Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Long-Legged Models

“Cross-examine,” Hamilton Burger said.

Mason said, “Mrs. Garvin, were you home all during the evening of October seventh?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know your husband rang twice on the phone and received no answer?”

“He told me such was the case.”

“You want the jury to believe you were there but didn’t answer the phone?”

“I was sound asleep for about an hour, Mr. Mason.”

“Did you tell your husband that?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“It was our honeymoon. My husband went chasing off on a business deal. He didn’t come home for dinner. I wanted him to realize I didn’t like such conduct. I let him know I was hurt and a little angry. If he had known I had gone to sleep while I was waiting for him to return he wouldn’t have been quite so concerned. I wanted him to be concerned. So I didn’t tell him I was asleep. I think I convinced him he must have dialed the wrong number.”

“Twice?”

“Twice.”

“Didn’t he require a lot of convincing?”

“Yes. A bride is in a position to convince her husband a little more easily than at any other time in her married life.”

“Did you lie to him?”

“Heavens, no! I suggested he had dialed the wrong number. H didn’t ask me if I had been asleep, so I didn’t tell him.”

Mason said, “Getting back to this gun, Mrs. Garvin. For all you know that gun may have had one discharged shell in it when you took it to your husband’s office.”

She smiled sweetly and said, “Then, after you fired a shell into my husband’s desk, there would have been two discharged shells, Mr. Mason.”

“Assuming,” Mason said, “that the gun which your husband gave me was the same gun which you had taken to his office.”

“A bride must always assume that her husband is truthful, Mr. Mason.”

“That’s all,” Mason said.

Burger’s next witness was Lorraine Kettle, a spare-framed widow of fifty-six who testified that she lived in an apartment on the ground floor of the Ambrose Apartments. At about eight forty-five on the evening of the seventh of October, she had seen a woman descending the service stairs leading from the back door of George Casselman’s apartment.

She had, she said, felt the woman might have been a burglar, so she had left her own apartment by the back entrance and had followed this woman at what she referred to as “a discreet distance.”

“Were you close enough to recognize her?” Burger asked.

“I was.”

“Who was she?”

“That woman sitting right there, the defendant, Stephanie Falkner.”

“What did she do?”

“She walked across to the sidewalk and then a man stopped his automobile and called to her. She got in that car. They drove away.”

“Who was that man, if you know?”

“Mr. Perry Mason, the lawyer, sitting right there.”

“Cross-examine,” Burger snapped.

“How did you happen to be looking at the back stairs of the Casselman apartment?” Mason asked.

“I had seen young women go in there before. This time I was determined to complain.”

“You mean you had seen this defendant go in there before?”

“I can’t swear it was her.”

“You mean prior to October seventh?”

“Yes.”

“And had seen women leave by the back door?”

“I can’t swear I’d seen more than one woman.”

“You followed this woman who left on October seventh?”

“I followed the defendant, yes.”

“Why did you follow her?”

“I wanted to see who she was.”

“That was the only reason?”

“Yes.”

“You intended to follow her only far enough to get a good look at her?”

“Yes.”

“And then you were going to turn back?”

“Yes.”

“You were still following her when she got into this automobile?”

“Yes.”

“Then by your own testimony you hadn’t got a good look at her by that time. Is that right?”

“I saw her all right.”

“But you said you were going to turn back as soon as you had a good look at her, and you hadn’t turned back at that time.”

“Well... I’d like to have had a closer look but I’m pretty certain in my own mind.”

“ Pretty certain?”

“Yes.”

“And if it hadn’t been for her getting in the automobile, you’d have followed her farther?”

“Yes, I guess so.”

“That’s all,” Mason said, smiling.

“That’s our case, Your Honor,” Hamilton Burger said.

Judge Decker frowned.

“The defense moves that the Court instruct the jury to return a verdict of not guilty,” Mason said. “The evidence at this time shows merely an inference, a suspicion.”

Judge Decker said, “The Court does not wish to comment on the evidence other than to say that at this time the motion is denied. After the defense has put on its case, the question of proof will be in the hands of the jury. At the present time and for the purpose of this motion, the Court must accept all of the evidence in its strongest possible light as far as the prosecution is concerned. The Court makes no comment on that evidence other than to state that the motion is denied.

“The Court notices that it is approaching the hour of noon adjournment. The Court will take a recess until two o’clock, at which time the defense can put on its case.

“During that time, the jurors will remember the admonition of the Court not to converse about the case or permit anyone to converse about it in your presence, and not to form or express any opinion until the case is finally submitted to you.

“Court is adjourned.”

Mason turned to Stephanie Falkner. “Stephanie,” he said, “You’ve got to go on the stand. You’ve got to deny that you killed George Casselman.”

She shook her head. “I am not going on the witness stand.”

“You have to,” Mason said. “They’ll convict you of murder if you don’t. In view of the testimony we have managed to bring in about your father’s death, the jurors won’t bring in a death penalty, but they will find you guilty. The fact that your shoe had blood on it, the fact that there was an imprint made by a heel plate similar to yours—”

“I am sorry, Mr. Mason, I am not going on the witness stand.”

“Why?” Mason asked. “Is there something in your past you’re afraid they’ll bring out? Have you been convicted of felony?”

She shook her head. “Have you?” Mason asked.

“I am not going to make any statement to you, Mr. Mason, other than the fact that I am not going on the witness stand. They can do whatever they want, but they are not going to put me on that witness stand.”

Mason said, “Stephanie, you can’t do this. I’m going to call you to the stand as a witness.”

“If you do,” she said, “I will simply refuse to budge from my chair.”

“All right,” Mason told her, “that’s better than nothing. It will at least give me something to argue about.”

“Time for you to go now, Miss Falkner,” the bailiff said.

Mason, Della Street, and Paul Drake were eating a gloomy luncheon in the private dining room of a little restaurant near the courthouse.

They were half through when knuckles beat on the door in a rapid staccato, and a moment later Gertie, Perry Mason’s receptionist, was in the room, all excited.

“Mr. Mason, Mr. Mason!” she said. “Marie Barlow came to the office. My heavens! Is that woman immense! I think she’s going to have triplets at least. She shouldn’t be out. I’ve told her... I warned her...”

“Now wait a minute, Gertie,” Mason said. “Calm down. What’s this all about?”

“Marie was at Mr. Garvin’s office. She has been trying to get the files cleaned out, you know, and she looked in back of one of the file drawers of an old transfer case. Things in there are ten years old and older.”