Parnell Hall - The Naked Typist

“You’ll have a chance to make those points in court, Mr. Dirkson,” Judge Wallingsford said. “Right now we are concerned with whether that memo exists at all. Is there anything you need, Mr. Pennington?”

Pennington was already beating out a rhythm on the keyboard. Letters and symbols were flashing on the screen. “I’ll let you know,” he said, and went on typing.

The words Fax-log appeared on the screen.

“Got it,” Pennington said.

He continued to hit function keys. Documents went whizzing by.

“All right,” Pennington said. “Here’s the date in question. We have one, two, three memos on that day. One from a salesman in Austin, Texas.” He hit a key. Another document appeared. “One from Stanley Castleton at the main office.” He hit another key. “And one from a company in Palm Springs.”

“Anything relevant in the Stanley Castleton memo?” Judge Wallingsford asked.

Pennington backed up a screen. The others leaned in and looked. The memo concerned the purchase of packing cartons.

“Nothing in that,” Judge Wallingsford said. “And that’s all for that date?”

Pennington pressed some keys. “That’s right,” he said. “Next memo you’re into the next day.”

“Those memos are recorded in chronological order?”

Pennington smiled, the smug smile of an expert at a layman’s ignorance. “Of course,” he said. “That’s the purpose of the log.”

“The defendant certain of the date?” Judge Wallingsford asked.

“Yes, she is,” Steve said.

“All right, can you get into the backup file?”

Pennington seemed pained by the question. “Of course,” he said. He began pressing keys at seemingly lightning speed, as if to show up Judge Wallingsford for doubting his competence. Symbols appeared and disappeared on the screen too fast for anyone to even read them.

Moments later, Pennington said, “Here we are. In the backup system. Now to get to Fax-log.” More symbols flashed. “Here we go. Now the date.”

Pennington hit more keys. Everyone leaned in to look, and one of the previous memos appeared.

“Here we are. The memo from the buyer in Texas.”

He pressed a key.

“The memo from Stanley Castleton.”

Another key.

“The memo from Palm Springs.” Another key.

And another memo they had seen before appeared.

The memo from the next day.

The memo from Herbert Clay was not there.

The Daily News headline was “DEFENSE GAMBLE LOSES.” The New York Post had “NAKED TYPIST STRIKES OUT!” Even the Times had a column on the front page.

It was hot stuff. The murder trial was sensational enough in itself. But to have the defense pull a grandstand play, a regular Perry Mason stunt, only to have it backfire-well, that was more than any newsman could have wished for. It not only made the papers, it was the lead story on the morning news on every radio and TV station in the city.

As a result, the courtroom was packed. Seating had been at a premium before, but now it was ridiculous. People were standing four-deep in the back of the courtroom and jostling for position.

Judge Wallingsford looked out over the courtroom and banged the gavel three times. “Order in the court. Ladies and gentlemen, somewhat against my better judgment, I have allowed spectators for whom there are no seats. Please understand that you are here at my tolerance, so do not abuse the privilege. If I cannot have quiet, I will order everyone who is not seated out. Is that clear?”

It was. The rumbling subsided. No one wanted to leave.

“Now then,” Judge Wallingsford said. “Before we bring the jury in, let me explain the situation. The defendant was on the stand, but was removed from the stand so the defense could attempt to introduce some new evidence.

“Now, Mr. Winslow, you made a motion that you be allowed to introduce new evidence at this time. I ask you now if you have any new evidence that you wish to introduce?”

Steve Winslow stood up. He took a breath. “I do not, Your Honor.”

That announcement, though totally expected after all the publicity, still drew murmurs from the back of the courtroom.

Judge Wallingsford banged the gavel. “I will not warn the spectators again. Now then. The defense has withdrawn its motion to introduce new evidence. When that motion was made the defendant was on the stand, and the defense had concluded its direct examination. It is now time for the prosecution to cross-examine. So, will you bring in the jury and return the defendant to the stand-”

Judge Wallingsford broke off as he realized Harry Dirkson was paying no attention to him, but was instead conferring excitedly with an associate. “Mr., Dirkson?” he said.

Dirkson stood up and turned around. His face was such a confusion of emotions it was almost comical. He ran his hand over his head. “Your Honor, Your Honor,” he said. “If I could have your indulgence for a moment.”

“Yes, Mr. Dirkson. We are all waiting on you.”

“I’m sorry, Your Honor. But before we proceed, a matter has arisen that requires my immediate attention.”

Judge Wallingsford frowned. “You’re asking for an adjournment, Mr. Dirkson?”

“No, no, Your Honor. Not a matter connected with my office. A matter connected with this case.”

“The defendant was on the stand, Mr. Dirkson. And you were about to cross-examine.”

“I know, Your Honor. But a matter has come up of which I was totally unaware. At least until a few moments ago. And it is a matter that is so grave, I feel I may be forced to take action. At this time, I must ask to reopen my case.”

Judge Wallingsford stared at Dirkson. “Mr. Dirkson, you rested your case. If you have new evidence, you can bring it out on rebuttal. That is the proper way to do so. But I can think of no reason to allow you to reopen your case now.”

“But I have new evidence, Your Honor, which should be introduced before I cross-examine the defendant. Evidence which will definitely link her with the commission of the crime.”

“Then it should have been introduced as part of your case.”

“I wasn’t privy to the information, Your Honor. It has only come into my hands now. I have a witness who will definitely put the defendant at the scene of the crime.”

Judge Wallingsford shook his head. “That is not proper procedure, Mr. Dirkson. If the defense raises an objection, as I am sure they will, I would have to sustain it.”

Dirkson’s face was grim. “The defense can have no objection, Your Honor. Because I am prepared to prove that the only reason this witness was unavailable in the first place was because this witness was carefully and deliberately concealed from us by the defense.”

Judge Wallingsford’s eyes widened. “That is a most serious charge, Mr. Dirkson. You mean the defense had full knowledge of the existence of this witness?”

“They did, and I can prove it,” Dirkson said.

“They deliberately concealed this witness from you?”

“That is correct, Your Honor.”

Judge Wallingsford took a breath. “And where is this witness now?”

There was a commotion in the back of the courtroom as the doors behind the spectators were thrown open.

“I believe she’s here now,” Dirkson said.

Everyone turned to look as two court officers pushed through the crowd leading in a defiant but rather harried-looking Marcie Keller.

Marcie Keller looked like a beast at bay. She tossed her head, shaking the long, curly hair off her face, gripped the arms of the witness stand and glared defiantly down at Harry Dirkson.

She had been installed on the witness stand after a long, brawling argument between Harry Dirkson and Steve Winslow, at the end of which Judge Wallingsford had ruled that Dirkson be allowed to reopen his case.