The Case of the Missing Detective
Chapter 1
Robert T. Ironside sat in his wheelchair drinking his morning cup of coffee, waiting for his staff to arrive. In front of him was a letter that his aid, Mark Sanger had given him with the rest of the morning mail.
Usually, the former Chief of Detectives left the mail for Officer Eve Whitfield. She would go through it, answer the ones that did not need his attention, and bring the rest to him to go over. He would instruct her as to what he wanted done with them.
This morning, however, this particular envelope had caught his attention. It was in a child's printing. Ordinarily, he would still have had Eve take care of this, but the small wheelchair stamp had stood out.
Ironside had opened the envelope and read the little girl's message.
Dear Chief Ironside,
I am writing to you because I do not know what else to do. I have seen you on TV when you helped our President. So I thought maybe you could help me. My mommy says I am special because I was born with a spine problem. Like you, I cannot walk. But now, they tell my mommy and daddy that if I have what they call an operation, I could walk again. But, they say I am not important enough to have it. Daddy says that it would take someone very, very important that could get the newspapers to cover my problem.
I know you are a busy man. Mommy says you would not come here and tell my doctors that I am important too, even though you are in a wheelchair, and people listen to you. I want to walk, Chief Ironside. They will not talk to anyone on the phone, including mommy & daddy. They must come in person. Would you be willing to come and help me? They say this is a secret operation, so they will not talk to you on the phone.
Please come, Chief Ironside.
Your friend, Amy
Ironside read the letter again. It most certainly was in the printing of a child. The post mark Gold Strike, California. That was near the Sierra Mountains. He wondered why the letter had not come from her parents. Maybe they didn't know that Amy had sent it.
Ironside just sat there staring at the letter. He knew how much he hated being in a wheelchair, but at least he had spent most of his life on his feet. This little girl had never known what it was like to walk, let alone run and play. He knew he had already made up his mind to help her.
The door to the office opened. Sergeant Ed Brown and Officer Eve Whitfield came down the ramp. Ironside glanced at his watch, which brought out a smile from both of them. The chief was checking to see if they had entered on time. Not that it mattered; they both worked so many extra hours that their boss would never really get after then for coming in late, but he would not pass up an opportunity to make a remark or gesture about their tardiness.
Ed and Eve stopped at the kitchenette as Mark handed each of them a cup of coffee. He wondered how he got anything done when he spent so much of his time making pot after pot of coffee to keep his fellow co-workers loaded with caffeine.
Ed and Eve sat down at the table beside their boss. Eve studied him for a moment and said, "You have that look."
Ironside turned his head toward her and responded, "What look?"
"That look of puzzlement. Like there is something you are trying to figure out."
The chief turned his head towards Ed. "So what's your two cents?"
"Well if it is worth two cents... "
"It won't be," Ironside interrupted with a scowl on his face.
"I was about to say that you have that look like you are about to involve us in something when we already have a full case load."
"Sergeant Brown, one of the reasons you were assigned to this office was because you are supposed to be able to handle multiple cases at once. Is one more case more than you can take on?" the gruff chief asked.
"No, sir. We can always handle another case," Ed said quickly.
Ironside looked back at Eve. "And what about you?"
Eve was able to say things to the chief that Mark and Ed could not. "Well, Chief, we are already working a lot of overtime. Can't another department handle this new case?"
"I am glad you both agree with me," the chief said, ignoring Eve," because something has come up." Ironside waved his empty coffee cup in the air at Mark.
Sanger shook his head. "You want another cup of coffee." Ironside grinned. Mark got up, went to the kitchen and returned with the pot of coffee that was now half gone. He poured the black brew into his boss's cup and watched him take a sip before continuing.
Picking up the letter, Ironside handed it to Ed. "I received this in the mail today."
Ed read the letter and then handed it to Eve. When she finished, she picked up the envelope and turned it over. There was no return address on it. Eve waved it at Ironside. "This is the new case you want us involved in?"
"That's right," he replied.
Ed took the envelope out of Eve's hand. With a puzzled look on his face, he looked up at the chief. "There isn't any return address on this envelope"
Mark read the letter, checked the envelope and then handed it back to Eve.
"Chief, I don't understand. The girl only signed her first name. And with no return address, how are we supposed to find her?" Ed asked his boss.
"Sergeant, correct me if I am wrong, but you are a sergeant of detectives, aren't you?" Ironside said with sarcasm.
Eve grinned at Ed's discomfort as he sank in his chair.
"You have to be kidding. No way! I never want to go back there," Mark complained looking at the post mark.
"Back where?" Eve grabbed the envelope and studied the post mark. "Wait a minute. Chief, isn't this near where your friend, Ore, lived?"
"It is," replied Ironside.
Ironside thought back to the time Mark had driven him up to Gold Strike to visit his friend. They ran into Marshal Douglas who told them that he didn't think Ore was there, and offered to send a man up the mountain to let him know that Ironside had arrived. He said Ore was away hunting.
Ironside had thought it was strange that his friend had just had surgery, and would be out hunting as the marshal had suggested. He decided to have Mark drive there anyway.
When they arrived, the cabin was a mess. It looked like it had not been cleaned or inhabited in a while. Outside, Ironside discovered a pile of rocks that had been moved recently. He had Mark move them and discovered a grave. The chief sent Mark into town to get the marshal.
In the meantime, Charles Huff and his son, George, took Ironside prisoner when they realized the detective was not going to stop until he found out what happened to his friend. They had tried to get Ore to sell his property so that a major highway could be constructed through it. After Ore's death, they did not want anything to interfere with the sale of the property, which they had forged.
The marshal arrested Mark and told him he was going to charge him with the murder of his boss, when they return to Ore's place and could not find Ironside.
Ironside attempted to escape by climbing out a window and crawling to an old truck, but was recaptured by George and the marshal.
He eventually outsmarted them, and Charles Huff found out his son and the marshal killed Ore. The men were unsuccessful in trying to make a deal with Ironside.
"Chief, that is the last place I want to return to," Mark complained, bringing Ironside out of his private thoughts.
The chief ignored his aid. "Ed, I want to know who this little girl is, and Eve you check on what hospital procedure she is talking about. I want to talk to her parents."
"Chief," Ed said reluctantly, "is this really something we should be involved in? The commissioner is not going to like..."
"Is not going to like what?" Commissioner Randall said, as he came into the office. He walked down the ramp and joined Ironside at the table. He looked directly at his top detective and repeated, "What am I not going to like?"
Ironside handed him the letter from the girl. After reading it, Randall sighed. "Please tell me you are not going to go traipsing up there to find out what procedure this kid is talking about."
"Dennis, she is not a kid. A kid is a baby goat. She is a little girl, and she is asking for my help."
Randall was certain that his friend was sensitive to the fact that she was in a wheelchair. He understood how much he hated being in one himself, but he simply could not afford to have his best detective out of town again so soon after the trial in Los Angeles. He had been patient with that one, as it was his son that was on trial for murder. This time Bob did not know the girl, and she was not from San Francisco. "Look it up in the dictionary, Bob. The word can also be used to describe a child or a young person."
"Dennis, I don't need a lesson in the meaning of the word. She has asked for my help, and I intend to help her."
"Be reasonable, Bob, you don't even know who she is or where to find her."
Ironside shook his head. "We are detectives, aren't we?"
"San Francisco detectives," Randall reminded him. "I will not sanction you or your staff to leave town again. We have had three banks robbed in the last two weeks, and I want you to take over the case."
"Let the FBI handle it," Ironside snarled, "it is their jurisdiction."
"Because San Francisco has a famous detective, they are going to let us handle it. The city council wants you on the case. Several banks have lost thousands of dollars. No, Bob, forget that letter and do your job here. That's an order." Randall got up and left the office.
"Well, I guess that takes care of that," Eve said. "Shall we get started on the bank robberies?"
"No, that's not that," Ironside said. "Get Jimmy Smith on the phone. I want Carl Reese and Fran Belding assigned to this office immediately."
XXXXX
"Perry, you have to do the mail. It hasn't been touched since we started the Duvalier trial." Della Street set the stack of mail down in front of her boss.
"I thought you had David Gideon answer the mail," Mason protested.
"He did what he could do. The rest of it you have to do. It will only take us about an hour."
Mason pushed the mail away from him. "There must be something more important that needs our attention."
Della was insistent. She pushed the stack of mail back in front of him. "One hour. It cannot wait any longer. I have gone through it. The most important pieces are on the top."
"Well, then let's do the most important, and the rest can wait," he suggested.
"How about we do it all?" Della said.
Mason frowned and sat down in the chair behind his desk. "Alright, Della, you're the boss. He grabbed the top envelope and pulled out its contents.
The phone on the desk rang. Della pushed the speaker phone. "Yes, Gertie."
"Lieutenant Tragg is here to see Mister Mason. He knows he does not have an appointment, but he is insisting on seeing him. I don't think he will take no for an answer."
Before Della could say anything, Perry grabbed the stack of mail and stuffed it into the desk drawer. "Send him in, Gertie." Perry looked at Della and grinned. "Well, we can't keep our esteemed lieutenant waiting while we do the mail, now can we?"
Della shook her head and headed to Mason's office door. She opened it just as Tragg walked in. He smiled at her and said, "Hello, Della."
"Lieutenant. It is nice to see you."
"I am not sure you will think so when you find out why I am here." He walked over to Perry who offered his hand. Tragg shook it. "Good morning, Perry."
"Hello, Tragg. What can I do for you?"
"You can stop discovering dead bodies for one thing and hiding murder suspects for another."
"As an officer of the court, I am bound by law to report them when I find them. And who am I supposed to be hiding?"
"Don't act innocent with me, Mason. Where is Lawrence Bradley?"
"Well, I assume he is at home," he answered.
"Listen, if you are hiding him in some hotel under his own name, it won't work. I don't want to charge you with harboring a murder suspect, but I will if that is what you are doing."
"When did he become a murder suspect?"
"When his fingerprints were found on the murder weapon. Don't do it, Perry. He is not worth risking your practice. He killed his wife."
"I thought the police said it was a robbery," Della said.
"That is what your client wanted us to think. He was not at the bar he claimed to be. We could not find a single witness to corroborate his story."
"You must have more than that," Perry said, fishing for information.
"Oh, we have a lot more than that, but I am not going to give away the prosecution's case."
"You have until five o'clock today to surrender Bradley, Perry. After that, I will have no choice but to charge you with harboring a fugitive."
"Be careful, Tragg. You better be able to prove that I know where he is or you will open yourself up for a lawsuit," Mason warned.
"Oh, I would not worry about me. You better worry about turning your client in." Tragg tipped his hat to Della, turned and left Mason's office.
"Della, get Paul on the phone."
Della went immediately to the phone. She picked up the receiver and dialed a number long ago memorized. She waited a moment and then said, "Is Mister Drake in? Mister Mason would like to speak with him... Thank you, I will tell Mister Mason."
Della addressed her boss immediately after hanging up the phone. "Paul is on his way over. He has some information on the case."
Perry nodded. "Della, will you get me the Bradley file out of my brief case, please?"
Della went into the law library. Mason's brief case was sitting on the table. She opened the case, searched it until she found the correct file. Removing it, she headed back into Perry's office. She set it down in front of him on the desk. "Here it is."
"Thank you, Della." Mason opened the manila jacket and began reading it to refresh his memory, not that it was really necessary, but he didn't want to miss anything.
The familiar code knock on Mason's private entrance sounded. "That would be Paul," Della said as she got up and went to the door. She opened it and the tall, handsome private detective walked into the office.
"Hello, Beautiful," Paul said with a smile.
"Good morning, Paul," she responded.
"I was about to call you, when I got your call. You are not going to like what I have found out." He walked over and sat in his favorite chair, sitting sideways and throwing both legs over the arm. He pulled his notebook out of his suit coat pocket.
"Just a minute, Paul. We just had a visit from Lieutenant Tragg. He has a warrant out for Lawrence Bradley's arrest. He is charging him with the murder of his wife, Karen."
"He would look like a fool if he did not. The police have the murder weapon. They found it in the back of his car. It was a bookend. His prints were all over it, and the blood on it matched the wife's type. They are sending it out for DNA testing. This is one you better walk away from, Perry. Your client is guilty."
"We have been there before and found logical explanations for this type of evidence," Mason said. "It could have been planted."
Paul shook his head. "They have broken his alibi and they have a witness that saw him leave the house right around the time the murder was committed."
"Anything else?" Perry asked.
"A couple things. First, I have not been able to find out what the police have, but I did find out they have some iron-clad evidence. Whatever it is, Burger is hoping you take the case and plead him not guilty."
"No idea at all?" Mason asked.
Paul shook his head. Burger put a lid on it. The attorneys in his office have been told that if they leak it, they will be fired."
"Okay, what's the other thing?" Perry asked.
"Burger supposedly has proof that you know where Bradley is. If you don't produce him by tonight, he will swear out a warrant for your arrest."
With a surprised look on his face, Mason asked his private detective, "What proof could he possibly have? I haven't a clue where he is."
"I don't know. I have been unable to find out what he has," Paul responded.
"He has nothing," Perry said angrily. "I don't know where he is." Turning to his secretary, Perry commanded, "Della, get Hamilton Burger on the phone."
Knowing Perry Mason the way she did, she knew better than to question him when he was this angry. She moved immediately to the phone.
"Paul, I need you to find Lawrence Bradley," Mason said.
"I knew you would. I have several men on it."
"Perry, I have Mister Burger on the phone," Della announced.
Perry took the receiver out of her hand. "Hamilton," Mason said but was immediately interrupted by Burger.
"Unless you are calling to tell me where Bradley is, I see no reason for this phone call," Burger said, his voice short.
"I don't know where he is, Hamilton," Perry said.
"Right. Just like you didn't know where all those other clients were that you sent to hotels to register in their own names," Burger snarled.
"I am telling you the truth. I don't know where he is, but I have put Paul and his men on it. As soon as we locate him, I will talk him into surrendering to Tragg."
"Get off it Mason, we know you know where he is, and if you don't turn him over to us by five o'clock, I will have a warrant sworn out for your arrest."
The anger within him was rising. "Go ahead, Hamilton, and you will have a suit file against you, your office and Tragg and his office. I am telling you that I don't know where he is. I have Paul on it, and you will know as soon as I do where he is." Mason slammed the phone down in the receiver with such a force, Della was sure it would break.
"Find him, Paul," Mason said.
"You want to talk to him when I do?"
"No, I am not going anywhere near him until he is picked up by Tragg. If you find him, tell him to keep his mouth shut or he will be looking for another lawyer."
XXXXX
Lawrence Bradley looked at the little girl in the wheelchair, his heart breaking. Why wouldn't these damn doctors see her. They could help his little girl. They just wanted the big bucks. They cared nothing of the people they were sworn to treat. If he had been a wealthy man, then they would have seen her right away.
His construction business had been a booming business for years, but that was all in the past. Too many large construction companies had moved into Los Angeles. The got all the business now. It did not matter what he bid on jobs; they could always beat his bid. They had several projects going on at a time, unlike his company. He was lucky if he had one. Over the years, he had been forced to lay off most of his men. Now, he ran a skeleton crew, barely enough men to finish the small jobs that came his way.
The medical bills poured in over the years, and Bradley barely kept his head above water. He never gave up trying to find a doctor for Amy. He believed in his heart that there had to be a procedure out there somewhere that would help his daughter to walk again. To be told that this new procedure had an eighty per cent chance of putting her on her feet, and then to be told that she didn't qualify because the lousy insurance he had would not pay for it, was infuriating. How could they deny a ten-year-old girl?
There was one man that could understand. He had tried to contact him four different times, but no one in the police department would put him through to Chief Robert T. Ironside. Larry knew from everything he had read about the famous detective, that he had been shot by an assailant. It was the reason he now was confined to a wheelchair. Ironside had not let his handicap stop him. To think he was still a member of the San Francisco Police Department and solving crimes was amazing. Nothing seemed to stop the detective. Yet, Larry had been told by Perry Mason that Ironside hated being in a wheelchair. Mason would know since it had been announced some time ago that the two men were half-brothers.
Bradley had to see Ironside. The man had a reputation for being tough and unyielding. He had not even considered approaching him until Mason had told him that Ironside had a soft side for kids. Bradley had every intention of appealing to that soft side to influence Ironside to help him get the procedure that could allow his little girl to walk for the first time in her life. The fact that he was in a wheelchair was a god send. Larry felt guilty about his elation to that fact, but of all people, Ironside would understand what his daughter went through every day. At least he knew what it was like to be able to walk, something most people took for granted.
Bradley was sure when Ironside met his daughter, he would be willing to help. He was not sure exactly what the detective could do, but he was going to do everything he could to get his attention. When his phone calls had failed to get through to the former chief of detectives, he had to find another means of contacting him. He didn't understand why the police would not put his call through to the man. Larry knew he was famous and in big demand, but people should be able to call him.
So, he did the the only thing he could think of; he went straight to the San Francisco Police Department. When he told his story to the detective at the duty desk, he refused to allow him to see Ironside. The officer had suggested he call his congressman, something he had already tried to no avail. All of these setbacks only served to make him more determined to find a way to talk to Ironside.
That was when he came up with the idea. His wife, Karen, had been dead set against what he had planned to do. They had a violent argument. Larry had accused her of not caring that Amy had a chance to walk again. He told her she was satisfied to see their little girl in a wheelchair for the rest of her life. Karen, for the most part, blamed him for her condition. The doctors had told them her condition was hereditary, and since one of Larry's nieces had the exact same spinal problem, it was obvious which side of the family contributed to it. Karen faulted him for not telling her about his niece. Larry had wanted more children, but he had been unable to convince her to have anymore. It had been a major strain on their marriage and they argued about it often.
Only lately had Larry admitted to himself that the marriage was all but over. He still loved Karen, and believe that she loved him as well, but both of them stopped trying. It seemed they could not have a conversation that did not end up in a huge argument.
So, he came up with a new plan to lure Ironside. Larry had read about his friend, Ore. He had even gone to the man's old shack. It was here that he came up with a plan. Larry sat down at the dust-covered table and scribbled the letter that would eventually lead Ironside to him. He was a detective after all. He was certain the letter would pull at the Chief's emotions, enough to want to help Amy. He did not sign her last name. That combined with the fact that he sent the letter from the town closest to where his friend, Ore lived... Gold Strike, would stir the inquisitive nature of the detective.
He looked over at Amy who was sleeping on the bed in Ore's shack. The wheelchair in which she spent so much time was pulled tight to the bed. Larry sat down in the chair at the table. He put his head in his hands. The last fight he had with Karen was still torturing his mind. She had objected to his plan to get Ironside to help Amy. She had forbid him to take and bring her here to the Sierra Mountains. Larry still regretted knocking her to the floor when she grabbed Amy's wheelchair, refusing to allow him to leave with her. He had lost his temper, and for the first time in his life, he had hit her. She fell to the floor, hitting her head on the coffee table. Larry Bradley bent down, checked his wife. She was breathing normally and her pulse was strong. He had only been knocked unconscious. He had used it to his advantage as he took Amy and drove to Gold Strike, California.
After getting directions to Ore's shack, he stocked up on food and headed into the mountains. Now, he just needed to wait until Ironside's detective skills located him. Then Amy would have a new chance in life.