Erle Gardner - The Case of the Substitute Face

“And did you photograph these fingerprints and mark upon each photograph the place where the prints had been found?”

“I did.

“I’m going to ask that these be introduced in evidence.”

Mason sat back in his chair with the air of having been defeated. After a moment, Judge Romley said, “It appearing that there is no objection, the photographs will be received in evidence.”

“Now, Mr. Borge, ” Scudder went on, “were you present at that apartment last night at the hour of approximately ten-fifty in the evening, at a time when Perry Mason, Paul Drake, a certain Della Street, Inspector Frank Bodfish, and myself were present?”

“I was.”

“And at that time and at that place, did you hear me accuse Perry Mason of having spirited away the said Roger P. Cartman, who had temporarily occupied that flat or apartment? And did I then and there accuse the said Perry Mason of having kidnaped and abducted the said Roger P. Cartman and of holding him where he could not be found by the deputy district attorney, and could not be brought into this court to testify as an eyewitness in the case of The People versus Anna Moar, otherwise known as Ann Newberry?”

“I was there,” Borge said. “I heard you make that accusation.”

“And at that time and at that place, what statement did the said Perry Mason make in connection with that accusation?”

Mason jumped to his feet, his manner desperate. “Your Honor, I object! This is incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial. This has nothing whatever to do with...”

Judge Romley cut him short. “Objection overruled,” he snapped.

Borge looked at Mason and said, without raising his voice, “He said you could never convict him because his accomplice had been an ex-convict, and no jury would convict him on the testimony of an ex-convict, and anyway you couldn’t convict him because you couldn’t corroborate the testimony of his accomplice.”

“You may cross-examine,” Scudder snapped.

Mason watched Borge wiping his moist forehead with a handkerchief. “How many men have you ever fingerprinted, Mr. Borge?” he asked.

“I can’t see that this is material,” Scudder objected.

“It goes to his qualifications,” Mason insisted. “You’ve qualified him as an expert, I certainly am going to cross-examine him, to show his qualifications.”

“I think the question is perfectly proper,” Judge Romley ruled. “Counsel did not stipulate to the qualifications of this witness, and he has a right to ask any reasonable number of questions touching upon his qualifications as an expert. The objection is overruled.”

“I couldn’t say,” Borge said. “I’ve fingerprinted thousands.”

“Who was the first man you ever fingerprinted?”

Borge smiled and said, “Why, I couldn’t remember.”

“When was it?”

“I can’t even tell you that — it was probably fifteen years ago. I can’t remember.”

“Who was the last man you fingerprinted?”

An expression of satisfaction animated Borge’s pale green eyes. “The last man I fingerprinted,” he said, and paused dramatically as he flashed a look of triumph at the deputy district attorney, “was Carl Moar. I took his fingerprints at two o’clock this morning in the City Morgue, shortly after you had told the newspapers the body wasn’t that of Moar, but of some other person.”

Mason hesitated for several awkward seconds, then said, “You’re stating positively that this man was Carl Moar?”

“Of course I am,” Borge said. “The body had been in the water for a couple of days, but I was able to get his fingerprints without any trouble. A man’s fingerprints never change, not even in death. They’re absolute means of identification.

“And can’t the fingerprints of one person possibly be confused with those of another?”

“No,” Borge said scornfully “Every high school kid knows that.”

Judge Romley rapped with his gavel. “The witness will confine himself to answering the questions,” he said. “The witness is being interrogated as to his qualifications as an expert. The Court will not permit the examination to be unduly prolonged, but if Counsel wishes to inquire concerning the qualifications of the witness as an expert, he has a perfect right to do so, and the witness will observe a respectful attitude in answering such questions.”

“Then you must have had Carl Moar’s fingerprints,” Mason argued. “That is, you must have had something with which to compare the fingerprints of the corpse.”

“I did. Moar was bonded by a bonding company when he worked for a bank fifteen years ago. The bonding company required that fingerprints be filed with the application for a bond.”

“Oh,” Mason said, as though the information had knocked the props from under him.

“Any further cross-examination?” the Court asked.

Mason walked slowly forward, picked up the sheaf of fingerprint photographs from the clerk, said to Borge, “And do you have photographs of the fingerprints of Carl Moar, deceased, with you?”

Borge slipped a perspiring hand in a voluminous pocket and pulled out an envelope of photographs. “They’re all marked,” he said, grinning at Mason. “Help yourself.”

Mason studied the photographs for a minute, shuffled them around in his hands. Abruptly, he picked out one and said, “Now, the fingerprint shown in this photograph, Mr. Borge, what is that?”

“That,” Borge said, “represents the fingerprint of Morgan Eves. It’s evidently the fingerprint of the man who leased the apartment. I found lots of those fingerprints over various articles, bottles, glasses, on the wash stand in the bathroom, on shaving things, on suitcases, mirrors... The one which you have reference to was one of several taken from a pane of window glass. I found virtually a complete set of fingerprints there, where a man’s hand had pressed against the glass, in raising the window.”

Mason slipped the print to one side. “And these?” he asked. “Those are the fingerprints of Carl Moar, the ones taken from the corpse.”

“These?” Mason asked.

“Those are fingerprints of the woman I assume was acting as nurse for Roger P. Cartman.”

“And these?”

“Those are the fingerprints taken from the wheel chair. I assume they are Roger P. Cartman’s prints.”

Mason said suddenly, “Look here, you’re basing your testimony, not upon what these fingerprints really are, but on memoranda which you’ve written on the bottoms of the prints.”

“Well, of course,” Borge said, “I had to find, some way of keeping the photographs all straight. But I could take a magnifying glass and identify any of those fingerprints.”

“Could you,” Mason asked, “do that here in court?”

“Of course.”

Mason took a sheet of paper from his pocket, tore a hole in it, and placed it over one of the photographs, so that only the portion showing the fingerprint was visible.

“Now then,” he said triumphantly, “let’s take that photograph, covered so that you can’t see the printing on it, and this photograph,” and Mason tore another hole in another piece of paper, covered another photograph, “and this one,” taking a third, “and see if you can identify those three fingerprints.”

“It would take a little time,” Borge objected.

“Take all the time you want,” Mason announced triumphantly.

Borge took a magnifying glass from his pocket, leaned over to study the fingerprints.

“And I’d have to consult certain data which I have in my notebook,” he said at length. “Two of these fingerprints are the same. I think they’re the fingerprints of Roger P. Cartman, I’m not certain.”

“Go right ahead,” Mason said.