A Handy Death

Chapter 15

The final juror had been seated; the Clerk of the Court had droned out his monotoned charge. Judge Waxler indicated he was waiting. Paul Varick came to his feet confidently, looked first at the judge and then at the jury. The jury looked back expressionlessly.

“May it please Your Honor, Mr. Foreman, ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Varick began, “As you know, at this time it is customary for me as the prosecutor in this case to make what is known as an opening statement. The purpose of an opening statement is to give you a bird’s-eye view of the evidence that will be presented from the witness stand in order that you might more easily follow the evidence as it unfolds. Frequently we have to introduce evidence in piecemeal fashion, and the opening statement helps you tie it together. I also want you to know that everything given in an opening statement is what the prosecution expects to prove.”

He raised the sheet of paper in his hand for reference, glanced at it, and brought it down. It was a move to focus the attention of the jury; Varick knew his opening statement by heart.

“The prosecution will prove that on July 25, 1964, one Raymond Neeley, the deceased in this case, was passing a bar here in the Borough of Manhattan known as the Mountain Top Bar, when the defendant came staggering out and grabbed him and said, in essence, ‘This is a miserable, stinking town, they won’t even sell a guy a drink.’ The deceased, a compassionate man, felt sorry for what appeared to him to be merely a big kid, and said, in effect, ‘Look, you’re not in very good shape; why don’t you come up to my place and have some coffee and you’ll feel better.’ The defendant replied that that wasn’t a bad idea, and the deceased, Raymond Neeley, together with the defendant, then walked to the apartment on West Sixtieth Street where Neeley lived.

“When they arrived there, Raymond Neeley, the deceased, went into the kitchen and put on some coffee. When he came back he saw that the defendant had gone into the bedroom, taken off his jacket, tie and shoes, and stretched out on the bed and fallen asleep. Mr. Neeley woke the defendant and said the coffee was ready, and the defendant said he didn’t want coffee, he wanted a drink. The deceased, aware that the defendant had had too much to drink as it was, claimed there was no liquor in the apartment, at which the defendant became very abusive and called him obscene names. The deceased then said, in essence, ‘If you don’t behave yourself I’ll call the police.’ At that point the defendant became violently abusive and started to tear the place apart, ripping the bedclothes from the bed, and so forth. The deceased, Mr. Neeley, then grappled with the defendant and tried to force him from the apartment. The defendant pulled a gun, shoved Mr. Neeley away from him, and said, ‘Do I get liquor or do you get shot?’ or words to that effect. When Mr. Neeley still insisted there was no liquor in the apartment, the defendant then said, ‘I’ll find it easier with you out of the way’ and deliberately proceeded to shoot Raymond Neeley in cold blood.

“The victim ended up in Wickersham Hospital suffering severe gunshot wounds of the face and head. The People will call the Assistant Medical Examiner of New York County who will describe to you in detail the cause of death of the victim in this case, that cause being the gunshot wounds perpetrated by the defendant on the twenty-fifth of July in the year 1964.

“The prosecution would like to point out to the jury at this time — although the judge will undoubtedly do so in his charge to the jury — that the fact that eight years passed between the assault and the death of the victim does not in any way affect the charge of murder. There is no statute of limitations on murder, and had Raymond Neeley died as a result of that gunshot wound twenty, thirty, or even forty years later, the charge would remain the same.

“Ladies and gentlemen, after you hear all the evidence in this case, you can only come to one conclusion: that the prosecution has proven beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant committed premeditated murder in cold blood, and accordingly the prosecution will ask you to render the only possible verdict under the law: ‘Guilty of murder in the first degree.’

“Thank you very much.”

Varick walked over and sat down. The silence that had attended his statement was broken by the rustle of bodies assuming more comfortable positions in their chairs. Judge Waxler turned toward the defense table.

“Mr. Ross, would you care to make an opening statement?”

Ross came to his feet and nodded.

“A very short one, Your Honor. May it please Your Honor, Mr. Foreman, ladies and gentlemen of the jury: You have just heard a very dramatic presentation of what the prosecution claims happened on a certain night eight years ago. However, the prosecutor wasn’t there at the time, any more than I was. He was not a witness.”

A brief titter swept the room, instantly stilled. Ross did not smile.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the only evidence the jury is permitted to believe is the proven and believable evidence that comes from the witness stand, and that evidence, I maintain, will demonstrate a completely different set of circumstances from that which the prosecution has so imaginatively described.

“The evidence in this case will show as follows: that the accused, Billy Dupaul, was the victim of a swindle scheme, and that in the course of the perpetration of this swindle, one of the swindlers suffered an accidental wound and eventually died from it.

“The defense is prepared to prove that Billy Dupaul was handed a gun and told to shoot to defend his own life as well as that of a companion, and under the extremely extenuating circumstances that prevailed, did, indeed, pull the trigger. We do not deny that Billy was guilty of folly, of extremely poor judgment in going into a bar, getting drunk, and allowing himself to be picked up by a woman in this state, nor do we deny it was extremely naive of Billy not to have realized he was the intended victim of a swindle, but if poor judgment or naïveté were a crime, there would be few of us free to be here and involve ourselves in this trial today. It must also be remembered, ladies and gentlemen, that at the time of these events, Billy Dupaul was barely nineteen years of age, with little experience of life, and no experience of liquor at all.

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.”

Ross sat down and the shifting of bodies repeated itself. In the press box reporters exchanged glances; the charge of swindle was a new aspect. They settled down to what they were sure would be an interesting trial, as all those of Ross were. At the prosecution table Gorman was looking confident, not put off at all by the opening statement of the defense; he expected almost anything from Ross, and especially when he knew Ross was in a bind, as he was in this case. Paul Varick shuffled his notes, checked them one last time, and rose.

“For our first witness, we call Joseph Paretta.”

Paretta, a dapper little man, took the stand and was sworn in. From his cool and collected manner it was evident that he was not on the witness stand for the first time. Varick moved forward.

“What is your name?”

“Joseph Paretta.”

“What is your business or occupation?”

“I’m a stenotypist. A court reporter.”

“By whom are you employed?”

“I’m employed by the New York Supreme Court.”

“Were you employed by the New York Supreme Court as a court reporter on November fourteenth to November twenty-seventh of the year 1964?”

“I was.”

“Did you attend and take the minutes of the proceedings of the trial of the People of the State of New York against William Dupaul, Indictment Number 1263 of the year 1964?”

“I did.”

“I show you this transcript of the testimony of that trial. Is this a true and accurate transcript of that testimony, recorded by you in stenotype and later transcribed?”

The dapper man took the file handed him, checked his initials on the corner of each sheet while the courtroom waited, and then started to hand it back.

“Yes, sir. It is.”

“Mr. Paretta, please keep the transcript. Now, will you read the testimony of Raymond Neeley, beginning at the top of page 63 of that transcript?”

Paretta pulled the thick sheaf of papers back into his lap, riffled through the pages to the one requested, cleared his throat and began to read.

Paretta’s voice droned on, emotionless, avoiding with professional skill any dramatizing or editorializing through intonation. Billy Dupaul, his face a mask, slouched in his chair and stared at the floor. Steve Sadler was listening interestedly, as if he had not read the same testimony time after time. Ross watched the jury quite casually. The twelve people in the box seemed enthralled by the testimony.

The reading continued page after page, the only sounds in the silent courtroom other than Paretta’s even voice an occasional cough and the crackle of paper as Paretta turned the pages. The testimony followed Varick’s opening statement almost word for word. Paretta turned the final page of Neeley’s testimony. He read:

Paretta stopped, looking at Varick. “Do you want me to read more?”

“That’s enough, thank you,” Varick said. He turned toward the defense table. “Cross-examination.”

“Thank you,” Ross said, and came to his feet. He walked over and stationed himself before the court reporter.

“Mr. Paretta, while you are still on the stand, will you please turn to page 116 of the transcript? Thank you. Now, would you please start reading beginning on line five?”

Paretta dutifully found the place, cleared his throat, and began.

Paretta paused, looking up. Ross nodded.

“That’s enough, thank you.” He turned. “I’m finished with the witness.”

“But I’m not.” Varick had come to his feet. He approached the witness stand. “Mr. Paretta, in that trial, the transcript of which you have in your hand and from which you have been reading, after the jury heard all the evidence, what verdict did they bring in?”

“Objection,” Ross said smoothly. “If the prosecution remembers the motions and proceedings before trial, the judgment in that trial was set aside. Legally, it does not exist.”

“Wait a second,” Gorman began, starting to rise. One glare from Judge Waxler and he subsided.

“Objection sustained.”

Varick turned back to the witness.

“Mr. Paretta, tell me: In all the testimony of that transcript, either of the defense or of the prosecution, is the word ‘swindle’ mentioned once?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you recall any synonym for the word ‘swindle,’ or any phrase that could be considered to have the same meaning as the word ‘swindle’ appearing anywhere in the testimony?”

“No, sir.”

“Thank you. That’s all. You’re excused.” Mr. Paretta stepped down as Varick turned. “My next witness is Dr. Edward Hamilton of the Medical Examiner’s office.”

He walked back to the prosecution table and studied a sheet of paper while the doctor mounted the stand and was sworn in. Varick moved to the witness stand, paused, and then swung to face Ross.

“The prosecution is prepared to qualify my witness as an expert if the defense insists, but to save time would my learned adversary concede the qualifications of Dr. Hamilton?”

Ross said calmly, “The defense will concede that Dr. Hamilton is an extremely qualified forensic pathologist.”

“Thank you,” Varick said with a touch of sarcasm and turned to face the witness as a ripple of smiles in the courtroom disappeared beneath Judge Waxler’s look. “Dr. Hamilton, on the thirtieth day of September in this year, did you examine the body of a deceased male, Raymond Neeley?”

“I did.”

“Where did this examination take place?”

“At the New York Medical Examiner’s office, at the Bellevue Hospital morgue.”

“Before you go into the details of that examination, Doctor, could you tell us how the body came to be delivered to the Bellevue Hospital morgue? And how identification was made?”

“The deceased had been hospitalized at Wickersham Hospital with what he claimed were recurring and increasingly severe headaches, and died there. The deceased had been a patient of the hospital eight years before, suffering from gunshot wounds, and the autopsy was requested by his physician to determine if those gunshot wounds could have been responsible for his death. As for his identity, his physician vouched for it, and his fingerprints are on record with the police department, who verified them for identification.”

“Thank you,” Varick said. “Now, as to your examination, would you tell us of your procedure and results?”

Dr. Hamilton’s attitude, like that of Mr. Paretta, was completely relaxed, also the result of having testified in court many times. He brought forth his glasses, carefully polished them and put them on, and then reached into his pocket for the autopsy report. He glanced at it and then looked up.

“I did a customary post-mortem examination which is called an autopsy. The body was that of a well-developed Caucasian male weighing one hundred eighty-five pounds and measuring five feet nine inches in height. The hair on the head was black. The body below the neck had no scars or tattoos. There was a severe scarring on the lower right cheek, the result, according to the Wickersham Hospital records, of a gunshot wound suffered eight years before. The scarring was entirely consistent with these records.

“The body was opened through a Y-shaped incision. The lower—”

Varick interrupted smoothly.

“Doctor, I have seen a copy of the autopsy report, and a copy has also been furnished to the defense. To save the jury from details which have nothing to do with the case, could I put this question to you: In examining the other organs, other than the brain, did you find any evidence of disease or trauma that could possibly have caused death?”

“No, sir.”

“Were the organs in a condition consistent with a man of Mr. Neeley’s age?”

“They were.”

“Thank you, Doctor. Now, could you come to the point and tell us the cause of death?”

Dr. Hamilton looked up from the written autopsy report.

“It was the finding of the post-mortem examination that death was caused by the presence of a lead fragment having worked its way into contact with the frontal lobe of the brain during a period of time, that lead fragment being the result of a previous gunshot wound.”

There were several moments of silence when the doctor finished speaking. Varick nodded slowly, allowing the words to sink into the jury; when he spoke his voice was respectful, almost reverent.

“Thank you, Doctor.” He turned to Ross, his whole attitude challenging the defense to fault the testimony.

Steve Sadler smiled at Ross. “Go get him, boss!”

Ross squeezed Steve’s shoulder as he rose and faced the bench.

“No questions.”

Judge Waxler’s eyebrows went up. The startled expression on the faces of both Gorman and Varick were nothing compared to the look of utter incredulity on Steve Sadler’s face. He bent over, whispering furiously as Ross sat down.

“Damn it, Hank! You could have created tons of doubt in the minds of the jury! How often have they done an autopsy on a man eight years after he was shot? What happened to all those lovely questions we formulated yesterday before you got that hot flash about Grace Melisi’s husband?”

“I changed my mind,” Ross said in a low voice, his eyes crinkled in a slight smile. “It would have been a smoke screen, and while I’ve got nothing against smoke screens, it’s not what we need as a weapon right now.”

“Then what do we need?”

Ross glanced at his wristwatch.

“To hear from Mike Gunnerson,” he said shortly, and returned his attention to the trial. During their whispered conversation a stocky, plainly dressed man had taken the stand and been sworn in. Varick stood before him.

“Please state your name, shield number, and assignment.”

“I am Detective Martin Schwab, shield number 879, assigned to the twentieth precinct here in Manhattan.”

“On July 25, 1964, were you working for the police department of New York?”

“I was.”

“What was your assignment then?”

“I was a uniformed police officer assigned to radio motor patrol number 2641, assigned to Sector Adam.”

“On that date were you involved in the arrest of the defendant?”

“I was the arresting officer.”

“Will you describe the circumstances surrounding the arrest?”

“We — my partner and I — were called on the car radio and told to investigate an alleged shooting at apartment six, 453 West Sixtieth Street. We proceeded there. When we arrived a man, the defendant, was running from the lobby of the building. We apprehended him and returned him to the sixth floor where my partner held him while I investigated. The door of apartment six was open. Inside I found a man on the bedroom floor suffering from a gunshot wound to the face. My partner went downstairs to call an ambulance on the radio while I stayed and did what I could to stop the bleeding.”

“This wounded man was Raymond Neeley?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did Mr. Neeley make any statement in your presence?”

“No, sir. He was unconscious.”

“Did you find the weapon used in the shooting?”

“Yes, sir. It was a twenty-two caliber S&W target pistol.”

“Did you find any other gun on the premises?”

“No, sir.”

“How thoroughly did you search for a second weapon?”

“The suspect told us the other man had pulled a gun on him and he had fired in self-defense, so we searched very thoroughly, even before the ambulance came. And then, after we had booked the defendant, we returned and did an even more thorough search, because the defendant also told us of a suitcase—”

“We’ve already heard the testimony of the defendant,” Varick said, interrupting. “You never found the second gun?”

“No, sir.”

“Nor the suitcase?”

“No, sir.”

“While you and the police officer with you were seeing that the wounded man was sent off in the ambulance, and while you were booking the suspect at the precinct, was it possible that someone might have entered the apartment and removed this alleged suitcase, say, or the alleged revolver?”

“No, sir. I remained in the apartment with the suspect while my partner helped the ambulance attendants with the wounded man. Then we sealed the apartment when we removed the suspect to book him. When we returned to continue our search, the seals were intact.”

“These were standard police-department seals used for this purpose all the time?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, regarding this gun, this twenty-two caliber weapon, we have heard testimony from the trial transcript here today that indicated the defendant claimed he was in the apartment with a woman and that this woman gave him the gun and told him to fire it in self-defense. Did you find any woman on the premises?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you find any sign that a woman had been there and had vacated the premises within a short period of time of the shooting?”

“No, sir. We found no evidence that a woman had been there at all.”

“I see. Now,” Varick said, “was this gun this unknown woman supposedly handed the defendant ever identified as to ownership? This twenty-two caliber pistol that was used to shoot Raymond Neeley?” He glanced over toward the defense table and said, “If the defense objects to this witness presenting the facts, I can easily have Mr. Paretta return and read them from the transcript.”

Ross tipped his head politely. “No objection.”

Detective Schwab said, “The twenty-two caliber weapon used in the shooting was identified as a weapon belonging to the suspect himself.”

Varick smiled, a triumphant smile.

“No more questions. Your witness for cross-examination, Counselor.”

Ross started to rise and then paused at a slight disturbance at the rear door of the courtroom. Sharon McCloud was hurrying down the aisle. She leaned over to speak to Ross in a low tone.

“Mike Gunnerson said you’re just plain lucky...”

She handed him a sealed envelope. Ross tore it open and read the brief note inside with a smile. Judge Waxler tapped his gavel to get Ross’s attention, and then tapped it a bit harder. Ross looked up.

“Mr. Ross,” Judge Waxler said with a bit of sympathy — as far as he could see, the defense was in trouble — “if the defense would care for a recess until tomorrow morning, it is now after four o’clock and the court is prepared to entertain such a request.”

Ross came to his feet. “Thank you, Your Honor, but the defense is prepared to continue at this time.”

“Very well, if that is your wish. You may cross-examine then.”

“No questions, Detective Schwab. You may stand down.”

Steve Sadler stared at him with an amazement approaching shock.

“Hank, that’s twice! What is this? You could have taken him apart! The apartment was empty when they came and the door was open; anyone could have been in there! And what kind of a search do you think they could have done waiting for the ambulance, and trying to keep Neeley from bleeding to death? A very thorough search, he said! You could have—”

Hank Ross grinned. “Patience, Steve. Patience.”

Gorman and Varick, equally startled, were in conference, but it did not last long. Judge Waxler’s gavel tapped again.

“Mr. Varick, we have another half hour if you care to use it. Are you prepared to call your next witness?”

“Your Honor, Detective Schwab was my last witness,” Varick said, and glared across the room at Ross with suspicion. Ross was up to something, he was sure, but he could not imagine what it could possibly be; he knew the prosecution had done a good job. Paul Varick sighed. “The People rest.”

Judge Waxler looked from the prosecution table to the defense table and raised his gavel.

“Court is adjourned!”