by Parnell Hall
“You’ve read the list over?”
“Yes, I have.”
“And to the best of your recollection, you have seen this list before?”
“Yes.”
“Fine,” Steve said. He crossed back to the defense table, and took the metal clipboard out of the paper bag. “Your Honor, I ask that this clipboard be marked for identification as Defense exhibit B.”
“Any objection?” Judge Graves said.
“None, Your Honor,” Dirkson said.
“So ordered.”
The reporter marked the clipboard. Steve took it back from him.
“Now,” Steve said, “I am going to take the paper, Defense exhibit A, and attach it to the clipboard, Defense exhibit B, and hand it to you and ask you if this is not the way the paper was presented to you when you saw it before.”
The witness took the clipboard. “Yes. That’s right. It was.”
“Fine,” Steve said. He looked around the courtroom. “Tracy Garvin. Please stand up.”
Tracy got to her feet.
“Now,” Steve said. “I ask you to look at the young woman standing in the back of the courtroom, and ask you if you have ever seen her before.”
“Objection, Your Honor. Incompetent, irrelevant, and immaterial.”
“I’ll connect it up in a moment, Your Honor,” Steve said.
“I think the connection should come first,” Dirkson said.
“Very well,” Steve said. “In that case, I will withdraw that question and ask you this: is it not true that the person standing in the back of the courtroom, Tracy Garvin, is the person who handed you the clipboard which you now hold?”
“Objection. Same grounds.”
“I can connect it up, Your Honor.”
“I still maintain the connection should come first,” Dirkson said.
“Very well,” Steve said. “Then let me ask you this: did you know that that person standing there is a private detective in my employ? Did you know that the clipboard you are holding in your hand is a highly polished metal clipboard used by private detectives for the purpose of obtaining clear latent prints of suspects? Did you know that Tracy Garvin, on my instructions, got you to handle that clipboard just as you are holding it now, specifically for the purpose of obtaining your latent prints for comparison? And did you know that when we compared your prints, two of them matched absolutely with the latent prints taken from the decedent’s apartment and introduced in evidence here in court?”
Dirkson lunged to his feet. “Objection!” he thundered. “Your Honor—”
Judge Graves’ gavel cut him off. “That will do,” he snapped. “Court is still in session. Jurors will remain seated. Witness will remain on the stand.” Judge Graves paused, took a breath, and then glowered at the defense table. “Attorneys,” he said grimly. “In my chambers.”
44.
DIRKSON ANGRILY PACED UP AND down in the judge’s chambers while he waited for the court reporter to set up his stand.
When everyone was ready, Judge Graves said, “Now, Mr. Dirkson.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Dirkson said. He glowered at Winslow and Fitzpatrick. “I charge the asking of that question as misconduct. It is a barefaced lie. Counsel may have obtained the fingerprints of the witness, but he’s never compared them to the prints in evidence in court. He doesn’t have them. It couldn’t have been done. It is a trick. A theatrical grandstand. I charge the asking of that question as misconduct.”
Judge Graves turned to Steve. “Mr. Winslow?”
Steve smiled. “I wish the prosecutor would make up his mind. A few minutes ago he was threatening to charge me with abuse of process for having no definite purpose in mind. As I understand it now, his charge is that I have a definite purpose in mind, but he doesn’t like it.”
“Mr. Winslow, the charge is that you are making a false statement in court. That you are claiming to have compared the fingerprints of the witness to those introduced in court, when you have in fact, not. What do you say to that?”
“I say it’s none of his business,” Steve said.
Judge Graves’ face darkened. “Mr. Winslow, this is not to be taken lightly.”
“If he did compare those prints,” Dirkson put in, “I charge him with tampering with a prosecution exhibit.”
“You see, Your Honor,” Steve said. “As far as Dirkson’s concerned, I’m damned if I did, and damned if I didn’t. I still maintain it’s none of his business. And whether I compared those prints or not is totally irrelevant. And I beg to correct the District Attorney—I did not make the statement in court that I had compared those prints. I merely asked the witness if she knew that I did. I am asking her for her own knowledge, which is what I have every right to do.
“And I maintain that however objectionable the prosecution may feel the form of that question to be, the answer to it is entirely relevant. This witness has testified that she was never in Bradshaw’s apartment. If her testimony is true, she will answer by saying, ‘no, you must be mistaken, those couldn’t be my fingerprints, because I was never there.’ If she can’t answer that way, it means that her testimony was false. That means she’s guilty of perjury. And if she’s guilty of perjury, she’s certainly a biased witness. And that bias is something I have a legal right to establish. The witness has given testimony on a very material point, i.e., the altercation in Bradshaw’s apartment at the time of the murder. Therefore, if there is the slightest chance that she committed perjury, I have every right to bring it out.”
“Only by legitimate means, Your Honor,” Dirkson said. “Counsel’s question is entirely irregular.”
Judge Graves took a breath. “Mr. Dirkson. On the surface, it might appear to be. However, as counsel has said, he is merely asking the witness whether she knew certain things to be true. But I think you’re missing the point here. A young woman is on trial for murder. If there is a chance that one of the prosecution’s witnesses is committing perjury, I want to know it. And I think you should want to know it too.
“However,” Judge Graves went on, turning to Fitzpatrick and Winslow. “Once that charge is brought up, if she is not committing perjury, I want to know that too.
“I am now going to rule. To begin with, the objection is overruled. I want the question answered. And I want it answered without any sparring between counsel. And I am referring to that particular line of questioning, Mr. Dirkson. I don’t want you jumping up on the follow-up question, unless a new point is raised. As far as this line of questioning goes, I’m going to allow Mr. Winslow to pursue it to its conclusion. But—”
Judge Graves turned to Steve Winslow. His face was dark. “I’m allowing this on your assurance that you have a definite purpose in mind. In the event that you do not, in the event that it should turn out that you called this witness merely to harass her, to make her a red herring—in the event that it turns out you had no foundation whatever for asking the question that you did, that in fact you had no definite purpose in mind, then Mr. Winslow, you and Mr. Fitzpatrick will find that you have laid yourselves wide open for an abuse of process charge. And believe me, this is no idle threat. So, before we resume, I would like to give you one last opportunity to consider: would you care to withdraw your question?”
Fitzpatrick looked as if he were going to be ill. He looked at Steve Winslow with pleading eyes.
Steve looked at him. It could be Fitzpatrick’s career. It could be his too, what little career he had. And he had so little to go on. Such a thin thread.
For a second he hesitated.
But only for a second.
“We do not, Your Honor,” Steve said. “The question stands.”
45.
JUDGE GRAVES LOOKED DOWN FROM the bench. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. I am sorry for the interruption. We are ready to proceed. The objection has been overruled. The witness will answer. The court reporter will read back the question.”
There was a delay while the court reporter shuffled through the tapes. The
question was way back, since he’d had to record the entire session in chambers. Finally he found it, and droned it out in an expressionless voice, ending with, “And did you know that when we compared your prints, two of them matched absolutely with the latent prints taken from the decedent’s apartment and introduced in evidence here in court.”
“Do you understand the question?” Steve said.
The witness took a breath. “Yes. I do.”
“Then answer it.”
She hesitated. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
“You don’t know how your fingerprints could have got in Bradshaw’s apartment?”
“No, I don’t.”
“You were never in there on any occasion?”
“I—”
“Think. It’s important. You’re under oath. How could your fingerprints have gotten there?”
The witness’s eyes flicked around the courtroom. “I ... I ...”
“Yes,” Steve said. “Go on.”
“I remember now. I was in there once.”
Steve tried hard to keep his face from looking like he had just gotten a death row reprieve. A glance at the defense table told him Fitzpatrick was not doing quite that good a job. He looked positively ecstatic.
But Dirkson looked positively murderous.
“Oh, were you now?” Steve said. “And when was that?”
“Silly of me. It was a long time ago. Right after he moved in. I remember now. I met him in the hall. He called me in, asked me something about the previous tenant. I don’t remember what it was. Something about the apartment. Was some shelf in the kitchen permanent, or had the previous tenant put it in.”
“So you were in the kitchen of that apartment?”
“Yes. I guess that’s right.”
“And this was when Donald Blake, the man you knew as Bradshaw, first moved in?”
“That’s right.”
“You were in his apartment that one time?”
“Yes.”
“And you hadn’t been back in since? And you hadn’t spoken to him since, except to say hello in passing?”
“That’s right.”
“But you were in his apartment that one time?”
“Yes. I just said I was.”
“So when you said in your previous testimony that you had never been in his apartment, you were mistaken, is that right?”
“Yes. I was mistaken.”
“I see. And were you perhaps mistaken about any other part of your testimony?”
“No. I wasn’t.”
“The rest of your testimony is accurate?”
“Yes, it is.”
“You were mistaken about that one particular fact?”
“That’s right.”
“You simply didn’t remember, but you remember now?”
“Yes. That’s exactly right.”
“Before we proceed, I would like to give you a chance to think. Is there anything else that you didn’t remember, that you remember now?”
“No, there isn’t.”
“You remember now that you’d been in Bradshaw’s apartment on that one occasion?”
“That’s right.”
“And if you were in his apartment, you of course spoke to him at that time. I mean, more than just to say hello in passing?”
“I guess so.”
“Do you recall what you talked about on that occasion, the occasion when you were in Bradshaw’s apartment?”
“No, I don’t. Only what I just told you. It was something about the apartment. A shelf or counter or something. I didn’t even remember the incident until you reminded me of it.”
“You didn’t talk about anything else? Anything about his personal life? Or yours?”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“And that, to the best of your recollection, is the only time you ever talked to Bradshaw other than to say hello in passing in the hall?”
“That’s right.”
“And you’ve never been in his apartment again?”
“No.”
“You’ve never talked to him again, other than the hello in passing we’ve just mentioned?”
“That’s right.”
“Did you ever talk to him on the phone?”
“No. Of course not.”
“You didn’t?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You never called him on his phone?”
“No.”
“He never called you on yours?”
“No.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
“Is that so?” Steve said. “I hand you back the clipboard marked Defense exhibit B, and ask you to look at the list.”
Steve extended the clipboard, but Margaret Millburn made no move to take it. “Go ahead. You can touch it. You’ve already admitted being in the apartment. Your fingerprints don’t matter now.”
Reluctantly, the witness took the list.
“Fine,” Steve said. “Now, referring to the paper attached to the clipboard, the paper marked Defense exhibit A, what do you recognize it to be?”
“It’s a list of names.”
“That’s right. A list of names. Now, would you please read the names out loud?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The names on the list. Read them out loud, please.”
Margaret Millburn hesitated. Then she looked down and read off the names in a slow, steady voice, placing no emphasis on any particular name.
“Thank you,” Steve said. He took the clipboard, walked back and set it on the defense table. As he did so, Fitzpatrick flashed him a glance of inquiry. Under his breath Steve said, “Hold on to your hat, Fitzpatrick. We’re goin’ for the gold.”
Steve straightened and turned back to the witness. “Miss Millburn. Last night, when you were shown that list of names, the list you’ve just read into the record, did any name strike you as significant?”
“No.”
“No?” Steve said. “That’s odd. Suppose I were to tell you that Tracy Garvin, the young woman who showed you that list, noted a definite reaction on your part to one of the names—would that jar your memory any?”
“No, it would not. I don’t know what that list is, I don’t know where it came from, I don’t know what it means. That list has no significance to me.”
“And none of the names on that list has any particular significance?”
“No. The names appear to be people involved in this trial. Why that should be important, I couldn’t begin to tell you.”
“There are many people involved in this trial,” Steve said. “But it is my contention that there is one whose name has a special significance to you. Would it change your testimony any to know that the investigator, Tracy Garvin, was convinced that you showed a definite reaction to the name, Phyllis Kemper?”
The witness stared at him. “It most certainly would not.”
“It would not?”
“No.”
“The name Phyllis Kemper means nothing to you?”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Has no special significance?”
“None whatsoever.”
“And it is not true that last night when you were handed the clipboard, you reacted to seeing the name Phyllis Kemper?”
“No. It is not true.”
There was a pause.
Steve nodded. “You’re right, Miss Millburn. I don’t think that’s true either.”
The witness blinked. Stared at him.
Steve shook his head. “No. I think the name you reacted to was the name Mark Taylor.”
There was a pause. A time lag in the court, while people caught up with that statement. Mark Taylor? It was clear that most of the people in the court couldn’t even place the name.
Most of the people.
On the stand, the witness blinked. Once. Twice. She wet her lips.
“That’s true, isn’t it, Miss Millb
urn?” Steve said. “It was the name Mark Taylor that you reacted to, wasn’t it?”
“No. No,” she said. “It wasn’t.”
“No?” Steve said. He raised his voice and picked up the pace. “Then perhaps I can refresh your recollection. You have testified, have you not, that you never spoke to the decedent on the phone—that you never called him on his phone and he never called you on yours. Is that right?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Is it, Miss Millburn? I ask you, is it not a fact that on the afternoon of Tuesday the eighth, the man you knew as David C. Bradshaw called you on your telephone in your apartment, and said to you words to this effect: ‘I have just left the building and I’m being followed by detectives. I don’t want them to know I’ve spotted them. Here’s what I want you to do. I’m going to leave here and walk down the block in front of our building. I want you to look out your window at the car that’s tailing me and get the license number. Then I want you to call so-and-so at this phone number and ask him to trace the plate. Tell him it’s urgent and to do it right now. Just get the information, and I’ll call you right back.’
“And is it not a fact, Miss Millburn, that you did as you were instructed? Is it not a fact that you got the information, and when Bradshaw called you back minutes later, you passed it on to him? Is it not a fact that what you told Bradshaw, when he called you back from a pay phone on the corner, was that the car that was following him was registered to a detective agency? And wasn’t the name of the detective who had registered the car, the name that you passed on to David C. Bradshaw—wasn’t that name Mark Taylor? Isn’t that why the name Mark Taylor has a special significance to you, and isn’t that why you reacted so visibly to seeing his name on that list?”
The witness’s eyes darted around the courtroom. “No. No,” she said. “It’s not true.”
“It isn’t? You deny receiving either of those phone calls?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And if the records of the telephone company should show that calls were made from those pay phones to your apartment on the day in question, those records would be in error, is that right?”
“Objection. Argumentative.”
“Sustained.”
“Do you deny receiving those calls?” Steve persisted.
