they haven't filed a petition to have Peter Kent declared an incompetent person and his wife appointed a guardian."

He turned back to Jackson. "What about the business you were mentioning over the phone?"

"At three o'clock this morning," Jackson said, "Maddox telephoned Mrs. Kent and wanted her to pool her interests with them."

"At three o'clock in the morning!" Mason exclaimed. Jackson nodded. Mason gave a low whistle and said, "Give me the details. Tell me everything that happened."

"When I got your instructions I started watching Mrs. Kent's house."

"Have any trouble finding it?"

"No, I went right to the address you gave me. I stayed there until midnight and didn't see a sign of life about the place, except there were lights on on the lower floor."

"You mean you didn't see anyone moving around?"

"That's right."

"Then what happened?"

"Around midnight Harris came up. It may have been a little before midnight; I don't remember the exact time. He told me he'd take over the job of watching, so I took Helen Warrington from his car, and we went to a hotel. Harris stayed there in his car. The night was unusually warm for this time of year, and Mrs. Kent had her windows open. Harris proved himself a darn good detective. When the telephone rang he made a note of the time. It was two minutes past three o'clock. He checked his watch with Western Union time the next morning and found he was one minute and five seconds fast, so that would make the time fifty-five seconds past three o'clock, and he made notes in his notebook of what she said."

"He could hear her?"

"Yes, it was still night and he could hear her voice through the bedroom window." Jackson pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and read, "Telephone bell rings three times, then a drowsy voice says, 'Hello… Yes, this is Mrs. Kent… Yes, Mrs. Doris Sully Kent of Santa Barbara… What's that name again, please?… Maddox… I don't understand your calling at this hour… Why, I thought that was all fixed… Your lawyer has arranged a conference, and I'll meet you, as agreed… You can get in touch with Mr. Sam Hettley, of the firm of Hettley and Hettley, if you want any more information. Good-by."

Jackson handed the paper over to Mason. Mason glanced significantly at Paul Drake and said, "One minute past three, eh?" He made little drumming motions with his fingertips on the edge of the desk, then said suddenly, "Look here, Jackson, when they filed that action at nine-thirty this morning they didn't know a final decree of divorce had been granted."

"That's right, yes, sir."

"Then they filed a motion, affidavit, and what not, under Section 473 to set aside the final decree?"

Jackson nodded again.

"Therefore," Mason said, "somewhere between the hour of nine-thirty this morning and the time those papers were filed, they must have been in touch with Mrs. Kent and secured her signature. How does it happen your man on duty hasn't reported that, Paul?"

Paul Drake shook his head and said, "I've arranged to be notified by telephone, if anything unusual happens. The last report I had was about twenty minutes ago and he said Mrs. Kent hadn't been out of the house."

"She must have given him the slip," Mason said.

"If she did, she's clever as the devil. The house backs up against a barranca. There's a big retaining wall which encloses a back patio. The only way to reach the back of the house is by going past the front and around the side. There's a cement walk running around to the back door."

"An enclosed back patio?" Mason asked. Drake nodded. The telephone rang. Mason scooped the receiver to his ear, said, "Hello… It's for you, Paul," and handed over the instrument.

Drake listened for a minute, said, "Are you sure?" then made a notation of certain figures in a notebook he whipped from his pocket, and said, "Okay, you stay on the job down there. I'm sending two more men down to cooperate. You stay with your couple unless they separate. If they do, you follow Duncan – he's the big bird with the bushy eyebrows. Let one of the other men tail Maddox." He slammed the receiver back on the telephone, looked at his wristwatch and said to Perry Mason, "She got out of the house all right. She's down here having a conference with her lawyer. My men trailed Maddox and Duncan to the Securities Building. They went to the offices of Hettley and Hettley on the fifth floor. My operative was starting back to the elevator after having followed them up when he met a million dollars' worth of blonde class in the corridor. She wasn't a spring chicken exactly, but she had clothes and she knew how to wear them, and she had a figure to put the clothes around, and she knew what to do with that. When my operative got down to the street, he asked his partner if he'd noticed the blonde doll, and it happened the partner had noticed her drive up in a green Packard roadster. The license number is 9R8397."