Erle Gardner - The Case of the Rolling Bones

“And,” Mason said, “after he had made that statement, your recognition of him as your brother became positive, did it not?”

Leeds said, “That isn’t fair.”

“Why isn’t it fair?”

“I recognized him.”

“When?”

“As soon as I saw him.”

“Before he had entered the house?”

“Yes, of course.”

“But you didn’t call him by name, and you couldn’t place him during the time he was waiting for you to place him?”

“Well, not exactly.”

“And did you shake hands with him?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Was anyone else present at the conversation?”

“During the last part of it, yes.”

“And who was that?”

“Jason Carrel.”

“And did you introduce the defendant to Jason Carrel?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Do you remember exactly what you said?”

“That’s been five or six years ago,” the witness protested. “It’s hard to remember things over that length of time.”

“Not for a man with your remarkable memory,” Mason said. “I believe you stated your age was sixty-five. You were, therefore, about sixty when you saw your brother. You had last seen him when you were seven years old, and yet you recognized him instantly over this lapse of fifty-three years. Isn’t that right?”

“Well... Well, yes.”

“Now specifically what did you say to Jason Carrel? Did you say, ‘Jason, this is my brother, Alden’?”

“Well, I can’t remember.”

“As a matter of fact,” Mason said, “didn’t you say words to this effect, ‘Jason, this man claims to be your Uncle Alden.’”

“Well, something like that.”

Mason smiled. “That is all,” he said.

Kittering frowned. “My next witness,” he said, “is Oscar Baker... The court will pardon me. I am not proving the corpus delicti in the regularly accepted order. Some of these witnesses have asked to be excused, and it will be necessary for me to connect some of these things up later.”

“You will have an opportunity to connect up your evidence,” Judge Knox said. “The court wishes to hear the fullest proof.”

“Oscar Baker,” Kittering said.

A sallow-skinned lad in the early twenties, whose clothes were the cheapest of ready-mades, yet cut in most extreme style, pinch-waisted his way across the courtroom, held up his hand, and was sworn. He gave his name as Oscar Baker, his occupation as a waiter, his age as twenty-three, his residence as in a rooming house.

“Where are you working?” Kittering asked.

“At the Blue and White Restaurant.”

“You are employed as a waiter there?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you been so employed?”

“I’ve been there going on to six months,” Baker said.

“And you were so employed there as a waiter on the evening of the seventh of this month?”

“I was.”

“That was a Friday evening, I believe?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What time did you go to work?”

“At four o’clock in the afternoon.”

“At what time did you get off?”

“At eleven o’clock at night.”

“Were you acquainted with a John Milicant?”

“I was, yes, sir.”

“Had you seen him on several occasions?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where?”

“At his apartment house. It’s only a half a block down the street from the restaurant.”

“And what were the occasions on which you had seen him?”

“When I brought meals up to him.”

“He occasionally ordered meals in his apartment?”

“Yes.”

“These meals were ordered from your restaurant, and you took them up in the course of your employment as a waiter?”

“Yes, sir. That’s right.”

“Now, on the evening in question, did you so serve a meal?”

“Yes, sir. I did.”

“How was that order received?”

“Over the telephone.”

“Who ordered it?”

“Why, Mr. Milicant, I suppose.”

“What did he order?”

“He said he wanted dinner for two. He said he was very particular to get some mutton chops, peas and potatoes. He said to send out for the chops if I had to, but he wanted chops.”

“When was that order received?”

“At five minutes to eight.”

“How did you happen to notice the time?”

“Because I told him it might take a little time to get the mutton chops. I wasn’t certain we had any.”

“Did you have some?”

“Yes. When I went back to talk with the cook, I found out we did, although they weren’t on the bill of fare that night. He just had a few in the icebox, not enough to put on the menu, but he made up an order for two all right.”

“And you took this meal to the apartment?”

“I did.”

“That was John Milicant’s apartment?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now just explain to the court what happened when you took the food up there.”

“Well, I put the dishes on a tray, covered the tray with napkins and a folded tablecloth, and went into the apartment house. I knew the number of Milicant’s apartment — Conway, we called him.”

“That’s L. C. Conway?” Kittering interrupted.

“Yeah, Louie Conway. Well, I took the food up in the elevator, and knocked on the door. A voice yelled, ‘Come in.’ I opened the door and went in.”

“The door was unlocked?” Kittering interjected.

“That’s right, and the two guys — I mean men — were in the bedroom. I could hear them talking in there something about race horses, and I sort of kept my ears peeled because Louie Conway sometimes had some pretty good tips on race horses.

“Well, nothing came of it. I think they knew I was listening because the other guy said, ‘Wait a minute. The boy’s out there.’ And then he popped his head out the door, and said, ‘Just put it there on the table, son, and come back when we call you and pick up the dishes. How much is the check?’ And I said, ‘One-seventy-five.’ He handed me three one-dollar bills, and said, ‘That’ll pay you for coming up. Now beat it.’

“‘Want me to set the table?’” I asked.

“‘No,’ he said, ‘we’re in a rush.’”

“‘That food should be eaten right away,’ I told him. ‘I heated up the dishes before I left, but carrying it out in the air ain’t helped it none.’ And this guy said, ‘Yeah, I know. On your way, son. We’re busy.’”

“Did you know that man?” Kittering asked.

“I didn’t then. I do now. It was Guy Serle, the man that bought out Conway’s business.”

“You know about Conway’s business?” Kittering asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“What kind of business was it?”

“Objected to as incompetent, irrelevant, and immaterial,” Mason said.

Judge Knox inquired of Kittering, “Is this for the purpose of showing the real identity of the murdered man, counselor?”

“Well, not exactly,” Kittering said, “but for the general purpose of showing the man’s background and...”

“Objection sustained,” Judge Knox said. “You can introduce evidence tending to prove the man’s identity. You have now introduced proof that the decedent was John Milicant, that he was also known as L. C. Conway, or Louie Conway. There has been some evidence concerning a Bill Hogarty, but so far there has been no evidence definitely establishing that the decedent and Bill Hogarty were one and the same. The court will give you every latitude in the matter, Mr. Deputy District Attorney, but in the face of objection, where there is no question of proving motive, malice, or opportunity by that line of interrogation, the court will not permit a collateral examination into the business affairs of the decedent. That, of course, is a general ruling. It may well be that, as your case opens up, the evidence will become pertinent. If you wish to connect it up, the court will receive it on your statement that it will be connected up and that it relates to some particular aspect of the case which it is incumbent upon the state to prove.”