The Case of the Look-alike Detective
Chapter 9
Getting Results
1
Paul Drake and Sgt. Ed Brown met in a Chinese restaurant in downtown San Francisco. They had spent most of the day checking every trucking company in and around the city and had come up empty handed. Ed Brown was pushing his food around his plate. "Those trucks can't be from a trucking company. There isn't one anywhere near this city whose name would match that label," he said.
"Ed, I don't think your boss thought those trucks were even owned by a trucking company. Checking it out would just be standard procedure. Whitmore said he saw labels on the containers not the trucks. According to him the trucks had no markings he can remember. No, we've got to dig deeper. I have an idea they're privately owned and have nothing to do with any established trucking company. Maybe we're going about this wrong. It could be possible they were purchased and repainted, removing any markings or advertisements."
"Are you saying we should be checking to find out what trucks have changed hands?" Ed asked.
"It's at least a possibility. We sure have struck out checking trucking companies. Quite frankly, the last thing I want to do is go back to your boss and tell him we've found out absolutely nothing. He doesn't strike me as a man who would handle that kind of news well," Paul said.
Ed smiled. "The chief isn't exactly a patient man when investigating a case. He wants answers . . . "
"Yesterday," interrupted Paul and nodded.
"I can check with the Department of Motor Vehicles and get a list of trucks that have been sold and to whom. That's probably going to be a very long list," Ed pointed out.
"We can narrow it down to trucks by size and model. We can check out the ones first that closely match the size Whitmore described. Also we can have Lt. Tragg do the same in Los Angeles and find out if any had been registered in the LA area and are now registered in the city of San Francisco," Paul told him.
"I'll get started on that. In the meantime, you can check out how those doors got opened and find out if that napkin has any significance to this whole thing. We still have to check out Whitmore's house. Let's get started."
2
Hamilton Burger and Perry Mason sat at a table in Mason's room. Mason handed him a copy of the prosecution's witnesses. Hamilton looked at the list and said to Mason, "There are no surprises here. The ballistics expert, finger print expert, the security guard, Lt. Carl Reese, Sgt. Edward Brown, the coroner's office, and, wait a minute, who's George Williams?"
"He's what this case had been missing," Perry said.
"A motive?" Hamilton asked.
"Yes, a motive. Mr. Williams works for Jim Whitmore. Ironside had Eve check him out yesterday. He was Scott Whitmore's heroin supplier while he was addicted to it. He's going to testify that Lt. Martin came to see Whitmore at his house. Martin knew about the containers. But, he didn't know how Scott Whitmore was involved. While he was at Whitmore's house he told him he knew he was storing the containers of heroin in one of the warehouses and would be getting a search warrant to search all Whitmore's warehouse. Whitmore told him he would never get the chance to search them. He would see to it." Perry was up and pacing.
Della Street entered the room with deli sandwiches for her boss and his unusual co-counsel. Perry turned to his secretary and told her, "Della, call Paul on his mobile phone. We need to find out everything we can about this George Williams. It bothers me that the man works for Whitmore. I want him checked out thoroughly. Also call Chief Ironside. Run it by him so he doesn't assign someone to do the same thing. He doesn't miss anything. It'll be on his list as well."
"Chief, did you talk to Hamilton about how we're going to question Bill Thompson, the security guard?"
Hamilton smiled, "Oh, yes he has. I still think we need to run it by Ironside. We need his cooperation."
"Don't worry about it Hamilton, we'll have his cooperation," Perry grinned.
3
Commissioner Randall was sitting at his desk. His intercom sounded. "Commissioner, Councilman Martin is out here and he is insisting on seeing you," his secretary told him. Randall reached his thumb and index finger under his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. And so it begins. He swore. Robert T. Ironside was going to drive him crazy. "Show him in please," Randall told her.
Martin walked into the commissioner's office; rather he barged in. "Commissioner, I want Ironside pulled off this investigation. He's working with Mason. How the hell can you justify allowing this? He's supposed to be helping secure evidence to convict Whitmore. Instead he has his people running around with Mason's people. He's going to help get David's killer off."
Commissioner Randall put his hand up. "Now, calm down, Councilman. Bob Ironside has never helped anyone get away with a crime. He investigates and searches for the facts in order to reveal the truth. He's the best detective in the San Francisco Police Department and he has the best cops working for him. May I remind you it was your city council that insisted I put him on the case?"
"I didn't ask for him," roared Martin. I objected from the start. I voted no when they took the vote to insist on Ironside. I don't care who works for him and I don't care how good he is I want him off this case. Put someone on it who is on our side."
"What exactly is our side, Councilman? Don't you want the truth? If Whitmore is guilty believe me Ironside will find the evidence. But if he's not he won't use Whitmore as a scapegoat. Tell me, why did you vote not to have Ironside on the case? Is there something you don't want him investigating?"
Martin turned away from him. "I don't' have to answer to you, Randall. You answer to us. I'm going to call a city council meeting and tell them what's going on if you don't remove Ironside immediately," he shouted.
"Don't threaten me, Councilman. Bob Ironside may, on occasion, use unorthodox methods but he gets the job done. What are you afraid of, David?"
"Get him off the case, Randall or I'll see to it myself." Martin stormed out of the office.
Get this one solved fast, Bob, he thought. I don't know how long I can keep a lid on it.
4
Mason and Ironside were sitting alone in the Chief's office. "Bob, do you have anything in this place besides bourbon?"
"I like bourbon," Ironside growled.
Mason laughed. "All right, pour me a glass." As Ironside poured Mason stretched out his legs in front of him. "Paul and Ed haven't come up with anything on those trucks yet. We have to find out where those trucks came from. I believe I can destroy the testimony of the security guard . . . "
"With a little bit of trickery no doubt," Ironside said with a frown.
"You say that as if you disapprove, Chief."
"You're going to destroy the testimony of a guard who, may I remind you, did see Whitmore at the scene of the murder. Whitmore has openly admitted he was there. You want me to approve of that?" Ironside leaned forward with his piercing blue eyes glaring at Mason."
"Yes, he was on the scene but he did not kill Martin. Do you really think I can convince a jury he didn't kill Martin if I leave Thompson's testimony untouched?" Mason asked Ironside.
Ironside looked away conceding Mason's argument. "I suppose not but I don't have to like it."
Mason reached back into his memory of Ironside's cases. "Some time ago, Bob, your Sergeant Brown was accused of murder, remember? He said he was over 100 miles away at the time but he was identified by a bar full of people who believed he argued with and then killed a man just outside that bar. Seems to me you did everything possible to prove them wrong."
Ironside shook his head and frowned. "That is different. Brown WAS 100 miles away . . . your client WAS at the scene of the murder.
"You only knew Brown was 100 miles away because he told you he was. There was no proof at the time that he was actually 100 miles away. You took his word for it," Mason pointed out.
"I know my sergeant, Mason."
"Because your instincts told you Sgt. Brown couldn't be guilty, you gave it your all to prove it. Look Bob, my job is no different. When my instincts tell me my client is not guilty I have to do everything I can to prove it including casting doubt on the testimony of a witness that can be damaging."
"Why did you choose the legal profession, Perry?" Ironside changed the subject.
"I guess I just wanted to make a difference . . . you know stop an injustice from happening against those who, for one reason or another, got themselves involved in a mess but weren't guilty of the crime. It's a rewarding job. And I'm good at it. I enjoy finding that bit of information that proves my client innocent and breaking down a witness on the stand who is lying, for whatever reason. I like being able to protect someone from the imperfections in our law enforcement and judicial systems. I help those who cannot help themselves. In some cases, I save them from themselves. What about you? Why did you become a cop?"
Ironside filled their glasses again. "Oh I don't know. Maybe for some of the same reasons you chose to be a lawyer. Sometimes I sit and stare out that window over there," he pointed, "looking out over San Francisco. I love this city. To me, it's the most beautiful city in the world. There are so many innocent people out there who need protecting. I find satisfaction in putting a criminal behind bars knowing he will never harm another human being again. I guess I enjoy the challenge of taking a case that seemingly has nothing but dead ends and turning those dead ends into a path to the truth. Plus, I find it my duty to drive Commissioner Randall crazy," he grinned.
Mason chuckled as Ironside continued to fill their glasses. "I've never found it my duty to drive Hamilton Burger crazy but it is one of the perks of my job." Both men laughed. "Chief, you don't have to answer this but how do you manage to balance being in a wheelchair and doing your job?"
Ironside pondered his question for a moment. "When I was told I would never walk again the thought of retirement turned my stomach. I went through a lot of emotions, anger, bitterness, feeling sorry for myself . . . you know 'why me'? I kept it to myself. It was pure hell at first but I learned to accept the limitations put on me by that sniper's bullet. I became determined not to let it stop me. I got Dennis Randall to name me as a consultant to his office. Talked him into giving me a staff, an office, and living quarters. My staff serves as my legs now. They do the part of the work I no longer can. They're good cops and good people. We trust each other and compliment each other's strengths and weaknesses, not that I have any weaknesses, mind you," Ironside raised his eyebrows and nodded his head. "They understand my moods and my methods. We work AND play well together. They're more than cops to me. They're my friends, my family. They would protect me with their lives and I would do the same for each of them. What about you, Della Street and Paul Drake?" he asked.
"Paul has been investigating for my office for many years now. He's good at his job and is always there for me on every case. His work has produced the breaks that solved a lot of my cases. He's become more than someone who works for me. He's a friend, a brother." Mason became quiet and pondered how to explain Della. "I hired Della a few years back and have never regretted it for a moment. She runs my office much more efficiently than it ever was before she came. She's more than my secretary. She's my partner. She's involved in every part of the cases. Her intuition is invaluable to me. I can't even begin to imagine my practice without her," Mason told Ironside.
"And outside the office?" Ironside asked. "You're in love with her aren't you?"
Mason smiled, just a bit embarrassed by the intimate question. But fair is fair. Ironside answered his probing question. "You don't miss anything do you? Let's just say she is as important to me privately as professionally." He hesitated but decided Robert Ironside deserved a more straightforward answer, "Yes, Bob, I love her."
Silence reigned for a few moments as both men were lost in their thoughts. Finally, Ironside picked up the empty bourbon bottle and pointed it at Mason, "Now that you've finished off my best bottle of bourbon it's time you get out of here and let me get some sleep."
Mason laughed. "Chief, since Mark isn't around right now can I help you retire for the night? I promise I won't drop you on your head."
"Well if you do, Lt. Tragg will be delighted because I will call downstairs and have them throw you in a nice uncomfortable cell," Ironside said with amusement
5
Carl Reese was sitting at his desk. He was completely frustrated. After over a week he still hadn't found any evidence that would shed any light on the malfunctioning cameras. He had updated Chief Ironside twice now with nothing new. The last time he reported to Ironside he thought the roof was going to fall down in Ironside's attic office.
At that moment the lights went out in his office. He called downstairs to the basement level and complained to the maintenance man, "Hey, what is going on down there? I just lost my lights."
"Sorry Lt. Reese. There was a short in the one of the plugs in one of the offices. It almost caused a fire. We were trying to turn off the breaker so the plug could be replaced. We accidentally shut off the power to your office. We're turning it back on now."
"All right. Thanks," Reese said and hung up the phone. Then, it hit him . . . the cameras!
Lt. Tragg and Eve Whitfield were back in Lt. Martin's office reading files and going over notes of every case Martin had worked on.
As Eve Whitfield pulled out the last file in one of the drawers she noticed a thin file folder taped to the back of the drawer. She pulled it loose. "Lt. Tragg, take a look at this." She carried the file over to Tragg who put it down in front of him on the desk. It was a picture of a small white box-style truck slightly shorter than a pickup. Nothing else was included in the file.
Eve looked at Tragg. "Does that truck look familiar to you, Lieutenant?"
"It is exactly what Whitmore described to Perry and Ironside. There's a sign of some kind behind the truck but there's no way my eyes are good enough to see this. Eve, take a look and see if you can read it," Lt. Tragg told her.
"No. Sorry, Lieutenant. I can't read it either. We can take it to the lab and have it blown up."
"Do it ,Eve, and let me know as soon as you get it back. I'll stay here and see what else I can find."
As Eve Whitfield left the room, Lt. Tragg picked up the phone and dialed. "Connect me with Perry Mason's room please."
6
Drake and Brown entered Whitmore's house. "Okay, let's divide the place in two and start looking. Let's recheck all doors and windows but also look for anything that might indicate the evidence was planted. Ed, you take this floor. I'm going to check the basement," Paul said. Drake left as Ed headed into the kitchen.
Sgt. Brown checked the kitchen door and the windows. He found no evidence that any of them had been forced. After looking through drawers and cupboards he left the room. He checked the front and back doors with the same results. He continued to check each room and searched everywhere for anything that might help.
Upon arriving at the utility room Ed looked at the windows and found the same result as all the other rooms. None of the windows had been forced. Ed checked the towel cabinets, the closet, and looked behind the washer and dryer where the detective's badge had been found. He found nothing that could be of any help. He glanced down at the carpeting. It was green and shaggy, rather hideous Ed thought. Sgt. Brown then noticed a slight slit in the carpeting at the wall. He reached down and then noticed another slit about three feet down from the first one. Ed took hold of the carpeting, pulling it away from the wall. He continued pulling until he had revealed what appeared to be a door. He opened the door and Paul Drake popped his head though.
"What's under there, Paul?" Ed asked him.
"A crawl space that leads outside the house through a cleverly concealed door covered with indoor/outdoor carpeting on the back porch," Paul told him.
"Well, we know how the evidence got planted," Ed observed.
7
Perry Mason put his key card into his hotel room door and entered. Upon hearing the door open Della Street entered his room through the adjoining door. "It's rather late, Chief. Where have you been?"
"Chief Ironside's office," Perry responded. He walked over to Della lowered his lips to hers and kissed her. Della responded moving in closer to the lawyer.
"Have you and the chief been celebrating a little early? We haven't solved anything yet," she referring to the taste of bourbon on his lips.
Mason smiled. "We were getting to know each other. That man doesn't seem to have anything besides bourbon in that place but he's one bottle shy now," he grinned. "I hung around and helped him get into bed. The man has guts. He doesn't let his handicap stop him, not for one minute. He puts up a wall with that tough, gruff appearance but I get the feeling there's a very tender, caring man behind it."
"You really like Ironside don't you, Perry? "Della asked."
"Very much, Della. I think I've gained a good friend and an ally out of this venture. And I learned a bit about him tonight that helps me understand him better. I think he probably learned a bit about me, too. I enjoyed his company but I don't think I will ever take him on in a drinking contest. He holds his liquor better than I do," he laughed. Della smiled.
"Before I left he got calls from Eve, and Ed, and Carl . There have been some developments. Both Paul and Tragg called me on my way back here as well." Mason explained what each of them had found out. "We go to court on Monday and I'm beginning to feel better about this case. We're not there yet, Della, but things are starting to make sense.
I called Hamilton. He'll be here in the morning. We'll be working on the defense all weekend. Monday we select the jury. That will probably take all morning. I figure Richardson will call his first witness on Monday afternoon."
"You know I could use a little of that personalized attention," Mason grinned and once again lowered his lips to hers.
