As Mason opened the door that led into the lobby of the building, he thought about the events of the night before. He tried to remember exactly who had been here, but knew that he couldn't trust himself. He had been clouded with panic about how he would find Della, and didn't pay attention to anything as he sprinted through the main area and up the stairs.
Tragg's account of the crime had bothered him, and his sympathy for Della turned into irritation. He knew Della well enough, however, not to doubt her. If she was holding out on him, there was certainly a reason. She wasn't a woman who succumbed to fear; and he often marvelled that she trusted him far beyond what he deserved. Perry smiled to himself. Della Street may be the loveliest girl he'd ever known, but she was also the toughest person he knew. When Della made her mind up about something, even Perry Mason didn't have a prayer of cracking her.
Before he told her anything about Tragg's visit, he wanted to recount for himself what went on in that building last night. Perry strained to visualize the lobby. There was of course the old doorman, but he couldn't recall any other person. The man he wanted to remember, who would tie Della's scream to the murder upstairs, eluded him. Who had told the police to go to the third floor?
He rang the bell on the desk. A young redhead turned around to face him. Her bored expression jumped with interest as she eyed the lawyer. "May I help you?" she purred.
"I'm here to see the night guard. Is he around?"
The girl giggled. "It's 11:15 in the morning, sir. Old Walt doesn't start until 7." She leaned over the desk. "But if you'd like to come back later I'd be happy to give you a tour."
"Where can I find Old Walt?" Mason asked, placing his elbow on the desk and lighting a cigarette. He snapped his eyes to meet hers. She blushed. He'd promised himself, after the Elise Haynes photo, never again to flirt to get information. It was one of the things he regretted while speeding to Della's house the night before. But desperate times call for desperate measures, he chided himself, and when the desperate measure was Della Street, he'd do whatever necessary.
The girl slid the ashtray over to him. "Are you his son or something?"
"Actually I'm his nephew," Perry said. "I just got in from Chicago and was hoping to find him. My mother gave me his home address, but I must have misplaced it while I was packing for the trip. I did remember her saying something about him working at the Jameson Apartment Plaza in Los Angeles, and so I thought maybe I'd find a pretty lady who could get me his address. And so I did."
"Hold on a minute," she said, and disappeared into the office tittering. One of Della's best qualities, Perry mused, was that she never reduced herself to a giggle.
Perry watched the girl go and then turned to survey the lobby once more. His eyes scanned the door to the stairs to the small reception area with a few chairs and a piano. A man stepped from the phone booth and Perry recognized him at once. Parker was a hell of a detective if he'd already surveyed the apartment and was calling in with the report. He thought about stopping him, but the detective was already at the door and Perry would have to shout to catch him. The last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to himself. Della would kill him if she knew he was here now, and it would be just his luck that he'd run into Mrs. Dowling, the old biddy who lived across the hall from Della.
The redheaded receptionist appeared again with a worn time sheet. "Got it," she said.
"I sure hope I don't wake Uncle Walt. He's probably sleeping now if he works the night shift."
The girl choked on a sudden laugh. "No danger of that," she said, transcribing the address. "From what the residents tell me, he gets a good night's sleep on the job."
Mason chuckled as she handed him a slip of paper with the guard's address written on it. He folded it, noticing a number pencilled on the back. "That," she whispered, "is how you can get a hold of me when you're done visiting Old Walt."
"You didn't happen to be around last night, were you? I read in this morning's paper that there was a murder here."
"Unfortunately I wasn't," she said. "I miss all the excitement. My shift ends at 4, and nothing good ever happens during the day."
Perry winked at her. "I appreciate your time, ma'am." He headed for the exit, and stepped out into the warm day. He saw Parker crossing the street at the next block, then glanced at his watch. If Della woke up, and he wasn't there, she might panic. He also wanted to hear that report before he confronted her. Then again, he needed to find that doorman. He unlocked his car, still debating with himself, when he heard sirens growing closer. Perry pulled his car into the garage and watched two officers, accompanied by Tragg, enter the building. Old Walt can wait, Perry said to himself as he turned out onto the street. The one I need some answers from now is Miss Street.