It took a few days of lounging around at home and a few nights of deep, uninterrupted sleep for Perry Mason to recuperate from his long journey. On Monday morning, a week after he returned from his trip, he finally felt ready to return to work.
"Morning, chief!" was the hearty greeting from Della Street, Perry Mason's faithful secretary and friend. Mason felt truly at home seeing Della's smiling face once again.
"All right. Out with it, Della," said Mason. "How many lawyers have gone in and out of this office since I've been gone?"
Della Street looked sheepish as she rattled off a quick list of Mason's legal friends and a brief description of the puzzling cases they had taken in Mason's place.
"A shame," said Mason. "All the most interesting cases seem to take place while I'm gone."
With that, Mason clicked on the television set in his office. The screen immediately lit up with the morning news.
"In other news today, police have identified a suspect in the murder of local big business owner Bill Anders."
Mason froze as he recognized two figures on the TV. One was of the crotchety old chief detective of the L.A.P.D. Homicide Department, Lieutenant Tragg. The second was the beautiful young figure of Helen Carmichael. Mason watched in shock as Lt. Tragg led Helen towards police headquarters.
"Helen Carmichael, Bill Anders' recent flame, was taken in for police questioning earlier this morning. At this time, police refuse to reveal the evidence that led to Miss Carmichael's arrest.
"Bill Anders, along with his associate Jack Anderson, was a founder and owner of Anders & Anderson, a California finance institute. Police found Anders dead late Saturday night. More updates are sure to come soon. We will keep you posted."
Mason slowly began to loosen up. Gazing calmly at the screen, he said softly, "I stand corrected. Della, call police headquarters and make sure Lt. Tragg expects me."
> > > > > >
Lt. Tragg turned his as usual sour glare towards Mason.
"You're here about Helen Carmichael?" Mason nodded. "What do you want to know?"
"Perhaps you'd better just start from the beginning."
"Saturday night, at about 11:00, one of our officers entered the household of Bill Anders. After checking the main story of the house and finding no one, our officer climbed the stairs to Anders' bedroom. He there found Anders lying in his bed in a pair of royal blue pajamas. Anders was dead. A fancy, jewel encrusted letter opener had been shoved clear through his heart."
"What was your officer doing in Anders' house in the first place?"
"We received an anonymous letter about a week ago," explained Lt. Tragg. "The letter stated that the writer was a concerned citizen who had overheard Helen Carmichael plotting to murder Bill Anders. It described the plot in very specific detail. We didn't take it seriously at first. Thought it was some kind of crackpot hoax. All the same, we like to do our duty around here. That's why an officer was asked to check up on Anders' place Saturday night, the date that was mentioned specifically in that letter. When nobody answered the officer's knocking, he found the door unlocked and went in."
"And on the evidence of that letter, the letter you yourself thought was a crackpot hoax, you took Helen Carmichael in for questioning?" said Mason.
"The details in that letter are similar to the facts of the murder, Mason," said Lt. Tragg. "Uncannily similar. And we received that letter about a week before the murder even took place. There's no way that can be a mere coincidence."
"Was there a return address on the letter?" asked Mason.
"There's usually not on an anonymous tip-off," said Lt. Tragg.
"Then you have no idea if the writer is a reliable source," insisted Mason. "For all you know, the writer may have fabricated the plot altogether. For all you know, perhaps the writer of the letter even went through with the plot for him or her self. The person who wrote that letter just might have killed Bill Anders."
"You are such a lawyer, Mason," groaned Lt. Tragg.
"I'm simply starting to prepare a defense," said Mason. Lt. Tragg just rolled his eyes. "Have you questioned Helen Carmichael about the letter yet?"
"Yes, I have," said Lt. Tragg. "She denies everything."
That's reasonable, thought Mason. She should have been honest. It would have been better if she had just been honest. But under the circumstances it was perfectly natural for her to be scared and lie.
"All the same," continued Lt. Tragg, "we're formally charging her with murder."
"Do you have a motive?" asked Mason. "I heard on the news that Helen Carmichael was being referred to as a recent girlfriend of Bill Anders'."
"Helen Carmichael readily admits that," said Lt. Tragg. "She denies stabbing the guy. She denies even talking about killing the guy. But she doesn't deny the two were dating. And she doesn't deny that the two had a recent falling-out. I know all about Anders and the reputation he has when it comes to girls. Everyone in California does. You know what they say. 'Hell hath no fury...'"
"'...As a woman scorned,'" finished Mason. "On just the evidence of an anonymous letter, you are formally charging Helen Carmichael with murder?"
"Oh, no," said Lt. Tragg, grinning defiantly. "We've got more. Much more. We found a tube of lipstick on the floor of the victim's bedroom."
"You said yourself that you know of Anders' reputation when it comes to young women," said Mason. "Any young woman could have dropped that tube of lipstick in Anders' bedroom." Lt. Tragg shook his head.
"Not this one," he said. "This one has Helen Carmichael's fingerprints all over it."
"Inconclusive," said Mason.
"If you're going to practice your defense," groaned Lt. Tragg, "please try it on someone other than me for a change. I tell you, according to the evidence we have, that tube of lipstick is very conclusive."
"Anything else?"
"Yes. Footprints."
"What kind of footprints?"
"A woman's footprints," said Lt. Tragg. "They were all over Anders'
front lawn. Made by a pair of high-heeled shoes. Size 8."
"And?"
"And Helen Carmichael wears a size 8."
"I see," said Mason. "Did you find a pair of muddy shoes that matched
the prints belonging to Helen Carmichael?" "No," said Lt. Tragg. "But that doesn't mean anything. High-heel shoes don't leave easily identifiable prints. The girl could have washed the shoes off and hid them with the rest of her collection. Or she could have disposed of them somewhere. The important thing is that the prints were her size." "Was there anything else?" asked Mason.
"The piece de resistance!" insisted Lt. Tragg. "When our officer went
in to check on Anders', the door was unlocked, but there was no sign of breaking and entering. We assume that the killer had a key to Anders' front door. Helen Carmichael has such a key."
"All circumstantial evidence," said Mason. "Prosecution will never be able to build a case."
"That's not what the D.A. says."
Mason was shocked. He had known Hamilton Burger, the district attorney, for years. It wasn't like him to stand behind such a foolish case.
"I hope you realize Helen has the right to refuse to answer any
question without her attorney present."
"She's using a state appointed attorney," said Lt. Tragg. "A Mr..."
"You can tell whoever he is that he may go now," said Mason. "I'll take it from here."
"You're this girl's attorney?"
"Well, she is carrying my business card."
> > > > > >
Mason sat in a hard wood chair across from Helen Carmichael, having asked Lt. Tragg for a few moments alone to confer with his client.
"Mr. Mason, I did not kill Bill!" cried Helen. "I swear I did not kill him."
"I believe you," said Mason. "At least, I want to believe you. I wouldn't be talking to you right now if I didn't."
"They say that someone sent them a letter," said Helen. "Someone told them about how I was talking about killing Bill. A concerned citizen. You heard me talking about it. Was it you who sent the letter?"
"Don't be ridiculous," said Mason. "I told you that I wasn't going to tell anybody about that. And, besides, do you honestly think I'd be here trying to defend you if I had written that letter?"
"Oh, I don't know what to think now!" Helen lamented.
"Calm down," said Mason. "I've been doing everything I could to try and help you since we met. That's not going to stop now. Now, the police questioned you about your plot?"
"Yes," said Helen. "I told them I didn't know what they were talking about. Did I do the right thing?"
"I'd never call lying to the police the 'right thing'," said Mason. "You should have just been honest with them. They just want to get the facts, They're just as interested in finding the truth as we are." "What should I do now?"
"Best not to change your story for now," said Mason. "If you admit you were lying, it can only make us look bad. But from now on, I suggest that you stick to the truth. Speaking of the truth, I want to get something clear right away. You told me nothing was going to change your mind about killing Bill Anders. Did you kill him?" He looked directly into her beautiful blue eyes.
"I already told you, 'No'," said Helen. "I talked about it. That's all. I was hurt. I needed to vent the anger. So I made up a plot to kill Bill for what he had done to me. But it was a long train ride. And the more I thought of it, the more I was willing to just get over it, like you said I would. That's the truth. I swear."
"Well, whether or not you went through with the plot, obviously somebody else did," said Mason. "I need to know who wrote that letter. It seems unlikely to me that someone else would just overhear that plot. Who did you tell your ideas about killing Bill Anders to?"
"Just my closest friends," said Helen. "You can't tell me one of them wrote the letter. They've been my best friends since we were little girls. And we all understand that what's said between us, stays between us."
"All the same...," began Mason.
"You really think one of them wrote the letter?" said Helen. Mason nodded. "I just can't believe any of them would betray me like that."
"We need to look into all possibilities," said Mason.
"Kay Silvers, Natalie Culp, and Susan Cook," said Helen.
"I know Miss Silvers and Miss Culp," said Mason. "I don't know Susan Cook."
"She's another close friend of mine," said Helen. "She was meeting the head of a modeling agency, too. Only her agent was in Chicago. We met her at the train station there. But, seriously, I'm pretty sure that Kay, Natalie, and Susan would never tell our secrets. Especially this one."
"Was there anyone else you told this secret to?" asked Mason.
"Oh, yes," said Helen. "There was Jack, too."
"Jack?"
"Jack Anderson. Bill's business partner," said Helen.
"How much did you tell Jack Anderson?" said Mason.
"He took me out for dinner after we all arrived back in California,"
said Helen. "I told him about how Bill and I had broken up. And we were laughing and joking and I kind of, just jokingly, told him about what I had said about killing Bill. Just to vent out the anger. Talking about it made me feel better. But I didn't tell him as much as I had told Kay, Natalie, and Susan. Just the basics. Just that I was going to kill Bill while he was sleeping in his pajamas by stabbing him in the heart with that letter opener."
"On Saturday night?"
"On Saturday night. Oh, Mr. Mason, this doesn't look good at all, does it?"
"Apparently not to the district attorney," murmured Mason. "One thing seems clear to me. If you didn't kill Bill Anders, someone who knew about your plan did. I don't think that letter was from a concerned citizen. I think it was someone who killed Bill Anders and is trying to frame you for it."
"But you mean..." Helen's mind turned again to Kay, Natalie, Susan. And even Jack. She just looked at Mason in shock.
"I ask you again," said Mason. "Who knew about your plot to murder Bill Anders?"