The Case of the Cautious Coquette

Chapter 27

As court reconvened, Hamilton Burger, still flushed and angry, but having regained some of his composure, said, “Call Willard Barton to the stand.”

Lucille Barton, sitting at Mason’s side, said under her breath in a whisper, “No, no. Don’t let him do that.”

Mason casually swung around in his chair. “Smile,” he said.

There was panic in her eyes, her lips were trembling.

“Smile,” Mason ordered. “They’re looking at you.”

She twisted her lips in a quivering travesty of a smile.

Willard Barton, a well-groomed, chunky man with a profusion of dark, wavy hair which furnished a contrast with steel-gray eyes, settled himself in the witness chair in the manner of a substantial businessman who is more accustomed to giving orders than receiving them, and who is quite accustomed to being the center of attention.

In a firm, incisive tone he stated his name and address, gave his occupation as that of an investor in potential oil-bearing properties, and then flashed Lucille the first quick glance he had given her since he had taken the stand. It was a glance of swift appraisal that held no emotion whatever. Then his eyes turned back to Hamilton Burger as he waited for the next question.

“You have the same name as the defendant in this case?”

“She has my name, yes, sir.”

“You were married to her at one time?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And divorced?”

“Yes.”

“When were you divorced?”

“About eighteen months ago.”

“The decree has become final?”

“It has.”

“You are paying her alimony?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you see her on the evening of the fifth of this month?”

“I did, yes, sir.”

“What timer?”

“About half-past six, perhaps a little later.”

“Where?”

“I was at the Broadway Athletic Club. She telephoned me and asked if she could see me. I told her I’d see her for a moment in the lobby, but I warned her that if she tried to make any scene...”

“Objected to,” Mason said. “Not responsive to the question which has already been asked and answered.”

“Very well,” Burger said irritably. “You saw her there in the lobby of the club?”

“I did, yes, sir.”

“Who was present?”

“Just Lucille and I.”

“What did she say?”

“She told me that something terrible had happened. That she was going to have to get out of the country. She wanted to know if I would give her fifteen thousand dollars in cash as a complete settlement if she’d waive any claims to future alimony payments and give me a complete release.”

“You were paying her alimony?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How much?”

“Two hundred dollars a week.”

“Did she tell you why she wanted to leave the country?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why?”

“She said a man had been found dead in her garage. She finally admitted to me the body was that of her first husband, and said the exposure of that fact would ruin her.”

“What did you tell her?”

“Well, naturally, I was trying to get out of paying any more than I had to. I told her I couldn’t raise fifteen thousand dollars in cash. I told her I’d have to put her proposition up to my attorneys to see whether or not she could make a valid agreement under the circumstances. I told her I didn’t think too much of the idea, and I thought the amount was too high.”

“And did she accept that answer as final?”

“No, sir. She told me I’d have to do something fast. She said the offer wouldn’t be open later than midnight. She said she would call me at a little before midnight. That she wanted to take a plane that night. Then, finally, she lowered her figure to ten thousand spot cash.”

“Did she call you again?”

“No, sir. I had seen my attorneys and had made arrangements to accept her proposition, and I had the ten thousand dollars in cash, together with a proper release ready for her to sign. She didn’t get in touch with me.”

“And no one was with her when you saw her?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you know a woman named Anita Jordon?”

“I have met her.”

“Was she with the defendant when this conversation took place?”

“No, sir. The defendant was alone.”

“Cross-examine,” Burger said, hurling the words at Perry Mason as though they were a challenge.

“You were paying her two hundred dollars a week alimony?” Mason asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“And you want the Court to believe that you hesitated about the advisability of settling such weekly payments for fifteen thousand dollars?”

“Well, no, sir, I let her think I was hesitating.”

“In other words, you told her you were hesitating, is that it?”

“I wanted to convey that impression, yes.”

“But you actually were eager to make the settlement?”

“Naturally.”

“But as a good business trader you tried to keep her from seeing that was your attitude.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So you told her that you didn’t know whether you wanted to do it or not?”

“That’s right.”

“In other words, you lied to her.”

Barton flushed.

Burger, on his feet, said, “Your Honor, I object to that. That’s an insulting statement to the witness.”

“Oh, I’ll put it this way,” Mason said, “if you’d like a softer term for the same thing. In other words, Mr. Barton, you told your wife a falsehood. Is that correct?”

Barton’s eyes glinted angrily.

“Same objection,” Burger said.

“It can be answered yes or no,” Mason said.

Barton glared angrily at him.

“The question,” Mason said, “is whether you told your wife a falsehood. It can be answered yes or no.”

“About what?”

“About your willingness to make a settlement.”

“I don’t think that’s material.”

“I do,” Mason said.

“Well, I don’t,” Hamilton Burger said. “I want to interpose an objection on that ground. It’s not proper cross-examination.”

“Overruled,” Judge Osborn said.

“You told her a falsehood?” Mason asked.

“Yes,” Barton shouted angrily.

“How long have you known Pitkin?”

“Well, I’d seen him but I didn’t know who he was. That is, I had no idea he had ever been married to Lucille. It came as a shock to me when I realized that.”

“But you had seen Pitkin?”

“I had known him as Mr. Argyle’s chauffeur. Mr. Argyle is a member of the club to which I belong. Many oil men join it.”

“And because you were interested in oil speculations, and Mr. Argyle, Mr. Ross P. Hollister, and Mr. Dudley Gates were all interested in similar transactions, and all members of the same club, you saw quite a bit of each other?”

“No, sir. Argyle, Hollister, and Gates had some sort of a partnership arrangement. They had pooled their interest in certain leases. While I was in the same general line of business, my own interests were adverse. I didn’t want them to find out what I was doing. They didn’t want me to find out what they were doing. We spoke when we met and occasionally would discuss general conditions, but we had very little in common.”

“Had you ever spoken to Pitkin?”

“I had, but it was purely a personal matter.”

“Trying to get Pitkin to tell you something about the business activities of the other three men?”

Burger shouted angrily, “Your Honor, that’s another insulting question. It’s utterly uncalled for.”

“Do you have any evidence indicating such is the case, Mr. Mason?” Judge Osborn asked.

“No, Your Honor,” Mason said, smoothly, “that question is merely part of a fishing expedition.”

“The objection is sustained,” Judge Osborn said. “You can, however, ask him what he discussed with Pitkin.”

“What did you discuss with Pitkin? What was your reason for talking to him?”

Barton, thoroughly angry, said, “I wanted to hire a chauffeur by the day. I understood there was an association, sort of an employment agency, which specialized in that sort of stuff. I asked Pitkin about it because I knew he was Argyle’s chauffeur. I happened to see him waiting out in front of the building. I asked him if he knew of such an association.”

“Did he?”

“He did. He told me where it was. It was the Chauffeurs’ Exchange. I believe it’s listed in the telephone book. It’s composed of chauffeurs who are willing to work on their days off. It’s some sort of a mutual co-operative affair. They rotate jobs, and a person can nearly always get a chauffeur by the hour, or by the day, by calling up.”

“Did Mr. Pitkin belong to that association?”

“He said he did. I don’t know. He told me Thursday was his regular day off, that he was off duty at six o’clock Wednesday evening, and didn’t have to come back until Friday morning. He said he’d be glad to take care of my needs himself on his days off, or I could get a chauffeur through the association on other days.”

Mason said, “You have no affection left for your ex-wife, the defendant in this case?”

“I am very fond of Lucille in a way.”

“And, trying to be clever, you advised her to plant a gun by the body of this man so it would look like suicide and say nothing to anyone, didn’t you?”

“I did not. You have no proof of that. The defendant might make such a claim, but it’s preposterous. Your accusation, sir, is entirely false, and is resented as such.”

“Didn’t you offer her any suggestion by which she might get out of the scrape in which she found herself?”

“Certainly not.”

“Yet you say you are fond of her?”

“Yes.”

“But you regarded that alimony settlement as a purely coldblooded business transaction?”

“No, sir. I take an interest in Lucille. I wanted to be certain that she wasn’t trying to raise money just to throw it away.”

Mason said suavely, “Yet the affection which you bore for your ex-wife, the friendship, the regard, and the desire to see that she wasn’t fleeced by some designing person, didn’t prevent you from attempting to fleece her by deceiving her so that you could get a five-thousand-dollar advantage?”

“I don’t think I had any idea of deceiving her.”

“Then why did you try to conceal your eagerness to make a cash settlement such as she proposed?”

Barton thought that over, then said, “Well, just as a matter of habit I guess. Just as a matter of business policy.”

“Come, come,” Mason said. “You knew what you were doing. You deliberately concealed your eagerness to make the settlement.”

“That’s been gone over a dozen different times,” Hamilton Burger said.

Judge Osborn said, “Well, I think counsel is entitled to make his point. It indicates the motivation of the witness and enables the Court to make an appraisal of the witness’s character.”

“All right,” Barton suddenly shouted, “I lied to her! I saw a chance to make a good business deal. I tried to put it across. Now what’s wrong with that?”

“Not a thing,” Mason said, “and thank you very much for your commendable frankness, Mr. Barton. Now there’s one other matter. As I understand your testimony, you say the defendant finally admitted the body was that of her first husband?”

“I don’t think I said that.”

Mason said, “I’ll ask the court reporter to consult his notes and see what was said.”

There followed a period of restless silence while the court reporter thumbed through the pages of his notes. Willard Barton changed his position on the witness stand.

“Here it is,” the court reporter said. “ ‘Question: Did she tell you why she wanted to leave the country? Answer: Yes, sir. Question: Why? Answer: She said a man had been found dead in her garage. She finally admitted to me the body was that of her first husband and said the exposure of that fact would ruin her.’ ”

Mason said, “Thank you, Mr. Court Reporter. I’ll now ask you, Mr. Barton, what you meant when you said she ‘finally admitted’ the body was that of her first husband?”

“Well, she finally admitted it, that’s all.”

“Not at first?”

“No.”

“After searching questions on your part?”

“Yes, I guess so.”

“So you discussed the matter and you felt she was trying to hold something back and kept questioning her?”

“I presume so.”

“And in order to get her to ‘finally admit’ what she did, you had to use some pressure?”

“Well, in a way.”

“And you told her you couldn’t help her unless she told you the truth, or words to that effect?”

“Yes, I guess so.”

“So she told you the truth — finally?”

“Yes.”

“So then you set about helping her?”

“I did not!”

“But you’ve already said you told her you couldn’t help her unless she told the truth, and that because of your promise she ‘finally admitted’ the truth. Now am I to understand you then failed to fulfill your part of the bargain?”

Barton hesitated, crossed his legs, glanced pleadingly at Burger.

“Well?” Mason demanded.

“I didn’t help her,” Barton blurted.

“That’s what I thought,” Mason said scornfully. “That’s all, Mr. Barton.”

Barton came down off the witness stand, swung over toward Mason’s table, caught the cold, stony glint of the lawyer’s eyes, thought better of what he had in mind, and veered away.

“Call Arthur Colson,” Burger said, ignoring Barton.

Arthur Colson marched to the witness stand. His eyes moved restlessly around, appraising the courtroom, carefully avoiding, however, the eyes of the district attorney and the table behind which Mason and Lucille Barton sat.

He gave his name, age, occupation, and residence.

Hamilton Burger produced the gun. “I show you a .38 caliber Smith and Wesson revolver, Number S65088, and ask you if you ever saw that gun before?”

Colson took a sheet of paper from his pocket and reading from it, said, “I refuse to answer that question upon the ground that the answer might tend to incriminate me.”

“Did you buy that gun from the Rushing Creek Mercantile Company?”

“I refuse to answer on the ground that the answer might tend to incriminate me.”

“Did you sign the name Ross P. Hollister on the register?”

“I refuse to answer, same ground.”

“Did you kill Hartwell L. Pitkin?”

“No.”

“Did you know him?”

“No, sir. I didn’t know him.”

“Did you place this gun by the body of Hartwell L. Pitkin in the garage at number 719 South Gondola on the fifth of this month?”

“No, sir.”

“Or at any other time?”

“No, sir.”

“That’s all,” Hamilton Burger said.

“Just a minute,” Mason said. “One more question on cross-examination. Did you ever have this gun in your possession?”

“I refuse to answer on the ground that the answer might incriminate me.”

“Did you ever take it when Lucille Barton didn’t know you had taken it?”

“I refuse to answer on the ground that the answer might incriminate me.”

“Did you ever have a key to Lucille Barton’s apartment?”

“No, sir.”

Mason said, “I show you two letters, both typewritten, one of them addressed to the Drake Detective Agency, the other addressed to me. The first letter refers to a key to the apartment of Lucille Barton. The second letter refers to a key to the desk of that apartment. I ask you if you wrote either of those letters.”

“No, sir. I did not.”

“That’s all,” Mason said.

“That’s all,” Burger announced.

Judge Osborn said, “In view of the very unsatisfactory answers given upon such a vital point by this witness, the Court feels that the district attorney’s office should take steps to clarify the situation.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Burger said, wearily. “We are fully aware of the possibilities.”

“And the implications,” Judge Osborn said.

“And the implications,” Burger repeated.

“Very well,” Judge Osborn said. “Do you have one more witness you wish to put on before the hour of adjournment?”

“If the Court please, Your Honor, I’d like to wait until...”

“Very well. Court will now take a recess until two o’clock this afternoon. The defendant is remanded to the custody of the sheriff. Witnesses under subpoena are instructed to return here at two o’clock this afternoon.”

As the spectators arose to leave the courtroom, Mason beckoned Paul Drake over to him. “Afraid I can’t join you for lunch, Paul.”

“Why, Perry?”

“I’m going to have to spend a couple of hours on the telephone. You take Della to lunch and get her a nice steak.”

“Have a heart,” Drake protested, grinning.

“I have,” Mason told him, “and it’s been in my mouth so long that I won’t feel right when it drops back to where it belongs.”