A queer thought—that he, Annixter, was probably the only menace, the only danger, to the little prim, pale man with the hexagonal spectacles. The only menace—as, of course, the little man must know very well.
He must have been very frightened when he had read that the playwright who had been knocked down outside the Casa Havana had only received “superficial injuries.” He must have been still more frightened when Annixter’s advertisements had begun to appear. What must he have felt tonight, when Annixter’s hand had fallen on his shoulder?
A curious idea occurred, now, to Annixter. It was from tonight, precisely from tonight, that he was a danger to that little man. He was, because of the inferences the little man must infallibly draw, a deadly danger as from the moment the discovery of the murder in the sealed room was published. The discovery had been published tonight and the little man had a paper under his arm—
Annixter’s was a lively and resourceful imagination.
It was, of course, just in the cards that, when he’d lost the little man’s trail at the subway station, the little man might have turned back, picked up his, Annixter’s trail.
And Annixter had sent Joseph out. He was, it dawned slowly upon Annixter, alone in the apartment—alone in a windowless room, with the door locked and bolted on the inside, at his back.
Annixter felt a sudden, icy and wild panic.
He half rose, but it was too late.
It was too late, because at that moment the knife slid, thin and keen and delicate, into his back, fatally, between the ribs.
Annixter’s head bowed slowly forward until his cheek rested on the manuscript of his play. He made only one sound—a queer sound, indistinct, yet identifiable as a kind of laughter.
The fact was, Annixter had just remembered.
The Trial of John Nobody
A. H. Z. CARR
THE STORY
Original publication: Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, November 1950; first published in book form in The Queen’s Awards, Fifth Series (Boston, Little, Brown, 1950)
AMERICAN ECONOMIST AND MYSTERY WRITER Albert H. Zolatkoff Carr (1902–1971) was born in Chicago and graduated with a BA degree from the University of Chicago. He received an MA degree from Columbia University and also studied at the London School of Economics. Following a business career, he entered government service during World War II, working as assistant to the chairman of the War Productions Board. Later, he was an economic advisor to Franklin D. Roosevelt and a special consultant to Harry S. Truman.
His writing career was a varied one. During the Great Depression of the 1930s he wrote romantic fiction for such popular magazines as Harper’s, The Saturday Evening Post, and Reader’s Digest to supplement his income. He also wrote about politics and economics, and his inspirational book, How to Attract Good Luck (1952), had numerous printings in the United States and was translated into several languages.
Carr once averred that he turned to writing mysteries to preserve his sanity. His short stories were perennial award winners in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine contests, winning first prize in 1956 for “The Black Kitten,” a symbolic story of race relations.
Carr’s Finding Maubee (1971; the British title is The Calypso Murders) posthumously won the Mystery Writers of America Edgar Award for Best First Novel. It is the story of a black policeman searching for a murder suspect on a fictional island in the Caribbean. Filmed by MGM in 1989 as The Mighty Quinn, it was directed by Carl Schenkel and starred Denzel Washington, Robert Townsend, and James Fox.
Few mystery stories offer as confounding and tantalizing a situation as “The Trial of John Nobody,” in which a man is on trial for murder but no one wants to see him convicted.
THE FILM
Title: Johnny Nobody, 1961
Studio: Eros Films (UK)
Director: Nigel Patrick
Screenwriter: Patrick Kirwan
Producer: John R. Sloan
THE CAST
• Nigel Patrick (Father Carey)
• Yvonne Mitchell (Miss Floyd)
• William Bendix (James Ronald Mulcahy)
• Aldo Ray (Johnny Nobody)
The essence of the film follows closely A. H. Z. Carr’s short story, in which a man loudly, confidently, and obnoxiously stands in front of a church and dares God to kill him. His wish is granted when a man, a total stranger, emerges from the angry crowd and shoots him dead. The murder victim, James Ronald Mulcahy, was an Irish-American author who retired to an Irish village, outraging his neighbors by drunkenly proclaiming his atheism. Immediately after shooting Mulcahy, the killer claims amnesia. He turns for guidance to Father Carey, the local priest, who names him “Johnny Nobody” since he is unknown in the area and claims to have forgotten his name.
After Johnny is taken into custody and goes to trial, Father Carey begins to investigate and learns that a woman appears to be involved in some way. Known as Miss Floyd and claiming to be a reporter, Carey learns her secret and her connection to the case.
Much of the film was shot in the picturesque Irish village of Enniskerry in County Wicklow, which remarkably was also used as a location for such other films as Flight of the Doves (1971), Into the West (1992), P.S. I Love You (2007), and Leap Year (2010).
One of the executive producers was Albert R. Broccoli, who went on to produce the first James Bond film, Dr. No (1962), and many more—the most successful film series in history.
Nigel Patrick, the star of the film and its director, was named one of the top ten British box office draws in 1952 and 1953 in a poll of operators of British movie houses. (Bob Hope was number one.)
THE TRIAL OF JOHN NOBODY
A. H. Z. Carr
THE TRAIN WAS LATE, and the conductor harassed. When, on a hasty passage through the coaches, he was stopped by a clergyman who had already questioned him twice, he suppressed his annoyance only out of deference to the collar. Yes, he admitted coldly, they had lost more time. They would not reach Wicheka much before three o’clock. The acute concern manifested by the clergyman at this news caused the conductor to look at him attentively. Suddenly he found something familiar in the tall figure, the baldish, gray-fringed head, and the bony, lined, worried face. His eyes widened, and he said:
“Say, you’re Dr. Millard, aren’t you?”
The clergyman glanced quickly around him with a touch of apprehension, and winced as he saw eyes turn toward him from seats within hearing distance. “Yes,” he murmured. Instantly a chain of whispers was audible in the car: “Dr. Millard.” “Where?” “Over there, talking with the conductor.” “Dr. Millard.” “Over there.”
“Well, well,” said the conductor, mingling respect with satisfaction, “I’d like to shake your hand, Reverend.”
“Why—certainly,” the clergyman replied, extending a thin reluctant hand to the other’s eager grasp.
The conductor was no longer in a hurry. “Right from the first I felt about this thing the way you do. I told my wife, ‘You mark my words, this is a real miracle.’ The way I look at it, this John Nobody is kind of a Joan of Arc. Those voices. We’ve been going to church a lot more regular since this happened, Reverend. And we’ve got you to thank for it.”
Dr. Millard said slowly, “I—I’m glad.”
“Say,” the conductor exclaimed, as if struck by understanding. “The trial! That’s why you’re so—I get it. I’m sure sorry we’re late, Reverend. But you’ll make it all right. You don’t have a thing to worry about. There’s no jury in this country would find John Nobody guilty. When he killed Durgeon, he was performing the service of God! That’s what I’ve said all along.”
With an air of challenge the conductor looked around the car, and relaxed when he saw nothing but approval in the faces of the listening passengers. “Well, good luck, Reverend,” he said, and pursued his way up the aisl
e.
At once a throng gathered around Dr. Millard; a little girl who wanted an autograph, a sailor who wanted to shake his hand, an old woman, content only to touch his hand, a man who wanted to ask questions, and others, many others; until in desperation he arose and, with apologies, made his way through the admiring crowd to the platform of the car. There for the rest of the journey he stood breathing deeply of the cold air, and looking out at the gray, wintry landscape.
When the train reached Wicheka, Dr. Millard hastily secured his suitcase and joined the crowd jostling for taxi-cabs outside the station. A taxi-driver recognized him, and indifferent to competitive claims, proudly ushered Dr. Millard into his car and drove away.
“Thank you,” said Dr. Millard. “I did not like to take advantage, but this is something of an emergency. Will you drive to the Municipal Courthouse, please?”
“Yes, sir,” the driver answered, putting on speed. “I bet you’re anxious to get there.”
“Yes, I am.”
“They’ve had a lot of stuff on the air about it all day. Every hour. I’ve been listening. Looks like it will be a short trial.”
Absorbed in his own thoughts, Dr. Millard did not reply. After a moment the driver switched on his radio and picked up a news broadcast. Presently the sound of his own name cut through Dr. Millard’s reflections and captured his attention.
“—Dr. Millard’s absence continues to puzzle everyone present. In all other respects, however, the trial has followed expectations. In his brief opening address, District Attorney Parnall did not at any time refer to the conviction held by many people that John Nobody was divinely inspired when he killed Elmo Durgeon. Mr. Parnall stuck entirely to the legal facts. He reminded the jury of seven men and five women that John Nobody is the confessed killer of Durgeon. Psychiatrists who have examined him agree that Nobody is perfectly sane. Although he claims to have lost his memory prior to the slaying, he shows none of the usual signs of amnesia. I want to read you a passage from Mr. Parnall’s address—and now I am quoting Mr. Parnall: “ ‘The defense does not contend that the man who calls himself John Nobody is of unsound mind. And so far as anyone has been able to establish, he never heard of Durgeon, or had any contact with him. How, then, does the defense dare to enter a plea of justifiable homicide? What justification can there be for killing a man you have not even heard of? In the eyes of the law Durgeon’s death is murder—wanton murder—plain, brutal, wanton murder.
“ ‘John Nobody says that voices told him to kill Durgeon. Now the law is tolerant, but if we once started to let people get away with crimes just because they say they heard voices, there would soon be anarchy in this country. John Nobody may sincerely think he heard voices, or he may not, but those voices cannot be evidence in his defense.’ End of quote.
“That is the essence of District Attorney Parnall’s case. He did not try to suggest a motive for the killing. He is staking his case on legal logic. Whether that will satisfy the jury remains to be seen. At the end of his address he demanded that John Nobody pay for the slaying of Elmo Durgeon with his life—the full penalty of the law. The few witnesses whom he called merely confirmed the details of the killing which everyone now knows. Then Mr. Parnall rested the prosecution’s case.”
“Pretty smart, hey?” said the taxi-driver, grinning over his shoulder. “The D.A. hasn’t got a chance and he knows it. He isn’t even trying hard, for fear he’ll get everybody sore at him.”
“—counsel for the defense,” the radio continued. “Most of us who were in the press section of the courtroom felt that the jury were far more responsive to Mr. Levatt than they had been to Mr. Parnall. When I left the courtroom to make this broadcast, Mr. Levatt had not yet finished his opening address. He began by referring to his anxiety over the absence of Dr. Millard, his chief witness. He even hinted that the prosecution may have contrived to keep Dr. Millard away from the trial. This brought an indignant objection from Mr. Parnall. After the courtroom quieted down, Mr. Levatt began his impassioned speech to the jury with great stress on the religious aspects of the case.
“He asked if the prosecution dared deny that Joan of Arc had heard voices. He quoted the Bible, and cited the records of prophets, saints, and holy men throughout the ages who heard voices from above. Then he went on to tell the story of John Nobody as the world has now learned it—a man whom no one ever remembers having seen before—a man who seems to remember nothing of his past, not even his real name or his place of origin—a man whose clothing at the time of arrest bore no marks of identification and who says he does not know how or when the rifle which shot Durgeon came into his hands.
“Mr. Levatt was extremely effective on the subject of the rifle. He said—and I quote—‘The prosecution has placed this rifle in evidence. Look at it closely, I beg you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, for there is something strange and awesome in that instrument of death. What mysterious hand held it before it came to John Nobody? What fiery fingers erased from its metal and wood every numeral and mark that might have identified the rifle? You may say, if you are a materialistic cynic—as I know you are not—that John Nobody did it. But is it likely that John Nobody walked out of nowhere, without any other possession than a rifle from which he had deliberately eliminated every mark, just so as to prepare it to kill a man he had never met, and never heard of? Oh, ladies and gentlemen, this is a very strange theory that the prosecution has advanced. For my own part—’ and I am still quoting Mr. Levatt—‘I do not claim to know how that rifle came into the possession of John Nobody, or how the marks were removed from it. But this much I say—if John Nobody, in his previous incarnation, whoever he was, whatever his name was—if John Nobody did remove the marks from that rifle, then the forces which prompted him to do it were the same mysterious forces which directed him to the balcony of the Civic Auditorium on November 14th—which helped him to aim the rifle unerringly at its despicable target—and which helped him to pull the trigger.’ End of quote.
“This speech of Mr. Levatt’s undoubtedly made a great impression on the jury. Remember that Mr. Levatt had questioned all the jurymen before the trial to make sure that they were people of strong religious beliefs. The defense attorney also made a sensation when he claimed that only heavenly inspiration could account for John Nobody’s action, since he had no other possible motive and is not insane. Now my time is up, and I shall return to the courtroom. At four o’clock, I will be back with further reports on this trial of John Nobody, which has already become one of the most widely discussed cases in America’s legal history. Now I return you to—”
The driver switched off the radio, and was about to speak, when in his rear-view mirror he caught a glimpse of Dr. Millard’s eyes. Sensing the dark and inward nature of the minister’s thoughts, he swallowed his words and drove in silence until they reached the courthouse. As he took his fare, he could not resist saying, “Thanks, Doctor. I want to tell you, you’ve done a great thing for this town. Business has been booming ever since this—”
With a little gesture of protest Dr. Millard picked up his worn suitcase and hastened up the steps of the Municipal Courthouse. His entry into the courtroom made an enormous stir. Reporters left their seats and rushed for telephones in the corridor. A photographer took a flashlight picture of him, and was reprimanded by the court. Uniformed guards deferentially relieved him of his suitcase, and escorted him to the front of the court.
Mr. Levatt, the short, stout chief counsel for the defense, was about to question a witness then on the stand; but on seeing Dr. Millard he uttered an exclamation of satisfaction and rushed to him with outstretched hands.
“As timely as an angel!” he exclaimed, and added in a low voice, “Where have you been? You’ve had us practically crazy.”
“I must talk to you,” said Dr. Millard.
“No time now,” Mr. Levatt answered, dropping his voice still further. “We’ve got to get your
testimony in this afternoon. Just look at that jury. We can fix their minds today so that nothing Parnall or the judge can say will ever change them. You’re all we need.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned confidently to the judge, a burly, impassive man, and declared, “Your Honor, Dr. Millard’s providential arrival makes it possible for me to save the court’s time. With your permission I shall dismiss the present witness and ask Dr. Millard to take the stand.”
The worry and indecision written on Dr. Millard’s face did not escape the judge’s eyes, but after a moment he nodded to Mr. Levatt, who took the minister’s arm and with an air of veneration escorted him to the now vacant witness chair. The clerk of the court rattled off the oath, and Mr. Levatt, his voice gentle and respectful, disposed of the routine questions—name, address, occupation.
“Now, Dr. Millard, you were present in the Civic Auditorium on the afternoon of November 14th, were you not?”
“Yes.”
“Will you describe to the jury, please, in your own words, what took place in the auditorium that memorable afternoon—as you observed it?”
A profound stillness descended on the courtroom, and Dr. Millard lifted his eyes and looked around him for the first time. He saw Mr. Levatt’s clever, eager face, the judge’s attentive gaze, the district attorney’s watchful interest, the rapt concentration of the jury; he saw the wide-eyed excitement of the spectators, including some members of his own congregation, from whom emanated almost palpable waves of encouragement and sympathy. Finally, his head turned to the small, silent man sitting in the prisoner’s box. Their eyes met in a long glance which struck the observant as having in it something mysterious and secret, as if a message had passed between them. The man known as John Nobody looked away first, and his hand made a curious fumbling gesture below his thin, pale, not unattractive face.
The Big Book of Reel Murders Page 153
