Jed Rubenfeld - The Interpretation of Murder

The coroner said nothing, eyeing Littlemore warily.

'Then Riviere develops Mr Hugel's plates,' the detective continued, 'and sure enough, we find this picture of Miss Riverford's neck with some kind of imprint on it. Riviere and I didn't get it, but Mr Hugel explained it to us. The murderer strangles Miss Riverford with his tie, the tie still has his pin on it, and the pin has his monogram. So you see, Your Honor, the picture shows the murderer's initials on Miss Riverford's neck. That's what you told us, right, Mr Hugel?'

'Astounding,' said the mayor, who peered at the photograph, holding it close to his eyes. 'By God, I see it: GB.'

'Yes, sir. I've also got one of Mr Banwell's tiepins, and you can see they're alike.' Littlemore drew Banwell's tiepin from his trousers pocket and handed it to the mayor.

'Look at that,' said the mayor. 'Identical.'

'Rubbish,' said Banwell. 'I'm being framed.'

'Good Lord, Hugel,' said the mayor, ignoring Banwell. 'Why didn't you tell me, man? You had proof positive against him.'

'But I don't — I can't — let me see that photograph,' said Hugel.

The mayor gave the coroner the picture.

Hugel shook his head as he scrutinized it. 'But my picture — '

'Mr Hugel's never seen that photograph, Your Honor,' said Littlemore.

'I don't understand,' said the mayor.

'On Mr Hugel's photograph — on his original photograph, sir — the initials on the girl's neck weren't GB. They were the reverse of GB, the mirror image.'

'Well, as a matter of fact, the initials should have been in reverse, shouldn't they?' McClellan pointed out. 'The monogram should have left a reverse imprint, just like the seal on an envelope.'

'That's the trick of it,' said Littlemore. 'You got it right, Your Honor: the pin would have left a reverse imprint, so the reverse GB on Mr Hugel's photograph made it look like Mr Banwell was the killer. That's exactly what Mr Hugel said. The only problem was that Mr Hugel's photograph was already a reverse image. Riviere told us. That's what Mr Hugel didn't realize, sir. His picture showed a backward GB — okay? — but his photograph was already a reverse image of the girl's neck. That meant the imprint left on her neck was a true GB, and that meant the murderer's monogram was not a true GB but a reverse GB!

'Say that again,' said McClellan.

Littlemore did. In fact, he repeated the point several times until the mayor understood it. He also explained that he had made Riviere produce a reverse image of Hugel's picture, turning the GB around again, making it forward- facing, so he could compare the initials to Mr Banwell's actual monogram. This reversed picture was the one he had just shown the mayor.

'But it still makes no sense,' said the mayor irritably. 'It makes no sense at all. How could the monogram shown in Hugel's original photograph be the exact reverse of George Banwell's?'

'There's only one way, Your Honor,' said Littlemore. 'Somebody drew it.'

'What?'

'Somebody drew it. Somebody etched it right onto the dry plate before Riviere developed it. Somebody who had access both to Mr Banwell's tiepin and to Mr Hugel's plates. Somebody trying to make us think Mr Banwell killed Elizabeth Riverford. Whoever did it must have worked at it real hard. They did almost everything right, but they made one mistake: they made the photograph show a mirror image when they shouldn't have. They knew the imprint on Miss Riverford's neck had to be the mirror image of the real monogram. So they figured the photograph had to show a mirror image. But what they forgot was that a ferrotype is already a mirror image. That was their big mistake. When they put a reverse GB into the photograph, they gave the game away.'

Hugel broke in. 'Why, even I can't understand what the harebrain is saying. We have a clear photograph here of the girl's neck. And it says GB on it — not a negative, or a double negative, or a triple negative, or whatever Littlemore is babbling about. Just a simple GB. It is proof that Banwell was the murderer.'

There was a brief silence; the mayor broke it. 'Detective,' he said, 'I believe I have followed your reasoning. But I must say things are turned around so many times I am at a loss to know who is in the right. Is this the only reason you have for believing that Mr Hugel has tampered with evidence? Is it possible that Hugel is correct? That your photograph proves George Banwell to have been the murderer?'

Littlemore frowned. 'Let's see,' he said. 'I guess there is a lot of evidence against Mr Banwell, isn't there? Mr Mayor, could I put a couple of questions to Mr Banwell?'

'Go ahead,' replied McClellan.

'Mr Banwell, can you hear me okay, sir?'

'What do you want?' Banwell growled.

'You know, Mr Banwell, now that I think of it, I'm pretty sure we can convict you of Miss Riverford's murder. I found the secret passageway between your apartments.'

'Good for you,' was Banwell's reply.

'There was clay in her apartment that matches the clay at your construction site.'

'That's proof for you.'

'And we found the trunk with Miss Riverford's things in it — the one you buried in the East River below the Manhattan Bridge.'

'Impossible!' cried Banwell.

'Got it last night, Mr Banwell. Just before you flooded the caisson.'

'You were in the Manhattan Bridge caisson last night, Littlemore?' McClellan demanded.

'Yes, sir,' said Littlemore sheepishly. 'Sorry, Mr Mayor.'

'Oh, never mind,' replied McClellan. 'Go on.'

'I'm being framed,' Banwell interrupted. 'McClellan, I was with you all Sunday night. At Saranac Inn. You know I couldn't have killed her.'

'That's not how the prosecutor will see it,' Littlemore replied. 'He'll say you had someone drive Miss Riverford down to Saranac, that you snuck out of the dinner with the mayor, met her somewhere for a few minutes, and killed her. Then you had her body driven back to the Balmoral where it would look like she died there. You figured you'd use the mayor himself as your alibi. Too bad you left your initials on her neck. That's what the prosecutor will say, Mr Banwell.'

'I didn't kill her, I tell you,' said Banwell. 'I can prove it.'

'How can you prove it, George?' asked McClellan.

'Nobody killed Elizabeth Riverford,' said Banwell.

'What?' said the mayor. 'She's still alive? Where?'

Banwell shook his head.

'For God's sake, man,' said McClellan, 'explain yourself.'

'There is no Elizabeth Riverford,' said Banwell.

'Never was,' added Littlemore.

Banwell expelled a deep breath. Hugel took one. The mayor expostulated. 'Will someone explain to me what's going on?'

'It was her weight that first got me thinking,' said Littlemore. 'Mr Hugel's report said Miss Riverford was five- foot-five and weighed a hundred fifteen pounds. But the ceiling thing she was tied up to wouldn't have held a hundred- fifteen-pound girl. It would've broken right off. I tested it.'

'I could have been slightly off in height and weight,' said Hugel. 'I have been under considerable strain.'

'You weren't off, Mr Hugel,' said Littlemore. 'You did it on purpose. You also didn't mention that Miss Riverford's hair wasn't really black.'

'Of course it was black,' said Hugel. 'Everyone at the Balmoral will testify it was black.'

'A wig,' said Littlemore. 'We found another one just like it in Banwell's trunk.'

Hugel appealed to the mayor. 'He's lost his mind. Someone is paying him to say these things. Why would I deliberately misrepresent Miss Riverford's physical appearance?'

'Why, Detective?' said McClellan.

'Because if he had told everyone that Elizabeth Riverford was five-foot-two, a hundred and three pounds, with long blond hair, things would have gotten real sticky when Miss Nora Acton, five-foot-two, a hundred and three pounds, with long blond hair, turned up with the identical wounds the very next day — the same day Miss Riverford's body disappeared — wouldn't they, Mr Hugel?'