Erle Gardner - The Case of the Shoplifter's Shoe

“Well, the gun was just outside the bag, lying on the pavement.”

“Not outside of the bag,” Sampson said, “the gun could hardly have been entirely out of the bag. You must have seen just a part of the gun protruding from the bag. You see, that’s one of the things the lawyers will try to trap you on. They’ll try to make you swear that these things weren’t in the bag when you first saw them. Now, there’s a distinction between being in the bag, and being visible through an opening in the bag, and I want you to be careful to remember that. In other words, Mr. Diggers, you haven’t anything to fear if you get on the stand and tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. But I want you, in justice to yourself, and in justice to me, to be sure it’s the truth you’re telling and I don’t want you to guess and I don’t want you to hedge. I don’t want you to testify to what happened as though it was a conclusion on your part, but I want you to testify to facts, in a manner which shows they are facts. And above all, I don’t want you to let Perry Mason make a fool of you. Remember that when he starts cross-examining you, he may appear to be friendly; He may appear to be just trying to help you get your testimony straight; but regardless of the way he starts out, what he’s really doing is trying to trap you; he’s trying to get you off guard, trying to lull you into a sense of security, so he can trick you into making some indefinite statement so he can get you to say, ‘I think,’ or ‘I guess,’ or ‘It seems to me,’ or something of that sort. Now, you’re a reasonably intelligent man, Mr. Diggers. Do you think that I can depend on you to hold your own when you get on the witness stand, and not be trapped into telling some lie?”

“I won’t lie,” Diggers said. “I’m going to tell the truth.”

“That’s exactly what I want,” Sampson told him. “That’s your duty to yourself and as a citizen. Now, I want you to go home and keep thinking over and over in your mind what happened until you can see it clearly. I want you to visualize everything which took place, just as though you were looking at a motion picture. Sarah Breel ran out from the curb. You saw her for four or five steps; you saw her hands plainly; you saw the bag in her hand; you saw her run in front of the automobile; you swerved the automobile and put on the brakes; you struck her; you got out and ran around the car; she was lying there, partially on her side, her face down; the bag was lying in front of her where it had been dropped. You looked down at the bag, and the first thing you saw was a gun, partially protruding from the bag; you stopped a passing motorist for help; you summoned an ambulance, and you checked the contents of the bag with the motorist and with the ambulance driver; you found these diamonds when you made that inventory.

“Now, you testify to those facts, and don’t let anyone rattle you. And remember, Mr. Diggers, I’m depending on you. The district attorney’s office is depending on you.

“Now, I have an appointment, which I’ll have to keep, so I’ll let you out through this door. The trial comes up day after tomorrow. We’re rushing it through. We had the Grand Jury indict Mrs. Breel, so we could dispense with a preliminary examination. We’re not going to waste any time. Remember, Mr. Diggers, we’re going to depend on you.”

And Sampson, with his hand on Diggers’ arm, escorted him to the door, pumped his arm up and down effusively, closed the door behind his departing visitor, and rubbed his hands together with a gesture of smug satisfaction.

Judge Barnes, taking his place on the bench, looked over the crowded courtroom with judicial gravity, glanced down at the lawyers seated at their tables, and said, “Before starting this case, the Court wishes to say a few words to the gentlemen of the press, who are assembled here. The court realizes that occasionally judges try to enforce a ruling that there will be no picture taking. The result is that some of the more ingenious members of the press manage to smuggle in concealed cameras with high speed lenses, and obtain surreptitious pictures.

“This Court has always felt that the public were entitled to know what goes on in important trials. The Court’s objection to photographs has been due to the interruption of proceedings, and the confusion incident to the exploding of flashlights. Therefore, gentlemen, I want it understood that there will be no flashlight pictures taken while Court is in session, nor are there to be any so-called candid-camera shots taken which will have a tendency to annoy the parties, distract the attention of the witnesses, or counsel. In other words, gentlemen, I am leaving the matter of photographs in your hands, and depending upon your good taste, and your ability to cooperate with the Court. In the event you abuse the privilege, it will be withdrawn.”

“Gentlemen, are you ready to begin the trial of the People vs. Sarah Breel?” Counsel for both sides answered that they were ready. Judge Barnes looked down at the white-haired woman who sat in a wheel chair at Perry Mason’s side, her right leg encased in a plaster cast, her expression as completely tranquil as was that of the judge himself. “Very well, gentlemen, proceed.”

Mason got to his feet, and stood tall and straight, having about him that indefinable something which draws the eyes of spectators like a magnet. “Your Honor,” he said, in a resonant voice which seemed not particularly loud, yet filled every corner of the mahogany-paneled courtroom as though he were talking into a microphone, “the defendant in this case wants only a fair trial. She is satisfied the facts will speak for themselves. We offer to stipulate with the district attorney’s office that the first twelve persons called to the jury box may be sworn to act as jurors in the case.”

“You mean without asking any questions at all of the proposed jurors?” Sampson asked. Mason nodded.

“Suppose they’ve read about the case? Suppose they have some fixed opinion in it?”

“I don’t care,” Mason said. “All I want is twelve men and women of intelligence and fairness.” He included the jury panel with a sweeping gesture of his arm. “I’am satisfied that every one of these people possesses the necessary qualifications. Call twelve names. We’ll accept them. We don’t care whether they have any prejudices or not.”

Larry Sampson scented a trap. One didn’t take chances with Perry Mason. Somehow he felt that if he departed from the orderly course of routine trial work, he’d find himself sailing uncharted seas, with dangerous reefs ahead. “No,” he said, “I wouldn’t care to make that stipulation.” Then suddenly realizing that to the ears of the prospective jurors this sounded as though he failed to share Mason’s opinion as to their integrity and fairness, he raised his voice and said, “Not that I doubt the intelligence or honesty of any of these men or women, but I want to find out... that is, I mean, I want to question them.”

Mason turned to face the jury impanelment. “Go ahead and question,” he said. “That’s your privilege. I won’t ask any questions.”

Mason sat down, and then, for the first time since the judge had taken the bench, turned to confer with Mrs. Breel. “Do you,” Mason asked, “feel as though the evidence might recall what happened to your mind?”

“My mind is a blank,” she said, “from Monday noon until I regained consciousness in the hospital.”

The lawyer said, “This is going to be an ordeal. You’ll have to steel yourself to the idea of having the district attorney’s office sketch you as a scheming criminal. There’ll be sarcasm, shouting, a lot of sneering references to your loss of memory.”