The Case of the Dubious Bridegroom

Fifteen

Hamlin L. Covington, the District Attorney of San Diego County, sized up Perry Mason as the defense lawyer entered the courtroom, then turned to his chief deputy, Samuel Jarvis.

“A good-looking fellow,” Covington whispered, “but I can’t see that he’s any wizard.”

“He’s dangerous,” Jarvis warned.

Covington, a dignified, tall, powerfully built man, said, “Well, there’s certainly no need to be afraid of him in this case. He probably makes a lot of fast maneuvers, and gets those boys up north all worked up trying to follow him. I’m not going to be tricked into trying to follow him. I’m going to maintain a solid position against which that damned shyster can dash himself with no more effect than the ocean smashing spray against the Sunset Cliffs.”

Sam Jarvis nodded, and then grinned, triumphantly. “If Mason only knew what we had waiting for him,” he gloated.

“Well,” Covington said, with a certain self-righteous dignity, “after all, he has it coming to him. He likes to pull fast ones in court. We’ll cure him.

“And,” Covington continued, “he’s going to get a citation to appear before the grievance committee of the Bar Association on that automobile identification business. That’s going to slow him down some on cross-examination. The more he tries to mix the witness up, the more he’s going to give the Bar Association a foundation for its complaint.”

Covington chuckled with satisfaction. “We’ll show him that we do things a little differently in this bailiwick, eh Jarvis?”

“You bet,” Jarvis agreed. “When he hears...”

Abruptly the door from the judge’s chambers opened, and Judge Minden entered the courtroom.

Lawyers, spectators and courtroom attaches stood in a body as the judge walked over to the bench, hesitated a moment, then nodded gracious permission to the crowd to be seated.

The bailiff, who had pounded the court to order with his gavel, intoned, “The Superior Court of the State of California, in and for the County of San Diego, Honorable Judge Harrison E. Minden, presiding, is now in session.”

“People of the State of California versus Edward Charles Garvin,” Judge Minden said.

“Ready for the prosecution,” Covington announced.

“And for the defendant, Your Honor,” Mason said, smiling urbanely.

“Proceed with the impanelment of the jury,” Judge Minden told the clerk.

Covington whispered to Samuel Jarvis, “You go ahead and impanel a jury, Sam. I’m going to keep myself in reserve... Sort of a big gun to blast Mason out of the water. Only we won’t need to do much blasting in this case.”

“He’ll be blasted all right,” Jarvis said, “whenever we get ready to press the button.”

Covington stroked his gray mustache. His eyes twinkled with appreciation of the picture his assistant created.

Judge Minden said, “As the names of prospective jurors are called, you will come forward and take your place in the jury box. Mr. Clerk, draw twelve names.”

Judge Minden made a brief statement to the jury impanelment concerning their duties, called on the district attorney to advise the jurors of the nature of the case, asked the prospective jurors a few routine questions, then turned them over to the attorneys for questioning.

Mason varied his usual courtroom technique by asking only the most vague and general questions.

District Attorney Covington, suddenly suspicious, whispered a warning to Jarvis, forced Jarvis to continue with a long line of searching questions until gradually it dawned on Covington that the district attorney’s office was apparently being maneuvered into the position of trying to get a hand-picked jury, while the defense seemed casually willing to accept any twelve men who were fair.

Questions concerning the death penalty removed four jurors from the box, but their places were filled, and Mason, smiling, seemed to treat the entire matter as being a mere procedural formality preliminary to an acquittal.

Nettled, District Attorney Covington took over some of the examination himself, and finally, late that afternoon when a jury had been impaneled, the thoroughly exasperated district attorney realized that Mason had outgeneraled him, because the lawyer, swiftly exercising those peremptory challenges for which no reason need be given, showed that he had somehow acquired a thorough knowledge of the characters and backgrounds of the prospective jurymen.

“Do you care to make an opening statement, Mr. District Attorney?” Judge Minden asked.

It had been understood that Jarvis was to make the opening statement, but Covington, angry and flustered, was on his feet in front of the jury, telling them that he expected to prove that the defendant, Edward Charles Garvin, had, as the result of an illegal divorce, found himself faced with a bigamy prosecution, involved in a hopeless maze of domestic entanglements, and so had conceived the idea of extricating himself by the simple but deadly expedient of pulling the trigger of a revolver.

“I expect to show you, ladies and gentlemen,” Covington said, his voice crisp with denunciation, “that this man deliberately lured his wife into a midnight appointment, an appointment from which he had carefully planned she should never return alive. A cold-blooded, deliberate, well-planned, skillfully executed murder which might never have been uncovered had it not been...”

A tug at his coattail from Samuel Jarvis made Covington realize suddenly he was telling too much. He paused, cleared his throat, said, “had it not been for the efforts of the police of this county, working in friendly co-operation with those of Los Angeles County.

“I shall not, however, ladies and gentlemen, dwell at any great length upon the evidence. I propose to show that the defendant fled from the United States to Mexico, where he sought haven and sanctuary from a charge which his wife had placed against him, and...”

“Just a moment,” Mason interrupted cheerfully, “Your Honor, I object to any attempt on the part of the prosecution to introduce evidence of any other independent crime for the purpose of discrediting the defendant, and charge the remarks of the district attorney as prejudicial misconduct. I ask that the Court admonish the jury to disregard the remarks.”

“If the Court please,” Covington said angrily, “this is an exception to the general rule. This is a case where the charge of bigamy which was placed against the defendant by his wife is the motive for the murder. That is something counsel for the defense knows very well. It is a case where we are permitted to introduce evidence of another crime. We are forced to do so in order to prove our motive. It was because of this crime that the defendant fled to Mexico and because of it that he decided to murder his wife, and make himself a widower, so that he could then go through another marriage ceremony with the woman with whom he had become infatuated.”

“Same objection,” Mason said, cheerfully, “same assignment as misconduct.”

Judge Minden said, testily, “Well, of course, Mr. District Attorney, I don’t know what the evidence is going to disclose, but it would seem to me that you’re anticipating a legal point. Wouldn’t it be better to reserve this matter until the time comes when you wish to put in your evidence, and then we can have an objection from the defense, the jury can be excluded during argument, and the Court can then make an intelligent ruling? This is, in a way, approaching the subject by the back door, and the Court is hardly in a position to make an intelligent ruling. It may be part of the res gestae but in order to determine that point we should first find out what the circumstances are.

“I think it would be much better if you simply stated to the jury what you expected to prove in regard to the motions and activities of the defendant at the time the murder was committed and then left these legal questions to be disposed of in an orderly manner.”

“Very well, Your Honor,” Covington conceded with poor grace. “If the Court wishes me to adopt that procedure, I shall do so.”

“Under the circumstances,” Judge Minden said, “and for the purpose of protecting the rights of the defendant, the Court will admonish the jury not to pay any attention to any remarks which have been made at this time by the district attorney concerning the commission of another crime.”

Covington, angrily realizing that he had been placed in a position where it looked as though he had attempted improperly to influence the jury, blurted, “That is about all, ladies and gentlemen. I am going to prove beyond all reasonable doubt that this defendant committed the murder, that it was a dastardly, premeditated, cold-blooded murder, and I’m going to ask for a conviction of first degree murder without recommendation. In other words, I’m going to ask for the death penalty for this defendant.”

Covington turned and glowered in anger at Edward Garvin, then at Perry Mason. He sat down abruptly, whispered to Jarvis, “Damn his supercilious smirk! I’ll make him take this case seriously before so very long.”

“Proceed with your case,” Judge Minden said, “or does the defendant wish to make an opening statement at this time?”

“Oh, if the Court please,” Mason said, casually, “I’ll make a very brief opening statement.”

He got up from his chair, walked over to the rail in front of the jury box, glanced impressively at the jurors, and took a deep breath as though about to launch upon some elaborate summation of the case.

The jurors, aware of Mason’s reputation as a trial lawyer in another jurisdiction, many of them seeing him for the first time, surveyed him with friendly interest.

Mason said, “If the Court please, and ladies and gentlemen of the jury.” He paused dramatically for a moment. Then his face softened into a smile and he said, “He can’t prove it.”

And then, before the jurors or the district attorney realized that this was all of his opening statement, Mason turned and walked back to the defense table.

One or two of the jurors smiled. A slight ripple of mirth developed in the courtroom and was silenced by the judge’s gavel.

“Proceed,” Judge Minden said to the district attorney, but those who noticed the judge’s countenance saw there was a slight twinkle even in His Honor’s eye.

Covington leaned over to Sam Jarvis. “You go ahead and prove the corpus delicti, Sam,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “I’m going out and get some air. We’re going to tear this damned shyster limb from limb. When he gets done with this case the reputation he’s built up as being a legal wizard will be as tattered as a rag doll that a dog has been shaking to pieces. You go ahead, Sam, and — dammit, rip the sawdust out of him.”

Then Covington, striding with the outraged dignity of a man who has seldom encountered anyone with sufficient temerity to stand up and encounter his wrath, barged down the aisle of the courtroom, while his assistant started in with the long line of preliminary proof.

Knowing that the witness who had found the body was one of Drake’s men, realizing that he would, if given the opportunity, slant his testimony so that it would be as advantageous as possible to Mason’s side of the case, the deputy district attorney handled the man with gloves.

He merely asked him if he had found, on the date in question, an automobile parked by the side of the road, had had occasion to investigate the car, and whether he had found in it the body of a woman. He brought out that the witness had found a revolver on the ground by the car and had notified the police and subsequently had seen the body at the time of the coroner’s inquest and that it was the same body.

Abruptly Jarvis tossed the ball to Perry Mason.

“You may cross-examine,” he said.

“No questions,” Mason said.

Jarvis was visibly surprised. He had expected Mason would try to lay the foundation for his defense through this witness.

The next witness was the chief of police of Oceanside.

With this man Jarvis was much more relaxed, much more at home. The police officer testified to having been summoned to the scene, to having notified the coroner and sheriff of San Diego, of having “looked the ground over” and later on, of having attended the inquest where the identity of the murdered woman was established.

Feeling his way cautiously, Jarvis sought to qualify the man as an expert in studying tracks in connection with crime. Then, awaiting Mason’s objection, the deputy showed what he could about the position of the automobile, the tracks which had been found on the ground.

Hamlin Covington returned to the courtroom, making his entrance as impressive as possible. He sat down beside his chief trial deputy, listened for a few moments, then leaned over and whispered to Jarvis, “Go ahead. Ask him what the tracks showed. Let’s put Mason in the position of objecting, of trying to keep out the evidence. Smoke him out. Get him on the defensive.”

Jarvis whispered, “We haven’t qualified him as much of an expert. Mason will rip him to pieces. He’ll take him on voir dire and rip him to pieces.”

“Let him try,” Covington said. “At least we’ll start him objecting. We’ll get him where lie has to take the case seriously.”

“All right,” Jarvis whispered, “here goes.” He rose to his feet, said to the chief of police, “Now, Chief, just what did these tracks show in regard to two cars having been parked parallel to each other?” Then Jarvis half turned to Mason, waiting for the indignant objections. Mason might not have heard the question.

“Well, it seems this car where the body was found,” the chief said, “had been parked right next to another car that had been left there, and...”

“Just a minute,” Judge Minden said. “I’d like to have that last question read again, Mr. Reporter.”

The court reporter read the question.

Judge Minden glanced expectantly at Mason.

Mason remained silent.

“Go ahead, answer the question,” Covington rasped at the witness.

“Well, it was this way,” the witness said. “The car that the body was found in had been driven right up next to another car that had been left parked there. You could see where the car that had the body had been inched around until it was in just the right position, and then the murderer just stepped across into the other car, dragged the body of the victim over behind the steering wheel and drove away. That’s the way it was done.”

“Cross-examine,” Jarvis said triumphantly.

“Let’s see if I get this,” Mason said, his manner showing that he was merely interested, but indicating a wish to see that the jury understood the situation. “You did some tracking there, Chief?”

“I did.”

“Now, you say that the car which had the body in it had been ‘inched’ into position.”

“That’s right. I have to explain something of the nature of that ground. It’s a sort of sand and decomposed granite that packs hard as concrete. You can sort of make out tracks but not tire patterns, at least not plain enough to do much with them.

“You could see where the front wheels of Ethel Garvin’s car had wobbled around a little bit as the driver tried to get the car in just exactly the position he wanted. He’d even backed once in order to slide it right up next to another set of tracks that had been made by a car that had been left standing there.”

“Yes, yes,” Mason said, his manner showing breathless interest. “Now you say that other car had been left standing there.”

“That’s right.”

“Then the woman wasn’t killed while she was driving the car.”

“No, sir, she wasn’t. You can tell from the blood spatters and the position of the clotted blood that she had been over on the right-hand side when she was shot. The man who was driving the car had pulled the trigger on the gun and then he’d driven the car with the body in it right up to this point where he’d left the other car. He only had to step across from one car to the other. Then he dragged the body across behind the steering wheel and drove away.”

“I see,” Mason said. “Now you say the tracks showed where this other car had been left there, waiting?”

“That’s right. Yes.”

Mason didn’t change the tone of his voice in the least, but as though passionately interested in the answer, said, “Just what was there about the tracks, Chief, that showed the car had been waiting?”

“Well, you could see the tracks where the car had stood there and then driven away.”

“How did that show the other car had been waiting?”

“Well, it went in straight, and then — well, when it went out it curved back to the highway. The tracks showed that.”

“I see,” Mason said, “and if the tracks hadn’t curved, Chief, where would the car have gone?”

“Well, it would have gone straight ahead.”

“And what was straight ahead?”

“Well, it couldn’t have gone straight ahead.”

“Why not? What was straight ahead?”

“The Pacific Ocean.”

“Oh, I see. Then the car had to turn.”

“Of course it had to turn.”

“Yet you say the only way that you knew the car was left waiting there was because the tracks curved?”

“Well, the car was waiting there. You could tell by the way the tracks were of the car where the murdered woman was found.”

“That’s it,” Mason agreed enthusiastically. “Now you’re getting the point I want. Just what was there in the tracks of this car to show you that it had been left waiting?”

“Well, you could see where the tracks of Ethel Garvin’s car had been manipulated around to get in just the right position.”

“Then it wasn’t anything in the tracks of the car that had been left waiting that showed you what had happened, but something you’d deduced from the tracks of an entirely different automobile.”

“Well, if you want to put it that way, yes.”

“My dear man,” Mason said, “it’s not the way I want to put it. You’re doing the putting. Just put it your own way, but kindly try and put it right.”

“Well, that’s the way it was.”

“Then you were mistaken when you said you could tell from the tracks of the getaway car that it had been left waiting there?”

“No, you could tell it from the tracks like I explained to you.”

“But what was there about the tracks of the car that had been left waiting that showed it had stood there?”

“Well, it... well, you could see from the way the other car had been sidled up to it.”

“You mean the car containing the body of the murdered woman?”

“Yes.”

“Try and understand the question,” Mason said. “Was there anything in the tracks of the car that you say had been left waiting there that showed it had been left waiting — in the tracks of that one particular car?”

“Well, no,” the chief said, and then added, by way of explanation, “Naturally there couldn’t be. You can’t tell from car tracks whether a car just drove in and then went right out, or whether it stopped for an hour, or two hours, or four hours, unless you had some change in condition, such as a rainstorm while the car was parked there or something.”

“Oh,” Mason said with a disarming smile, “then you were mistaken in stating to the jury when you gave your testimony on direct examination that the tracks of the parked car showed it had been left there for a while?”

“Sure. There was nothing in those tracks,” the man said. “It’s the way you have to reconstruct the whole picture from the tracks of that other car.”

“So you were mistaken?” Mason said.

“Well... I... I guess so.”

“I knew you were,” Perry Mason said, smiling disarmingly, “I just wanted to see how difficult it would be to make you admit it. That’s all, Chief. Thank you.”

“Just a minute,” Covington shouted, getting to his feet. “You weren’t mistaken in stating that the murderer left his car there while he went out and committed the crime and then drove the other car up to the position immediately parallel to his parked car, were you, Chief?”

“Come, come,” Mason said, smilingly. “I’ll have to object to counsel leading his own witness. I can ask leading questions on cross-examination but counsel can’t ask them on direct or redirect.”

“The question is leading,” Judge Minden said. “The objection is sustained.”

“Well, what did happen?” Covington asked.

“While the witness was present, of course,” Mason amended.

“Well, he can tell what happened from an examination of the tracks.”

“He tried to tell,” Mason said. “He’s given some conclusions from two sets of tracks. I take it no photographs were made of those tracks?”

“They were all tramped out before our photographer got there,” Covington said.

“Well, of course, the defendant isn’t responsible for that,” Mason reminded him.

“Well, tell us about those tracks. What do they show?”

“Objected to as calling for a conclusion of the witness,” Mason said. “No proper foundation has been laid.”

“Sustained,” Judge Minden snapped, but then he added somewhat acidly, “the witness has certainly given his conclusions previously as to some phases of these tracks, and without objection.”

“Quite right, Your Honor,” Mason said, smilingly. “And then admitted he was mistaken.”

“Well, he wasn’t mistaken about what happened,” Covington snapped.

“The witness admitted he was mistaken,” Mason said.

“Very well,” Covington said sneeringly. “You may have your technicality, but I think the jury understands.”

“I’m quite certain they do,” Mason said.

“Your next witness,” Judge Minden said to Covington.

A bailiff entered, walked over to Perry Mason, handed him a folded paper.

The lawyer unfolded it, read it.

It was a citation asking him to meet with the grievance committee of the Bar Association at eight o’clock the following evening for a discussion of charges that he had tampered with a witness in a manner that resulted in changing the testimony of the witness.

Mason refolded the paper, slipped it into his pocket.

Covington watching Mason’s expressionless face said to Jarvis, “Damn him, that will fix him. He’s trying to pretend he doesn’t give a hoot, but he’s now in a hell of a spot.

“If he tries to break Irving down on cross-examination tomorrow, he’ll be cutting his own throat. If he lets his testimony stand without trying to impeach the witness, he’ll be cutting his client’s throat.

“We’ll teach that fellow he can’t pull his fast ones when he’s dealing with us.”

“Come, come, gentlemen,” Judge Minden said irritably, “let’s get on with the case.”

Samuel Jarvis called a surveyor, introduced maps and diagrams. He called the autopsy surgeon. Pie called a friend who identified the body, then said, “If the Court please, it’s approaching the hour of adjournment.”

Judge Minden nodded. “I think we’ve made very good progress today,” he said. “I’m not going to have the jury confined, but the jurors are admonished not to discuss the case among themselves or with anyone else, and I’m going to ask the jurors not to read the newspapers, to carefully avoid reading anything concerning this case. You will not discuss the case with anyone nor permit it to be discussed in your presence. You won’t form or express any opinion until the case is finally submitted to you. Court’s adjourned until ten o’clock tomorrow morning!”

Walking out of the courtroom and down the long corridor, Covington said to his assistant, “I can see how Mason has built up a reputation for himself. He’s a grandstander, he’s smart, and he’s always putting on a show for the jury. Tomorrow I’m going to have the great pleasure of knocking the wind out of him. We’re going to smash that poise of his like a gunner smashes a clay pigeon.”

“With both barrels,” Samuel Jarvis agreed, feelingly.

“With both barrels,” Hamlin Covington promised.

Back in the courtroom, Mason turned to reassure his client. “Keep a stiff upper lip, Garvin.”

Garvin smiled wanly. “What was that paper the officer served on you. Does it concern me?”

“Not in the least,” Mason assured him. “It concerns me.”