But there were no officers. The lawyer drove up on Mulholland Drive and started checking distances.
This is the service station, Della Street said.
Mason, tight-lipped, nodded grimly, slowed his speed and moved cautiously down the road.
Wait a minute, wait a minute, Della Street said. Thats the place right there, where she had the car parked, Chief.
I know it, Mason said. I dont want to leave our car parked there.
He drove on another hundred yards before he found a place where he could park the car. He took a flashlight from the glove compartment. Come on, Della, he said.
The lawyers long legs set a pace which forced Della Street to keep at a half-trot in order to keep up with him. They came back to the cleared place in the road where there were marks of tires in the soft soil.
The questing beam of Masons flashlight moved around through the brush.
Precisely what are you looking for? Della Street asked.
Abruptly the beam of the flashlight answered her question as it came to rest on a red one-gallon can which had been thrown over into the brush.
The gasoline can, Della Street said. It must be empty!
Mason nodded.
Do we pick it up and...?
We touch nothing, Mason said. This way, Della.
Automobiles which had been driven through the low brush out towards the steep slope had made a roadway which consisted of but little more than two parallel lines of broken low brush.
Mason led the way to a point where there was a cleared space right at the edge of the steep slope. Petting parties had parked here, then turned their cars and gone back to the highway so that there had been left a circular space virtually devoid of vegetation.
Mason switched out the flashlight and listened.
From Mulholland Drive there was the occasional whine of a car. Far, far below, the noises of the city, muted by distance, furnished a rumbling undertone. A sea of twinkling lights stretched as far as the eye could see until a dark segment marked the location of the ocean. Overhead, stars blazed in tranquil steadiness.
What a beautiful, beautiful spot, Della Street said. Wouldnt this make an ideal She broke off abruptly with a half-scream.
Masons flashlight, which had been switched on once more and was exploring the edges of the clearing, came to rest on a sprawled shape lying on its back in the unmistakably grotesque posture of death.
Mason moved closer.
The odor of raw gasoline permeated the atmosphere.
The lawyers flashlight came to rest on the features.
Chief, Della Street said, half-hysterically, its Lowry Ken Lowry, the manager of the mine.
Mason nodded. The beam of the flashlight continued to move.
And here are account books, Della Street said, all soaked in gasoline.
Mason nodded, approached the body of Ken Lowry. The lawyer bent over him and felt for a pulse.
All right, Della, he said, lets go.
Chief, what happened? What...?
We were too late to prevent a murder, Mason said. We may have been early enough to have prevented the destruction of evidence.
You mean fire?
Mason nodded. Lets be careful, Della. Theres probably a cold-blooded murderer watching everything we do.
He retraced his steps to Mulholland Drive, took Della Streets hand in his and ran down to where he had left his car. He jumped in the car, drove it to the service station.
Got a phone? he asked the attendant.
The man nodded, motioned to a telephone.
Mason hurried inside, dialed police headquarters. Homicide, he said.
A moment later, when he had the connection completed, he inquired, Lieutenant Tragg happen to be there?
He dropped in for a minute and is just leaving. I can perhaps catch him in the corridor if
Get him! Mason shouted. Tell him its Perry Mason. Tell him its important.
Mason heard a voice shouting at the other end of the line, Hey, grab Tragg! Dont let him leave the building.
Several seconds later, Mason could hear the sound of footsteps approaching the telephone and Traggs voice saying, Yes, hello... Tragg talking.
Mason said, You arent going to like this any more than I do, Lieutenant. Ive found a body.
I see, Tragg said dryly. And you are quite correct.
In what?
In that I dont like it any more than you do, probably not as much. Now, where are you and whats it all about?
Mason said, The body is soaked in gasoline and I believe the murderer intended to set fire not only to the body but to some documentary evidence that is nearby. Im going back and try to prevent it. Get officers up on Mulholland Drive just as fast as you can. Im going to try and stand guard. Ill put Della Street on the telephone. Shell tell you where I am and how to get here.
Mason handed the phone to Della Street.
You talk with him, give him directions, he said. Im going back.
No, no, she cried. Its dangerous. You cant... youre unarmed...
Once this evidence gets destroyed, Mason said, our client goes to the gas chamber. I dont think the murderer will start the fire if he knows theres a witness.
Hell kill the witness, Della Street said.
You tell Tragg how to get here, Mason said. Thats the best you can do. Tell him to rush up a radio prowl car and then get up here himself.
The lawyer gave Della Street no more time to argue but dashed past the startled attendant at the station, jumped into his car, drove back to the wide place in the road, turned his car so that the headlights were shining down the road which had been made by petting parties, shut off the motor and rolled down the windows. He sat there watching the roadway, which was outlined in the beam of the headlights, listening intently.
Mason had waited some ten minutes when he heard the distant sound of a wailing siren. The wailing rapidly grew to a scream. The rays of a blood-red spotlight tinged the brush with a sinister glow, then etched Masons car into brilliance.
The siren died to a throaty gurgle. An officer leaving the car came hurrying over to Masons car, his hand on his gun.
All right, he said, what is it?
Mason said, Im Perry Mason, the attorney. I telephoned Homicide and asked Lieutenant Tragg to get out here as soon as he could and to send a radio car out here at the first opportunity. Theres a body over there about a hundred yards from the road and its soaked with gasoline. I think the murderer intended to set fire to the body but was interrupted by my arrival.
Oh, you do, eh? And how did you happen to arrive so opportunely?
I was running down a clue, Mason said.
A clue to what?
A clue to an entirely different matter, although it may have been connected with the murder.
Whos the person who was murdered, do you know?
To the best of my belief, Mason said, the body is that of Kenneth Lowry, who was employed as manager of a mine operated by the Mojave Monarch Mining Company.
The officer hesitated a moment, then said, You wait right here. Dont move. Dont go away. Dont get out of the car.
The officer went back and conferred with the other officer, then took a powerful hand flashlight and started walking down the road, being careful to keep to one side in the brush so as not to obliterate any tracks.
Mason sat there waiting.
Another twelve minutes passed and a second siren screamed in the distance. A short time later, another police car pulled to a stop. Lt. Tragg alighted, and crossed over to Masons car.
Whats the idea, Mason?
I was reporting a body, thats all.
Murder?
Murder?
I would gather as much.
Weapon?
I didnt see any.
Identity?
I believe it is Kenneth Lowry, the manager of the Mojave Monarch mine.
Youve seen him?
Yes.
When did you last see him?
Late this afternoon. I saw him then for the first and last time.
Where?
In Mojave.
Then he must have followed you over here.
He may have preceded me, Mason said.
All right, whats your interest in the Mojave Monarch?
I was checking some of the financial affairs.
Who for?
A client.
Whos the client?
At the moment, Mason said, I am not at liberty to divulge the client. However, I am going to make one suggestion, Lieutenant.
Whats that?
Amelia Corning was staying at the Arthenium Hotel. She seems to have left the hotel rather mysteriously. She had an appointment with me at seven-thirty and she wasnt there to keep it. I have every reason to believe that prompt action on the part of the police may prevent her murder.
Tragg asked, Wheres the body?
Right down this little road, Mason said. Ive kept my headlights on the road and one of the officers from the radio car has gone down there and presumably is staying near the body to see that nothing is touched.
Tragg walked over to the radio car, conferred with the officer who was in that car, gave him some orders in a low voice, then returned to Masons car.
Come on, Tragg said to the lawyer, lets go. Leave your headlights on. If your battery runs down you can get another one at this service station down the road. Lets keep some light on the scene.
Tragg walked over to the car in which he had arrived, said a few words and a photographer with a strobe light, a technician with a fingerprint case, emerged from the car.
Tragg said to Mason, Lead the way, Perry. Keep off to the side of the road. Dont obliterate any tracks.
Mason said, Ive walked down here once before. At that time, I didnt know there was a corpse down here, so I left my tracks in the roadway. But when I came back I kept to the brush.
Okay, Tragg said, your tracks are here. Lets try not to leave any more.
Mason, picking his way through the knee-high brush to the side of the road, led the way down towards the clearing.
The flashlight of the officer from the radio car winked a signal.
Over this way, the officer called.
Tragg and the group skirted the clearing, came to where the officer was standing.
Lieutenant Tragg, Tragg announced. What do you have here, Officer?
Evidently a murder, the officer said. The body is soaked in gasoline and some books there are soaked in gasoline. Theres a stiletto-type letter opener, thats evidently the murder weapon. I felt perhaps someone might be around here waiting to toss a match and set fire to the whole business so I was keeping guard.
Good work, Tragg said. He turned to Mason. All right, Mason, well furnish you with an escort back to your car. Dont leave until I question you.
Im going down as far as the service station, Mason said. You can reach me there.