Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Crooked Candle

“Yes, subsequently.”

“And pointed out the razor to you?”

“Yes.”

“And identified it?”

“Yes.”

“And was it his razor?”

Tragg seemed uncomfortable. “I don’t know.”

“Exactly,” Mason said dryly. “He told you his razor was there. His daughter told you his razor was there. You found the razor there. You have taken no steps one way or another to prove whether or not it was his razor, have you?”

“It was planted.”

“Never mind your deductions, Lieutenant. Have you taken any steps to show whether that was or was not the razor of the defendant, Roger Burbank?”

“Well, no. I assume it was his razor.”

Mason smiled.

“So Carol Burbank told you her father’s razor was at this motel. Roger Burbank admitted his razor might be there. You took him up there — and found his razor was there. Thereupon, you tried to browbeat him into admitting that he had been there — and he denied it, didn’t he?”

“He denied it half-heartedly, so I’d think he was lying, and I didn’t try to browbeat him.”

“But he denied it?”

“Half-heartedly, yes.”

“Half-heartedly, quarter-heartedly or three-quarter-heartedly, he denied it?”

“Yes.”

“I submit, Your Honor,” Mason said, “that the fraction, or percentage of the man’s heart that was in his statement is the conclusion of a prejudiced witness. The fact is what the man said.”

Judge Newark nodded. His eyes were twinkling. “Proceed, Mr. Mason. The Court is making due allowances.”

Mason turned to Lieutenant Tragg. “And the defendant, Roger Burbank, told you that if you asked him publicly whether he had stayed at the Surf and Sun Motel the night before, he would have to deny it. Is that right?”

“Yes. But when he said that, I took it as an admission he was there.”

“I see,” Mason said. “That was merely your own interpretation of what he said?”

“It was the way I understood his words.”

“Fortunately, Lieutenant, we are to judge the case by what he said not by what you understood.”

“His daughter, Carol, said he’d been there at the restaurant.”

“Pardon me,” Mason said, “I was present at that time. Didn’t Carol merely suggest that a political conference might have been held at the Surf and Sun Motel the night before, and then didn’t she tell her father that the time had come for him to speak up and tell you exactly where he had been, and not try to protect the political careers of a lot of Sacramento bigwigs; and didn’t the defendant then reach in the pocket of his coat and take out a key and put it on the table, and didn’t you forthwith grab that key and see that it was the key to Cottage Fourteen at the Surf and Sun Motel?”

“Well, yes.”

“The defendant, Roger Burbank, didn’t ever say in so many words that he had been there, did he?”

“Well, he produced that key.”

“And then, after he had produced that key, he looked you straight in the eyes and told you that if you asked him if he had been present at the Surf and Sun Motel the night before he would deny it?”

“Well, I don’t remember exactly how it happened.”

“And didn’t Carol Burbank say, ‘But Dad, your razor is there on the shelf,’ or words to that effect?”

“Well, yes.”

“And you took that as an admission by Carol Burbank that her father had been there?”

“Well, his razor was there,” Tragg blurted.

“Exactly,” Mason said. “His razor was there. I take it that you will agree, Lieutenant, it’s no crime for a man to put his razor any place he happens to choose?”

“Well, taken in connection with all the circumstances,” Tragg said, “the inference is obvious.”

“You may draw that inference if you want,” Mason said, “but I think a jury will prefer to try the case on the facts. And if you’re going to make any claim of perjury, you’ve got to prove a false statement, not that, as in this case, the person charged made a true statement in such a manner that the police in charge thought it was untrue. It’s what a man actually says that counts, and to be perjury it must be under oath.”

“The perjury is what they wanted Lassing to commit,” Tragg said.

Mason raised his brows. “Oh, did someone ask him to swear to a falsehood?”

“We’ve been all over that,” Tragg said.

“So we have!” Mason smiled. “Now, Lieutenant Tragg, you were called to the yacht of Roger Burbank on Saturday morning when the body was discovered?”

“Yes.”

“And made some examination there?”

“Yes.”

“And found the bloody imprint of a shoe on one of the treads of the companionway?”

“I’m coming to that,” Burger interposed hastily, “with another witness.”

“I’m coming to it now,” Mason said. “In fact, I’m already at it. Can you answer that question. Lieutenant?”

“Yes, certainly.”

“You did so find a bloody imprint on the tread of the companionway?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever ascertained...”

“If the Court please,” Burger interrupted, “this isn’t proper cross-examination. I’d like to put on my case in an orderly manner. I’d like to introduce in evidence a shoe belonging to the defendant, Carol Burbank. Then I’d like to show the bloodstain on that shoe. And then I would like to show the fact of the bloodstain on the tread of the companionway.”

“But if Mr. Mason wants to interrogate the witness on that point on cross-examination, I see no reason why he should be bound by the manner in which you choose to introduce your evidence or present your case,” the Court ruled. “This witness is a police officer. The defense certainly is entitled to cross-examine him in detail. Moreover, you should now bring out all he knows, not put on your case piecemeal.”

“I intended to prove the footprint by another witness, Your Honor.”

“But the point now is, does this witness know about that print?”

“He seems to.”

“Then let him tell what he knows,” the judge snapped.

“The Court wants to get on with the case, not have matters delayed so the prosecution can build to a dramatic climax. This witness is a police officer. On cross-examination, the defense will have the utmost latitude. The objection is overruled. The witness will answer the question.”

“Yes,” Tragg said defiantly, “such an imprint was left on the tread of the companionway, and it happens that I have the shoe with which that print was made.”

“Exactly,” Mason said. “Now let’s look at the photograph, People’s Exhibit No. Five. I call your attention to a candle which appears in that exhibit. Do you notice it?”

“I know there was a candle there.”

“Well, take a good look at this photograph,” Mason said, “and study that candle carefully.”

“Yes sir, I see it.”

“Is there anything about the appearance of that candle which impresses you as being at all unusual?”

“No, sir. It is simply a candle fastened to the top of a table in the cabin of the yacht where the body was found.”

“How much of that candle has been burnt?”

“About one inch, perhaps a little less.”

“And have you made any experiments to ascertain how long it took a candle of this nature to consume approximately one inch of its length when it was ignited under circumstances similar to those found in the cabin of this yacht?”

“No sir, I haven’t. I didn’t deem it necessary.”

“Why?”

“Because that candle doesn’t mean anything.”

“Why doesn’t it mean anything, Lieutenant?”

“Because we know when Milfield died and we know how he died. And he was dead long before it got dark, so that candle doesn’t mean a thing.”