Beware the Curves

Chapter 19

Things came to a showdown at eleven o’clock in the morning.

Judge Lawton said, “The peremptory is with the people.”

Mortimer Irvine, on his feet, bowed from the waist, smiled at the court, turned soulful eyes to the jury. “The prosecution is entirely satisfied with the jury. The people waive the peremptory.”

Judge Lawton looked at Barney Quinn.

Quinn half-swung around in his chair for a quick look at me.

I gave him a quick signal of okay.

Quinn rose to his feet and to the occasion. He smiled a tired, baggy-eyed smile at the jurors and said, “If the Court please, the defendant in this case is entirely satisfied that this jury will give him the benefit of a fair and impartial trial.”

Judge Lawton frowned a bit at the oratory, but said, “Very well. The jury will now be sworn to try the case. The other members of the venire, who are in attendance will be excused. As soon as the jury is sworn, the Court will take a ten-minute recess, following which the district attorney will make his opening statement.”

There was a considerable swirl of activity in the courtroom. Newspaper reporters pushed out of the doors, hurried to the telephones, to send in a flash that the jury had been accepted and to give the names of the jurors.

Barney Quinn came over to stand beside me. After the first hubbub had subsided, he said, “Well, pretty quick we’ll know the worst. We’ll know what we’re up against from his opening statement.”

“Perhaps,” I said. “On the other hand, if he has a surprise, he may deal in verbal detours.”

“How am I doing?” Quinn asked.

“Better,” I said. “Remember this. A jury keeps looking at the lawyers. The little things you do betray how you feel. The jurors don’t pick it up from any one little thing you do but from the thousand little things you do. The way you tilt back in your chair. The way you look at the clock. The way you run your hand over your head. The way you get up when you address the court. The way you pick up a pencil. The speed with which you make notes. Everything registers.

“You can’t sell a jury until you’ve first sold yourself. This is your big case. This is your opportunity. Make the most of it.”

Quinn said gloomily, “This is Irvine’s big case. It’s also his big opportunity. This is where he launches his campaign for attorney general. He’s smiling, urbane, persuasive — and, damn it! Lam, he’s got eight women on the jury.”

“So what?” I said. “What does he do when he gets mad? Does he blow up?”

“I don’t know,” Quinn said.

“That’s a helluva way to practice criminal law,” I told him. “Find out what he does when he gets mad.”

Quinn gave me a wan smile. “I’m not usually this much of a washout, Lam, but this case has just taken the starch out of me. Tell me, did you find that gun?”

I looked him in the eyes. “No.”

“You didn’t?” he asked, his face lighting up.

“Hell, no!” I told him. “You’re the attorney for the defense. I’d tell you the truth, wouldn’t I? My God, man! We’re working for you.”

“You mean we’re not suppressing any evidence?”

“Not a bit!”

He seemed to grow inches taller. “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

“You didn’t ask me.”

“I was afraid to. I thought — Ansel was positive he’d thrown the gun into that hedge.”

I said, “I doubt if he ever had a gun. You know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think the poor fool thinks that Elizabeth Endicott shot her husband, and he’s halfway trying to take the rap for her.”

Quinn thought that over. “I’ll be a son-of-a-gun,” he said slowly.

I saw the door of the Judge’s chambers open. I gave Quinn a jab with my thumb. “Go on in there,” I said, “and make the district attorney mad.”

Judge Lawton called court to order. Mortimer Irvine started his opening statement in the well-modulated voice of a man who has taken a course in dramatics at college.

It was a statement of glittering generalities. He said he expected to prove that there had been an attachment between Elizabeth Endicott, the widow of Karl Carver Endicott, and the defendant John Dittmar Ansel. He expected to prove that, after Elizabeth Endicott consented to marry the decedent Karl Endicott, the defendant Ansel had not been content to be a good loser, but had continued to hope against hope that he would be able to break up the home, notwithstanding the fact that he was in the employ of Karl Endicott, notwithstanding the fact that Endicott had trusted him to go on his most confidential missions. Ansel, as a snake in the grass” had waited, biding his time—

Barney Quinn was on his feet interrupting. He said he didn’t want to interrupt but this was not the time for an argument. This was only an opening statement in which the district attorney was entitled to show what he expected to prove — not to engage in a lot of dramatics, not to try and impress his “soulful personality” on the jurors.

Judge Lawton got mad. Mortimer Irvine got mad. The judge rebuked Barney for the manner in which he had made his objection. The judge rebuked Irvine for abusing the privilege of the opening statement. Then the judge sustained the objection.

Irvine didn’t do so good when he got mad. He lost some of his suave assurance. He had a savage, sarcastic streak in his character. The way I sized him up from that moment on he wasn’t a fighter. When the going got tough he didn’t wade in and slug. He circled around the edges and sniped.

Irvine went on. He said he expected to show that Ansel had returned from an expedition which he had voluntarily undertaken and for which he had received a bonus of twenty thousand dollars. He expected to show that within minutes of his arrival at the airport, Ansel had placed a telephone call. The telephone call had been to the residence of Karl Carver Endicott, but it had been a person-to-person call and the records would show that he had specifically stated he wished to talk only with Mrs. Endicott, and with no one else if she was not present.

Irvine went on to state that he expected to show Ansel had gone to the house. To the defendant’s surprise the person who had answered the door had been Karl Carver Endicott. Endicott had invited the defendant to an upstairs room. Within a matter of minutes thereafter Karl Carver Endicott had been dead, and Elizabeth Endicott had been a widow. Thereafter, Ansel had resorted to flight. He had remained in hiding, moving in the shadows, keeping from the clutches of the law only by reason of the fact that he was supposed to be dead. During that long waiting period, he had surreptitiously continued to meet Elizabeth Endicott.

Finally, when police had an inkling of the true facts, they had baited a trap and into that trap had walked the guilty pair — Elizabeth Endicott, the widow, who had been consorting with her husband’s murderer even before the body of her husband was cold in death, and John Dittmar Ansel, the defendant in the case, who had repaid the opportunities for advancement Karl Carver Endicott had given him by a .38 bullet fired into the back of Endicott’s head.

Irvine sat down amidst a hushed courtroom. One or two of the younger feminine members of the jury looked at John Dittmar Ansel with revulsion stamped all over their faces.

Court took the noon recess.

“He’s your baby,” I told Barney Quinn. “He can’t stand the in-fighting. It musses up his good looks. Get in there and play rough. Don’t let him get away with that stuff about betraying the interests of his employer. Make an opening statement of your own right after court convenes. Tell the jurors that Endicott deliberately sent Ansel on a suicide trip, that he baited his trap with twenty thousand dollars, but was so ruthless he didn’t even pay the twenty thousand in advance. It was only to be paid when the men returned, after having completed the impossible mission.”

“But a defense lawyer shouldn’t make his opening statement until he is ready to start putting on his case,” Quinn said.

“Then you may not have any case to put on,” I warned. “Right now you don’t dare to put the defendant on the stand, and before you get done you probably won’t dare to put Elizabeth Endicott on the stand. Tell them what you expect to prove, and pull out all the stops. Irvine talked about the loyalty due an employer from an employee. Tell them about the other side of the picture. Tell them about the man who sits smugly in an office and deliberately sends another man to his death, so that he can marry the man’s sweetheart.”

“The Court will rebuke me,” Quinn said.

“The Court rebuked Irvine,” I told him, “so you’ll be even. Get started!”

Quinn did a pretty fair job at that. Irvine got mad. He was on his feet, waving his hands, interrupting.

As the story began to unfold from Quinn’s lips, some of the women began to look sympathetically at John Ansel. Several of them glanced at Elizabeth Endicott and studied her poker face.

I made a note to remind Quinn to tell the jury that here was a woman who had suffered so much that she had abandoned tears as a useless expedient for emotional relief. Here was a woman who had had no outlet for her emotions for years, a woman who had suffered to the point of exhaustion.

Quinn began to get in his stride. He had more assurance and was showing some of the qualities that had given him a reputation as an up-and-coming trial lawyer.

By the time they started putting on evidence, most of the impression that Irvine had made on the jury with his opening argument had vanished. The jurors were interested and curious. They kept looking over the lawyers, the witnesses, the defendant, and above all Elizabeth Endicott.

After all, she was a public figure, the wealthy head of an oil empire, a mysterious woman who had kept to herself after the tragedy but who was now charged with having engaged in surreptitious meetings with a lover, a lover who in turn was hiding from the police.

The jurors prepared to enjoy all of the spicy details.

Irvine put on witnesses and went very briefly through the necessary preliminaries: the fact of death, a surveyor who introduced a diagram of the premises, a photographer who showed photographs, an autopsy surgeon who had made a post-mortem examination showing that Karl Carver Endicott had been killed by a .38 caliber bullet, which had been fired into the back of his head, a bullet which had almost protruded from the forehead of the dead man.

The slug had been recovered and was introduced in evidence. The shot had been fired from such a distance that there were no powder burns. It was the opinion of the witness that the shot had been fired “a matter of feet” from the deceased at a time when the decedent had his back turned to the murderer.

Mortimer Irvine looked at the clock, then said dramatically, “Call Helen Manning to the stand.”

Helen had dolled herself up. Aside from a few extra pounds, she was one good-looking babe and she knew it. You only needed one look at her as she got on the witness stand to know that the thing had worked in reverse. Instead of her dazzling Mortimer Irvine, he had turned loose his charm on her and had wrapped her around his finger.

She was like a well-trained dog on a leash doing exactly what was expected. She told her story in a low, throaty voice, that is, the story she wanted to tell.

She testified she had worked for Mr. Endicott for some years. She had finally decided to resign because the work was rather heavy for her, she wanted a change, and frankly there was a situation in the office that she didn’t want to bother Mr. Endicott with, but which made it unpleasant for her. She was a highly competent secretary. She could get a position anywhere, and she chose to leave Mr. Endicott’s employ. Mr. Endicott was very much concerned over her departure. He tried to find out what was wrong. He offered to make any adjustments that he could make, but she steadfastly refused to tell him why she was leaving because the young woman whom it was difficult for her to get along with was supporting a sick mother and needed the job. She wasn’t a very good secretary anyway, and would have had difficulty getting other employment, whereas Helen was thoroughly competent, well trained and could go out and get a job anywhere.

She had a letter signed by Mr. Endicott expressing his concern at losing her services, stating definitely that she was leaving of her own accord and recommending her very highly.

At about the time she was severing her connection with the office, she had “been told” that the defendant John Dittmar Ansel had been sent into the Brazilian jungle on a suicide expedition. She had, unfortunately, believed this story and communicated it to Mrs. Endicott.

“And what did Mrs. Endicott say?” Irvine asked.

Quinn had his assurance back. He was on his feet with a roar. He accused the district attorney of misconduct. He objected to the question. He moved to strike out the entire evidence of the witness. Anything that had been communicated to Elizabeth Endicott was not evidence against the defendant and the district attorney knew it. This was an insidious attempt to prejudice the jury. It constituted prejudicial misconduct. Quinn assigned it as such, and asked the Court to disregard the statements of the witness and to admonish the district attorney.

Judge Lawton took rather a serious view of the matter. He called Irvine to account. “Just what is the position of the prosecution in this matter?” he said. “How do you contend that any communication made to Mrs. Endicott is binding in any way upon the defendant?”

“We propose to show that Mrs. Endicott communicated what she had learned to the defendant,” Irvine said.

“You are prepared to show that?”

“Well, by inference,” Irvine said.

Judge Lawton’s face colored. “Do you have first person evidence that will support that inference, Mr. Prosecutor?”

Irvine hedged. “Well, Your Honor, I think certain events speak for themselves. I think that the jurors should be permitted to draw an inference.”

“I asked you a direct question,” Judge Lawton interrupted. “Do you have first person, definite evidence which will give facts from which such an inference can be supported — as a matter of law now, not on a hope-so basis but on a legal basis?”

Irvine ran his hand around his collar. “I dislike to disclose my case in advance,” he said. “If the Court will bear with me in this matter, I feel certain that it will be connected up.”

“How?” Judge Lawton snapped.

“By circumstances and by the defendant’s own admission,” Irvine said.

Judge Lawton said, “It is up to the trial court to control the order of proof. I feel that this testimony could be highly prejudicial unless it is connected up. Before any more questions are asked of this witness, I suggest that you put on any evidence you may have showing how you propose to connect up this statement, how you propose to bring it home to the defendant.”

“If the Court please, I’m not finished with this line of testimony,” Irvine said.

“You’re finished with it as far as this Court is concerned, and as far as this witness is concerned, until you show how you are going to connect it up,” Judge Lawton said. “The Court controls the order of proof and the Court intends to protect the rights of the defendant in this matter. The Court feels that something is required other than the assurance of the prosecutor that the matter is going to be connected up.”

“Very well,” Irvine said, “may I withdraw this witness for a moment and put on another witness?”

“That witness is for the purpose of connecting up the testimony of this witness?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Very well,” Judge Lawton said. “Now let’s have no misunderstanding in the records as to what is happening. The motion is before the Court to strike the entire testimony of this witness from the record. A motion is before the Court to instruct the jury to disregard the questions and answers of this witness and to admonish the district attorney for prejudicial misconduct. The Court reserves the ruling upon all of those motions until the testimony of this next witness.

“You are at liberty to leave the witness stand temporarily, Miss Manning, but don’t leave the courtroom. Your testimony is not concluded. You are to be cross-examined upon your testimony. You are temporarily withdrawn so that the prosecutor may call his next witness.

“Now then, Mr. District Attorney, put on the witness by whom you hope to connect up this testimony with the defendant.”

“Very well, Your Honor,” Irvine said with poor grace. “Call John Small Ormsby.”

Ormsby looked new all over. He had new shoes, a new ready-made suit, a new necktie and a new haircut. He looked a bit uncomfortable.

Ormsby, it turned out, was serving a sentence in the county jail. He had been convicted of having marijuana cigarettes in his possession. He had copped a plea and was serving a six months’ sentence. He had ingratiated himself to the officers, had become a trusty, had been placed in the cell with John Dittmar Ansel, and had had a conversation with Ansel.

“What was the conversation?” Irvine asked.

Ormsby shifted his position on the witness stand, crossed his legs and the light glinted from his new shoes. “Well,” he said, “it seems Ansel had just come back to his cell from a talk with his lawyer, and his lawyer had given him a rough time.”

“Now just a minute,” Judge Lawton interrupted. “We don’t want you to testify to any of your conclusions. Just what was said?”

“Yes,” Mr. Irvine said unctuously, “what was said? Did Mr. Ansel say that his lawyer had given him a rough time?”

“Those were his exact words,” Ormsby said. “He said his lawyer had given him a rough time.”

“And what did he say after that?”

“He said that he’d broken down and told his lawyer about packin’ a rod when he went out to call on Endicott that night. He said he’d tossed the rod out of the window into the shrubbery — into the hedge running along there.”

“What else did he say?” Irvine asked.

“Well, he said he thought he’d made a mistake telling his lawyer about that. He said it seemed to sort of take the starch out of his lawyer.”

The eyes of the jurors swiveled to Barney Quinn. Quinn had the presence of mind to throw back his head and laugh silently.

“What else?” Irvine asked.

“Well, he said that Mrs. Endicott had told him about some secretary who got sacked telling her all about how Endicott had sent him—”

“Now, by him you are referring to Ansel?”

“That’s right. Ansel said this secretary had told Mrs. Endicott all about how Endicott had deliberately sent him up the Amazon so he could be put out of the way, and knowing that he was going to get killed.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“That was about all. He was going over it two or three times with me. He asked me if I thought he’d made a mistake telling his lawyer about the gun.”

“Cross-examine,” Irvine said to Quinn.

“He told you he’d thrown a gun out of the window?” Quinn asked, smiling disdainfully.

“That’s right.”

“He said that was his gun?”

“Yes, sir, that’s what he said.”

“That he had taken it with him when he went to call on Endicott?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did he say why he’d thrown it out of the window?”

“Well, he said he got a little sick to his stomach.”

“What made him sick to his stomach? Did he say?”

“The thought of the girl he loved being married to a guy like Endicott.”

“Now then,” Quinn said, pointing his finger at the witness, “did he say he had fired the gun?”

“No, sir.”

“Did he say that he hadn’t fired the gun?”

“That’s what he told me, that he hadn’t fired it.”

“Now then, did he tell you anything about when Mrs. Endicott had told him about the secretary talking to her?”

“No, sir, he didn’t.”

“But you got the impression that it was long after the death of Endicott that he was told about that, isn’t that correct?”

“I object,” Irvine said. “His impression is not important. The question calls for a conclusion.”

“Sustained,” Judge Lawton said.

“Didn’t he tell you that he hadn’t seen Mrs. Endicott until after Endicott met his death?”

“Yes, sir, he did.”

“So she couldn’t have told him anything prior to that time?”

“Objected to as argumentative,” Irvine said.

“Sustained,” Judge Lawton said.

“But he did tell you definitely that, from the time he left for the jungles, he didn’t see Mrs. Endicott until after Endicott’s death?”

“Well, yes, he said that.”

“Now you’re a dope peddler, aren’t you?” Quinn said.

“Objected to,” Irvine said. “That is not a proper ground of impeachment. The witness can only be impeached by showing that he has been convicted of a felony.”

“This question may, however, be preliminary. It may go to the question of bias,” Judge Lawton said.

“Then the other question should be asked first,” Irvine said.

“Very well, I’ll sustain the objection at this time.”

“You are in jail as a prisoner?” Quinn said.

“Yes, sir.”

“And how long have you been in jail?”

“A little over four months.”

“And how long do you still have to serve?”

“About ten days, figuring good time.”

“And why were you sent to jail?”

“I had marijuana cigarettes in my possession.”

“Were you smoking them?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Were you peddling them?”

“Objected to as incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial, and not proper cross-examination,” Irvine said.

“Sustained,” Judge Lawton ruled.

“Didn’t you have a conversation with the officers, the substance of which was that while the officers could charge you with peddling marijuana cigarettes, if you would give your testimony in this case, they would not press that charge against you?”

“Well... no.”

“Didn’t you have a conversation with some of the officers to the effect that if you would move into the cell with the defendant John Dittmar Ansel, and try to inveigle him into conversation so that you could get some admission from him that could be used as testimony, you’d be released from jail and not be prosecuted on a charge of dope peddling?”

“No, sir, not in those words.”

Quinn looked scornfully at the witness.

“How long have you had those shoes?” Quinn asked, pointing disdainfully at the shoes.

“I got ’em yesterday.”

“Where did you get them?”

“In a shoe store.”

“You’re supposed to be in jail. How did you get out of jail?”

“The sheriff let me out.”

“Where did you get those pants?”

“In a clothing store.”

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

“Where did you get that coat?”

“In a clothing store.”

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

“Who paid for the suit?”

“The sheriff.”

“Who paid for the shoes?”

“The sheriff.”

“When was your hair cut last?”

“Yesterday.”

“Who paid for the haircut?”

“The sheriff.”

“Where was your hair cut?”

“At a barber shop uptown.”

“Don’t you know they have barbers in the jail?”

“I don’t know.”

“How long have you been there?”

“Four and a half months.”

“You’ve had your hair cut in that time, haven’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“By whom?”

“By a barber in the jail.”

“But yesterday, after you had run to the officers with this story, after you had played stool pigeon for them, a jail haircut wasn’t good enough for you. In order to impress this jury, the officers took you up to a high-class barber shop and gave you the works, didn’t they?”

“Well, they took me uptown.”

“That’s a new necktie you have on, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Who paid for it?”

“The sheriff.”

Barney Quinn turned from the man in disgust.

“That’s all,” he said.

“No further questions,” Irvine said.

The witness left the stand.

“Now then, Your Honor,” Quinn said, “I renew my motion to strike out the entire testimony of the witness Helen Manning because it becomes apparent that anything she told Mrs. Endicott could not possibly have been communicated to the defendant prior to the death of the decedent. I renew my motion that the district attorney be admonished for misconduct, and that the jury be instructed to disregard everything that the district attorney said and everything that the witness Helen Manning said on the stand.”

Judge Lawton leaned forward on the bench, weighed his words carefully. “The motion to strike the testimony of Helen Manning will be granted. The jury is instructed to pay no attention whatever to the testimony of this witness. The effect will be as though this witness had never been called to the stand.

“The Court recognizes the assignment of misconduct on the part of the district attorney to this extent. The jurors are instructed to pay no attention to any remarks made by the district attorney or to any statements made by counsel on either side except insofar as those statements are substantiated by evidence that is permitted to go before the jury. The Court instructs the jurors to completely disregard all statements made by the district attorney in connection with the testimony of the witness Manning to the effect that he would connect up the testimony.

“Now then, Mr. Prosecutor, proceed with your next witness.”

“My next witness, if the Court please,” Irvine said, “is one who will still further connect up the testimony that—”

“That testimony has been stricken,” Judge Lawton rebuked. “You may move to have it reinstated if at any time you can connect it up. The Court feels that the proof was put on out of order. The Court feels that the prosecutor should have put on any evidence he might have had seeking to connect up the testimony of the witness Manning before putting the witness Manning on the stand.

“The Court feels that any further reference on the part of the prosecution to testimony which has been stricken from the record may well constitute prejudicial misconduct. Now, proceed.”

“Very well,” Irvine said, with poor grace, “call Steven Beardsley.”

Beardsley, a tall, gangling individual, came to the stand and was sworn.

“What’s your occupation, Mr. Beardsley?”

“I’m deputy sheriff in this county.”

“Is there any particular field in which you have specialized, any field in the nature of law enforcement?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What is that field?”

“Ballistics. Firearms identification.”

“Will you tell us what training you have had along those lines?”

“I have studied under several of the leading men in the country. I have been making a practice of firearms identification for more than ten years.”

“Are you familiar with the town of Citrus Grove in this county?”

“I am, yes, sir.”

“Are you familiar with the premises known as the Whippoorwill, the estate of Karl Carver Endicott?”

“I am, yes, sir.”

“Do you recognize the premises shown on this map, People’s Exhibit Number One?”

“I do, yes, sir.”

“I will ask you if you have at any time searched the hedge shown on People’s Exhibit Number One?”

“I have, yes, sir.”

“I will ask you if at any time within the past week you found a weapon in that hedge?”

“I did, yes, sir.”

“Do you have that weapon with you?”

“I do.”

“Produce it please.”

The witness produced a rust-encrusted, blued-steel revolver.

“What is that?”

“That is a Colt .38 caliber revolver.”

“How many shells are in that revolver?”

“Five shells with bullets in them and one empty chamber in the cylinder.”

“Have you been able to fire test bullets through that gun?”

“I have had considerable difficulty restoring it to a condition where it is safe to fire it, but I have removed enough of the rust to enable the mechanism to function. I have purposely refrained from removing any of the rust which was not essential for this purpose in order to show the condition of the weapon when it was found.”

“From your test have you been able to determine whether that was the weapon from which the bullet was fired which killed Karl Carver Endicott?”

“Well, I’ll put it this way. The barrel has been badly rusted. The individual markings from that barrel are such that it is impossible to make an identification. All I can state is that this revolver is a .38 Colt revolver firing bullets of a certain type and the bullet which was taken from the head of Mr. Endicott is the same caliber as the bullet which was taken from this revolver, has the same characteristics, and both bullets were fired from a .38 caliber Colt revolver.”

“In other words, there is no reason from the standpoint of ballistic science why the bullet which was taken from the head of Karl Carver Endicott could not have been fired from this revolver?”

“That is right. This revolver could have fired the fatal bullet.”

“Have you traced the ownership of that revolver so that you know whose revolver it is?”

“I have, yes, sir.”

“Whose is it?”

“Objected to as not the best evidence, as calling for hearsay evidence, as calling for a conclusion of the witness and invading the province of the jury,” Barney Quinn said.

Irvine seemed annoyed. “If the Court please, we can get at this another way, but it is going to be a costly procedure and will necessitate the calling of a witness who will have to take a plane to be here.”

“Nevertheless,” Judge Lawton ruled, “that is one of the constitutional guarantees of a man charged with crime. He has the right to be faced with the witnesses against him and to have the privilege of cross-examining them. I take it this witness now on the stand doesn’t know of his own knowledge to whom the weapon belongs, only that he has conducted investigations as an officer which have convinced him that the weapon is the property of a certain person.”

“That is right, Your Honor.”

“The objection is sustained,” Judge Lawton said. “It now appears that we have reached the hour of the afternoon adjournment. Court will take a recess until tomorrow morning. In the meantime, the defendant is remanded to the custody of the sheriff and the jurors are admonished not to discuss the case among yourselves nor to permit anyone to discuss it in your presence. You are not to form or express any opinion until the case is finally submitted to you for a decision.

“Court will recess until tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.”

Quinn walked past me on his way out of the courtroom. “Meet me in my office,” he said in an undertone.

I fell into step beside him. “What do you want?”

“To discuss the evidence.”

“To hell with it!” I told him. “I’ve got something else to do. Keep on the end of your telephone so I can reach you at any hour of the night. Get what sleep you can. This is going to be one hell of a night!”

I beckoned to Bertha, and we pushed our way through the crowd.

“Now what?” Bertha asked.

“Now,” I said, “we go to our own ballistics expert in Pasadena and find out what the hell we dug up in the garden.”

“It’s a .38 caliber Colt revolver,” Bertha said.

“Probably the murder weapon. That means one of us has got to be called as a witness.”

“Oh, my God!” Bertha said.

We drove to Pasadena where one of the best legal physicists in the country has his office. We started him working on the gun. Within half an hour he had the number of the gun, and within another hour we had the answer.

The gun had been purchased by Helen Manning six years ago.

I hung up the phone and turned to Bertha. “This,” I said, “is going to be in your province, Bertha. You’re going to have to take a babe apart.”

“Who?”

“Helen Manning.”

“That bitch!” Bertha said.

“Can you take her apart?”

“I’ll take her apart,” Bertha promised. “I’ll have her sawdust stuffing spilled all over the floor of her apartment.”

“Let’s go,” I told her.