Dan and the Death-Cell Bluff

Chapter Four Tough Town Justice

District Attorney Edward Ossening was a round, sleek man with a calm manner and horn-rimmed glasses which gave him the appearance of a benevolent owl. During the first few days after the murder of Homicide Detective Lawrence Bull, a series of secret conferences took place between Big Jim Calhoun and District Attorney Ossening. They were not very satisfactory conferences, and Big Jim’s temper grew more ragged after each one. The D.A. managed to maintain his benevolent air, but beneath it his calmness disintegrated and his nerves became as ragged as Big Jim’s temper.

The first conference took place the day after Dan Fancy, accompanied by Broadway columnist Henry Drew, turned himself in at the Lake City police headquarters.

“You said Fancy would never come up for trial,” Ed Ossening complained nervously. “You said he’d be killed resisting arrest, or attempting to escape, and no one but the coroner would have to pass on the evidence against him.”

“That was before Drew entered the picture,” Big Jim snapped. “How the hell can I have him bumped when a nationally syndicated columnist sits outside his cell all day?”

“I don’t understand how Drew got down here, or what his interest in it is.”

“I do,” Big Jim said grimly. “He flew down. He’s a pal of Dan Fancy’s, and Fancy is using him as life insurance. But with the evidence we’ve got rigged, he’ll need more than a newspaper columnist, to beat this rap.”

The second conference took place the following afternoon.

“I don’t like this lawyer, Farraday, who’s defending Fancy,” the D.A. said. “He’s one of the top criminal lawyers in the country.”

“It takes more than a legal rep to beat the kind of evidence you’ve got,” Big Jim growled at him. “What’s eating you?”

“He hadn’t been in town ten minutes when he had a writ of habeas corpus,” Ossening said nervously.

“So what? The hearing went all right, didn’t it? Fancy’s bound over for the grand jury without bail.”

“That’s what worries me. Farraday didn’t didn’t even ask for bail.”

“Relax,” Big Jim advised. “At least Fancy is where he can’t make any trouble over the Saunders killing. In two more weeks young Robinson takes the final jolt, and Fancy won’t even be up before the grand jury by then.”

That same evening the third conference took place.

“Listen,” Ed Ossening said plaintively. “I’m getting scared. Somebody’s pulling strings.”

“What now?” Big Jim inquired irritably.

“Fancy has been moved way up on the grand jury’s calendar. He goes before it tomorrow morning.”

Big Jim pulled a blank mask over the expression of surprise which started to grow on his face. “So what?” he asked with studied indifference.

“Well, we don’t have any fix in with the grand jury, do we?”

“We don’t need one,” Big Jim said. “What can they do in the face of the evidence but remand him until trial?”

The fourth conference occurred the morning after the grand jury decided Fancy should be tried for first degree homicide.

“I thought somebody big was pulling strings in the Fancy case,” Ed Ossening said breathlessly. “Circuit Judge Anderson has Fancy’s trial scheduled to start this afternoon!”

“Well, you’re ready, aren’t you?” Big Jim asked irritably.

“Yes, of course. But who ever heard of such quick action in a murder case?”

“You lawyers make me sick,” Big Jim told him. “You get all upset if there isn’t a lot of legal delay. I read of a case in Alabama where a guy was arrested for murder, legally tried and hanged in twenty-four hours.”

“This isn’t Alabama,” the D.A. muttered.

The fifth conference took place the evening of the first day of Dan Fancy’s trial.

“I can’t understand this lawyer, Farraday,” Ed Ossening said worriedly. “He didn’t challenge a single juror. Didn’t even question them. Who ever heard of a jury in a murder trial being seated in one day?”

“You got the jury you wanted, didn’t you?” Big Jim said. “I own every one of those guys. With that jury, you couldn’t lose the case even without evidence.”

“I’m scared,” the district attorney said simply. “Let’s withdraw charges.”

“Are you crazy?” Big Jim roared. But his next words were a tacit admission that the same thought had at least occurred to him. “We can’t withdraw charges without admitting the whole thing is a frame. Get in there and prosecute, or there’ll be a new district attorney in this county next election.”

“Yes, sir,” said the D. A.

The case of the People versus Daniel Fancy started out rather dully. The prosecutor, though a man of unquestioned legal ability, and seemingly in possession of an airtight case, did not have an inspiring courtroom manner. Though he presented a bland, unruffled visage to the jury, there was an indefinable air of unease surrounding him, and it seemed to increase as he paraded witness after witness before the jury. There was no obvious reason for his unease, for little by little he was weaving what appeared to be an indestructible case.

From the spectator’s standpoint the defense contributed little more to the interest of the trial. The famous John Farraday, who most of the spectators had come to see in action, disappointed them by apparently going to sleep in his chair. His sharp chin rested upon his chest during the entire presentation of the state’s case, and his eyes seemed to be closed. But periodic indication that he was conscious came each time Prosecuting Attorney Edward Ossening finished with a witness and Judge Anderson inquired if the defense wished to cross-examine. Then the theatrically long white hair of the famous lawyer would flutter briefly as his head gave an impatient shake, after which he again seemed to sink into a coma.

As the trial moved on, Judge Anderson’s expression became more and more disapproving and his voice grew grimmer each time he asked the defense if it wished to cross-examine. Twice he brought the prosecution up short when the scope of Ed Ossening’s questions went beyond the latitude the judge felt should be allowed in his court, and both times he glared at John Farraday, obviously feeling objection should have come from the defense.

During the entire trial the defendant slouched back in his chair, his fingers laced together across his lean stomach, and grinned a lopsided grin. Part of the time the grin was directed at Adele Hudson, who sat in the front row of the spectators’ seats, and part of the time it was turned on the prosecuting attorney. It seemed to increase the unease of the latter.

As is usual in trials for murder, the first witness called by the prosecution was the arresting officer — in this case Lieutenant Morgan Hart. In a straightforward manner the lieutenant recounted that on the evening of the fourteenth at about eight-thirty o’clock, a call had come into the Homicide Bureau from the fiancée of Detective Sergeant Lawrence Bull. The girl had been hysterical, but he gathered that Sergeant Bull was hurt.

Immediately he repaired to the home of Sergeant Bull at 1711 Fairview Avenue, the lieutenant continued, where he found the sergeant dead in his living room with a bullet hole in his hack. On the basis of information furnished by the sergeant’s fiancée, a Miss Ella Spodiak, he had located the cab driver who had brought the murderer to the scene of the crime, and through him traced the murderer to the Lakeview Hotel. It was the next day before he was able to accomplish the latter, however, and at about one P.M. he and a Detective Fleming had arrested the defendant in his hotel room. Lieutenant Hart went on to describe the defendant’s daring break for freedom in the very center of town.

Ossening had the lieutenant examine a forty-five automatic and asked if he recognized it.

“Yes, sir,” said Lieutenant Hart. “I took it from the defendant at the time of the arrest. I memorized the serial number so I could be sure of identifying it again.”

The prosecution submitted the gun as exhibit A.

The second witness was Detective Fleming, who merely corroborated Lieutenant Hart’s testimony of the arrest and subsequent escape of the defendant.

The next witness was the taxi driver who had driven Dan Fancy to the home of the deceased. He was a lean, shifty-eyed man who licked his lips frequently during the testimony. He stated that he had picked up the defendant in front of the Lakeview Hotel about eight P.M. on the fourteenth and had driven him to 1711 Fairview Avenue. He said the defendant was inside only a few minutes, at the end of which time he heard a sound like a shot. Immediately afterward the defendant rushed out of the house, jumped into the cab and ordered him to speed off. The driver said he took the defendant back to the Lakeview Hotel and did not see him again until he was asked to pick him out of a police lineup.

When Ed Ossening said, “Your witness,” Judge Anderson frowned at John Farraday, obviously expecting him to ask why the driver had failed to report to the police the peculiar actions of his customer, and had waited for the police to come to him before he told his story. But when Farraday only gave his head a mild shake, the judge’s lips drew into a thin line and he said to the witness, “That’s all. You may step down.”

The prosecution’s key witness was Ella Spodiak, who described herself as the fiancée of the deceased. She turned out to be the well-built but stupid-looking blonde who had admitted Dan to Larry Bull’s house. For her courtroom appearance she had discarded her red, tight-fitting dress in favor of a sedate black suit and a hat with a black veil. The effect of mourning was somewhat spoiled, however, by open-toed pumps which exposed toenails of flaming crimson.

She gave her testimony in a sullen singsong, her eyes carefully averted from the grinning Dan Fancy. She told how she had been visiting Sergeant Bull on the evening of the murder, and had gone to open the door when the defendant rang the bell.

“He pushed right inside,” she recited mechanically, wrinkling her brow in what might have been a continued effort to remember her lines. “He drew a gun and twisted my arm up behind my back and told me if I said a word, he’d shoot me. So I didn’t say nothing — I mean anything. Then he asked if Larry was in the living room, and when I said yes, he pushed me ahead of him and made me open the door. Larry was watching television, and he jumped up when he saw Dan Fancy. ‘Turn around’, Fancy ordered him, ‘and put up your hands.’ And when Larry did, he shot him right in the back. Then he ran out of the house.”

This time John Farraday’s expression was pained when he shook his head.

The rest of the prosecution’s witnesses were more or less routine. A medical examiner testified to the time of death, fixing it at approximately eight P.M. on the day of the fourteenth, and in medical terms declared that death had been caused by a bullet in the back. A ballistic expert said that the bullet removed from the body of Larry Bull matched a similar bullet fired from the gun taken from Dan Fancy. To clinch the matter the prosecution entered in evidence a pistol permit showing the gun belonged to Dan Fancy.

As the last witness stepped down, Ed Ossening discovered that due to lack of interference by the defense, the case he had planned to spend at least a week presenting had somehow gotten itself presented in four hours. But for some reason he was more frightened than reassured by the smoothness with which the trial had so far run.

He glanced uncertainly around, as though hoping to spy some witness he had inadvertently overlooked, then said in a voice higher than necessary, “The prosecution rests.”

The judge glanced at his watch. “It is two P.M.,” he announced. “If the defense has no objection, we will recess until ten A.M. tomorrow.”

For the first time since the trial had started, John Farraday fully opened his eyes. “No objection, Your Honor,” he said in a caressing voice which carried to every corner of the courtroom, though he spoke in a conversational tone.

At ten the next morning, after Judge Anderson had brought the court to order and inquired if the defense were ready, John Farraday rose slowly to his feet. He was a tall man, as thin and bony as Abraham Lincoln, but with a grace of body movement Lincoln lacked. He paused theatrically to sweep brilliant blue eyes over the packed courtroom, then said in his caressing voice, “The defense has but one witness, Your Honor. Will Adrian Fact please take the stand?”

From the back row rose a little insignificant-looking man in a worn seersucker suit. He advanced diffidently, raised his hand to be sworn, and kept his eyes lowered to his lap after he had taken the witness chair.

“Your name is Adrian Fact?” Farraday inquired.

“Yes, sir.”

“Will you please look at the defendant and tell the court if you know him?”

Judge Anderson cleared his throat. “Your witness should be instructed to address his remarks to the jury rather than to the court, counsellor.”

Gracefully John Farraday turned to face the judge. “Your Honor, the defense has nothing to say to this jury, for there is little likelihood it will be asked to render a verdict. I asked the witness to address the court because I am sure after Your Honor has heard his testimony, you will kick this case out of court so fast it will make the head of my esteemed colleague, the district attorney of this county, spin like a top.”

Leaping to his feet, Ed Ossening squeaked, “I object!”

“To what?” asked the judge curiously.

“To... to the insulting tone of counsel for defense. And to—” The prosecuting attorney hesitated, suddenly brightened and said in a stronger tone, “If the defense has evidence which the court might consider sufficient to dismiss this trial, it should have been introduced before the prosecution even presented its case. Before the jury was seated, for that matter. If there is such evidence, and I personally doubt it very much, the defense is criminally negligent in good citizenship, if nothing else, to allow the trial to proceed to this point before bringing it out.”

Judge Anderson nodded. “A good point, counsellor.” He turned to John Farraday. “You have anything to say to that?”

“If the court will be indulgent for a very few minutes,” John Farraday said, “Mr. Fact’s testimony will bring out why it was necessary for the defense to allow the prosecution to present its full case, even though a motion to dismiss based on the same testimony you are about to hear would undoubtedly have been granted before the trial started.”

The judge frowned at the silver-haired lawyer. “I don’t understand that statement, counsellor. And if this testimony you speak of is directed solely at the court, suppose I declare a recess and take it informally in my chamber?”

“That would be more proper procedure,” Farraday admitted. “However, the defense has a particular reason for handling the matter in this way, and I beg the court’s indulgence.”

“Go ahead, then,” the judge decided. “But I warn you, if it develops you have deliberately allowed this court to waste its time, not to mention the time of the jurors and the witnesses involved, I will take a serious view of the matter.”

Farraday nodded agreeably. “Now, Mr. Fact,” he said, returning to the witness, “please look at the defendant and tell the court if you know him.”

The little man glanced at Dan Fancy. “Yes, sir. I know him well.”

“What is your relationship with the defendant?” the lawyer pursued.

“We’re partners in the firm of Fact and Fancy, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. It’s a private detective agency.”

The silver-haired lawyer smiled at the prosecuting attorney. “Now, Mr. Fact, in your own words will you explain why you and the defendant are in Lake City?”

Ed Ossening was again on his feet. “I object, Your Honor. It is immaterial to this case why either the defendant or the witness are in Lake City.”

“On the contrary, it is highly material,” Farraday put in smoothly. “And even if it weren’t, the prosecution has no right to object to data not directed to the jury. If Mr. Ossening is afraid the jury will be unduly prejudiced, he should ask the court to retire it until this matter is finished. But I assure both Your Honor and the prosecution it will make not the slightest difference to the outcome of this trial what the jury thinks. If the prosecution intends to continue objecting every time I ask a question, I will request Your Honor to reconsider his own suggestion and receive the witness’ testimony in the privacy of his chamber. However, I sincerely feel that it is in the public interest and to the interest of justice that the prosecution and the spectators in the courtroom hear what the witness has to say.”

“This is a highly irregular procedure,” said the judge, “and I am not sure I shouldn’t take your witness’ testimony privately. However, in view of the peculiar manner in which this case has so far progressed, I am not inclined to stifle the first evidence of interest counsel for the defense has shown in the trial.” He glared at the prosecuting attorney. “If there are further interruptions from the prosecution, I will recess court and take this evidence privately. If you want to hear it, please keep that in mind.”

Ed Ossening opened his mouth, closed it again and sat down.

John Farraday said to the witness, “Please explain to the court why you and the defendant are in Lake City.”

“We were on a job,” the little man said. “Martin Robinson, the father of Eugene Robinson, who awhile back was sentenced to death in this same court for the murder of a man named Saunders, hired us to prove his son had been framed.”

“How did you decide to approach this case?”

“Well, from what old Mr. Robinson told us about the trial, we were convinced from the beginning that one of two things was true. The evidence against Eugene Robinson was so complete, either he actually was guilty, or the trial was crooked. We decided to work on the assumption that the trial was crooked.”

Ed Ossening jumped to his feet, but sat down again when the judge glared at him.

“Mr. Fact,” Judge Anderson interrupted in a cold voice, “the case you refer to was tried in this court. Unless you clarify that last statement immediately, you will find yourself held in contempt.”

“I didn’t mean the court was crooked,” Adrian Fact said calmly. “The governor of this state is a personal pal of Martin Robinson, and the old man had him check up on you. He was quite satisfied with your integrity.” Undisturbed by His Honor’s speechless glare, the little man went on, “I meant we decided all eleven witnesses and the two police officers involved perjured themselves.”

This time the prosecuting attorney jumped to his feet and remained there, silent but quivering.

“That’s a pretty serious charge,” Judge Anderson said after pounding down the sudden hum in the courtroom. “For your own sake, I hope you can substantiate it.”

“I can’t directly,” the little man admitted. “But I can prove it’s a likely situation in any trial prosecuted by District Attorney Ed Ossening. I can prove all the witnesses in this trial perjured themselves.”