Parnell Hall - The Baxter Trust

“That’s right,” Sergeant Stams said.

“It would open the door to her apartment?”

“That’s right.”

“You tested it yourself?”

“I did.”

“And the key opened the door?”

“It did.”

“The door to Sheila Benton’s apartment?”

“That’s right.”

“Cross-examine,” Dirkson said triumphantly.

Steve looked at the witness. He couldn’t let this go by unchallenged. Not after the reaction of the jury. And particularly not after the reaction of the defendant. He had to do something to blunt the testimony. He got to his feet.

“Sergeant Stams,” he said. “You say you found this key in the decedent’s pocket?”

“Yes.”

“Was it on a key ring?”

“It was not.”

“In a key case?”

“No.”

“Were there other keys with it?”

“There were not.”

“Was the key attached to anything?”

“No.”

“You’re saying it was loose in his pocket?”

“That’s right.”

“Which pocket, by the way?”

“His right-front pants pocket.”

“What else was there in that pocket?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? Nothing at all?”

“I don’t know how you can have a nothing without having a nothing at all.”

This brought smiles from some of the spectators, but Steve paid no attention.

“You’re saying the pocket was empty except for the key?”

“That’s right.”

“What about his other pockets?”

“They were empty too.”

Steve stopped and looked at the witness. “Wait a minute. I want to be sure I understand this. You’re saying there was nothing in any of his pockets except for the key?”

“That’s right.”

“Did you find anything belonging to the decedent in the defendant’s apartment?”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Dirkson said. “That calls for a conclusion from the witness. How would he know what belonged to the decedent?”

“I’ll rephrase the question, Your Honor. Sergeant Stams, according to your testimony, the decedent’s wallet was not on the body?”

“That’s right.”

“Did you find a wallet bearing identification of the decedent in the defendant’s apartment?”

“No.”

“The decedent had no keys, other than the one you have identified. No key to his own apartment?”

“No.”

“Did you find a key to the decedent’s apartment anywhere in the defendant’s apartment?”

“No.”

“Sergeant Stams, did you make a search of the decedent’s apartment?”

“I did.”

“Did you find his wallet?”

“I did not.”

“Did you find the key to his apartment?”

“No.”

“Yet neither of these objects was on the body of the decedent when you searched it?”

“That’s right.”

“Sergeant Stams, is it then your opinion that after Robert Greely was killed, the body was searched?”

“Objection, Your Honor. Assuming facts not in evidence and calling for a conclusion on the part of the witness.”

“He’s a police officer, Your Honor,” Steve said.

“He’s not a clairvoyant, Your Honor,” Dirkson countered.

“The objection is sustained,” Crandell ruled.

Steve figured he’d thrown up enough of a smoke screen. “No further questions,” he said.

Dirkson was pleased. There was plenty of time left, and Dirkson figured he’d need it. His next witness was not going to be easy.

“Call Saul Callen,” he said.

Saul Callen was a cantankerous old curmudgeon, quarrelsome and argumentative. He settled himself on the witness stand, and peered down at Dirkson through ancient-looking bifocals.

“Your name?” Dirkson said.

“You just called me by name,” the witness said.

“For the record, give your name,” Dirkson said.

“Saul Callen.”

“Occupation?”

“Locksmith.”

“You have a store on Broadway and Ninety-fifth?”

“I do.”

“I hand you a key, marked People’s Exhibit number six, and ask you if you have ever seen it before.”

“I don’t know.”

“You haven’t even looked at it.”

“That’s right.”

“Would you look at it, please?”

“All right. I’ve looked at it.”

“And have you ever seen it before?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you seen a key like it?”

“Like it? I’ve seen a million keys like it.”

“Can you tell me anything about it?”

“It’s fairly new. It’s been recently made.”

“Do you recognize the blank?”

“It’s a standard blank.”

“Do you have blanks like it in your shop?”

“Every locksmith has blanks like it.”

“Then you might have made this key?”

“Sure. And I might have been elected president, but I don’t recall it.”

“Directing your attention to June sixth, did a gentleman come into your shop and ask you to make a key?”

“If one hadn’t, I wouldn’t be in business.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Dozens of people come into my shop every day and ask me to make keys. If only one person came in a day, I couldn’t operate. Do you know what my rent is?”

“Mr. Callen, I think you know what I’m getting at. Did the police ask you to go to the morgue to identify a dead body?”

Callen snorted. “I’ll say they did. I lost half a day’s work.”

“And did you identify the body?”

“I don’t know what you mean by identify.”

“Had you seen the man before?”

“As I told the police, I thought I had.”

“And where had you seen him?”

“In my shop.”

“And when would that have been?”

“I told this to the police.”

“And now I’d like you to tell me. When did you see him?”

“I can’t be sure. Either the fifth or the sixth.”

“Of June?”

“What do you think, November? Yes, of June.”

“To the best of your recollection the man was in your shop on the fifth or sixth of June?”

“That’s right.”

“And what did he want?”

“He wanted me to make a copy of a key.”

There was a reaction from the spectators. Dirkson glanced around. Newspaper reporters were scribbling furiously.

Dirkson smiled. “I’d like to pin this down. Did you make this copy from a wax impression or from another key?”

“From another key.”

“And the man who came into your shop and gave you the key and asked you to make a copy was the man you identified at the morgue?”

“That’s right.”

“And what was the name of the man you identified?”

“Robert Greely.”

“Cross-examine.”

Dirkson turned and walked back to his seat. As far as he was concerned, his work for the afternoon was over. Winslow would really tear into this one. The guy hadn’t identified the key. His identification of Greely was shaky at best, and those bifocals the guy wore made it look as if he could hardly see. Winslow would tear him apart.

Dirkson looked over at Winslow. Winslow appeared bored. He waved his hand. “No questions, Your Honor.”

That announcement drew a bigger reaction than Callen’s testimony about the key. Dirkson frowned.

“The witness is excused,” Judge Crandell said. “Call your next witness.”

Dirkson looked at the clock. He still had a good half hour left before adjournment. After the testimony about the key, any witness he put on would be an anticlimax. He didn’t want that. So what could he do?

Then it came to him. All right. Go for the kill. Tie it down. If Winslow was going to let him do it, why not? Give ’em the motivation too, and tie it all together.

Dirkson stood up. “Call Maxwell Baxter.”

An excited murmur ran through the courtroom. Maxwell Baxter! This was the name. This was the one they’d all come to see. And it was happening now. Necks craned to watch the aloof, distinguished millionaire as he walked to the stand.