The Richard Deming Mystery Megapack

by Richard Deming

  As the trial moved on, Judge Anderson’s expression became more and more disapproving and his voice grew grimmer each time he asked the defense if it wished to cross-examine. Twice he brought the prosecution up short when the scope of Ed Ossening’s questions went beyond the latitude the judge felt should be allowed in his court, and both times he glared at John Farraday, obviously feeling objection should have come from the defense.

  During the entire trial the defendant slouched back in his chair, his fingers laced together across his lean stomach, and grinned a lopsided grin. Part of the time the grin was directed at Adele Hudson, who sat in the front row of the spectators’ seats, and part of the time it was turned on the prosecuting attorney. It seemed to increase the unease of the latter.

  As is usual in trials for murder, the first witness called by the prosecution was the arresting officer—in this case Lieutenant Morgan Hart. In a straightforward manner the lieutenant recounted that on the evening of the fourteenth at about eight-guilty o’clock, a call had come into the Homicide Bureau from the fiancée of Defective Sergeant Lawrence Bull. The girl had been hysterical, but he gathered that Sergeant Bull was hurt.

  Immediately he repaired to the home of Sergeant Bull at 1711 Fairview Avenue, the lieutenant continued, where he found the sergeant dead in his living room with a bullet hole in his back. On the basis of information furnished by the sergeant’s fiancée, a Miss Ella Spodiak, he had located the cab driver who had brought the murderer to the scene of the crime, and through him traced the murderer to the Lakeview Hotel. It was the next day before he was able to accomplish the latter, however, and at about one p.m. he and a Detective Fleming had arrested the defendant in his hotel room. Lieutenant Mart went on to describe the defendant’s daring break for freedom in the very center of town.

  Ossening had the lieutenant examine a forty-five automatic and asked if he recognized it.

  “Yes, sir,” said Lieutenant Hart. “I took it from the defendant at the time of the arrest. I memorized the serial number so I could be sure of identifying it again.”

  The prosecution submitted the gun as exhibit A.

  The second witness was Detective Fleming, who merely corroborated Lieutenant Hart’s testimony of the arrest and subsequent escape of the defendant.

  The next witness was the taxi driver who had driven Dan Fancy to the home of the deceased. He was a lean, shifty-eyed man who licked his lips frequently during the testimony. He stated that he had picked up the defendant in front of the Lakeview Hotel about eight P.M. on the fourteenth and had driven him to 1711 Fairview Avenue. He said the defendant was inside only a few minutes, at the end of which time he heard a sound like a shot. Immediately afterward the defendant rushed out of the house, jumped into the cab and ordered him to speed off. The driver said he took the defendant back to the Lakeview Hotel and did not see him again until he was asked to pick him out of a police lineup.

  When Ed Ossening said, “Your witness,” Judge Anderson frowned at John Farraday, obviously expecting him to ask why the driver had failed to report to the police the peculiar actions of his customer, and had waited for the police to come to him before he told his story. But when Farraday only gave his head a mild shake, the judge’s lips’ drew into a thin line and he said to the witness, “That’s all. You may step down.”

  The prosecution’s key witness was Ella Spodiak, who described herself as the fiancée of the deceased. She turned out to be the well-built but stupid-looking blonde who had admitted Dan to Larry Bull’s house. For her courtroom appearance she had discarded her red, tight-fitting dress in favor of a sedate black suit and a hat with a black veil. The effect of mourning was somewhat spoiled, however, by open-toed pumps which exposed toenails of flaming crimson.

  She gave her testimony in a sullen singsong, her eyes carefully averted from the grinning Dan Fancy. She told how she had been visiting Sergeant Bull on the evening of the murder, and had gone to open the door when the defendant rang the bell.

  “He pushed right inside,” she recited mechanically, wrinkling her brow in what might have been a continued effort to remember her lines. “He drew a gun and twisted my arm up behind my back and told me if I said a word, he’d shoot me. So I didn’t say nothing—I mean anything. Then he asked if Larry was in the living room, and when I said yes, he pushed me ahead of him and made me open the door. Larry was watching television, and he jumped up when he saw Dan Fancy. ‘Turn around’, Fancy ordered him, ‘and put up your hands.’ And when Larry did, he shot him right in the back. Then he ran out of the house.”

  This time John Farraday’s expression was pained when he shook his head.

  The rest of the prosecution’s witnesses were more or less routine. A medical examiner testified to the time of death, fixing it at approximately eight p.m. on the day of the fourteenth, and in medical terms declared that death had been caused by a bullet in the back. A ballistic expert said that the bullet removed from the body of Larry Bull matched a similar bullet fired from the gun taken from Dan Fancy. To clinch the matter the prosecution entered in evidence a pistol permit showing the gun belonged to Dan Fancy.

  As the last witness stepped down, Ed Ossening discovered that due to lack of interference by the defense, the case he had planned to spend at least a week presenting had somehow gotten itself presented in four hours. But for some reason he was more frightened than reassured by the smoothness with which the trial had so far run.

  He glanced uncertainly around, as though hoping to spy some witness he had inadvertently overlooked, then said in a voice higher than necessary, “The prosecution rests.”

  The judge glanced at his watch. “It is two p.m.,” he announced. “If the defense has no objection, we will recess until ten A.M. tomorrow.”

  For the first time since the trial had started, John Farraday fully opened his eyes. “No objection, Your Honor,” he said in a caressing voice which carried to every corner of the courtroom, though he spoke in a conversational tone.

  * * * *

  At ten the next morning, after Judge Anderson had brought the court to order and inquired if the defense were ready, John Farraday rose slowly to his feet. He was a tall man, as thin and bony as Abraham Lincoln, but with a grace of body movement Lincoln lacked. He paused theatrically to sweep brilliant blue eyes over the packed courtroom, then said in his caressing voice, “The defense has but one witness, Your Honor. Will Adrian Fact please take the stand?”

  From the back row rose a little insignificant-looking man in a worn seersucker suit. He advanced diffidently, raised his hand to be sworn, and kept his eyes lowered to his lap after he had taken the witness chair.

  “Your name is Adrian Fact?” Farraday inquired.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Will you please look at the defendant and tell the court if you know him?”

  Judge Anderson cleared his throat. “Your witness should be instructed to address his remarks to the jury rather than to the court, counselor.”

  Gracefully John Farraday turned to face the judge. “Your Honor, the defense has nothing to say to this jury, for there is little likelihood it will be asked to render a verdict. I asked the witness to address the court because I am sure after Your Honor has heard his testimony, you will kick this case out of court so fast it will make the head of my esteemed colleague, the district attorney of this county, spin like a top.”

  Leaping to his feet, Eel Ossening squeaked, “I object!”

  “To what?” asked the judge curiously. “To—to the insulting tone of counsel for defense. And to—” The prosecuting attorney hesitated, suddenly brightened and said in a stronger tone, “If the defense has evidence which the court might consider sufficient to dismiss this trial, it should have been introduced before the prosecution even presented its case. Before the jury was seated, for that matter. If there is such evidence, and I personally doubt it very much, the defense is criminally negligent in good ci
tizenship, if nothing else, to allow the trial to proceed to this point before bringing it out.”

  Judge Anderson nodded. “A good point, counselor.” He turned to John Farraday. “You have anything to say to that?”

  “If the court will be indulgent for a very few minutes,” John Farraday said, “Mr. Fact’s testimony will bring out why, it was necessary for the defense to allow the prosecution to present its full case, even though a motion to dismiss based on the same testimony you are about to hear would undoubtedly have been granted before the trial started.”

  The judge frowned at the silver-haired lawyer. “I don’t understand that statement, counselor. And if this testimony you speak of is directed solely at the court, suppose I declare a recess and take it informally in my chamber?”

  “That would be more proper procedure,” Farraday admitted. “However, the defense has a particular reason for handling the matter in this way, and I beg the court’s indulgence.”

  “Go ahead, then,” the judge decided. “But I warn you, if it develops you have deliberately allowed this court to waste its time, not to mention the time of the jurors and the witnesses involved, I will take a serious view of the matter.”

  Farraday nodded agreeably “Now, Mr. Fact,” he said, returning to the witness, “please look at the defendant and tell the court if you know him.”

  The little man glanced at Dan Fancy. “Yes, sir. I know him well.”

  “What is your relationship with the defendant?” the lawyer pursued.

  “We’re partners in the firm of Fact and Fancy, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. It’s a private detective agency.”

  The silver-haired lawyer smiled at the prosecuting attorney. “Now, Mr. Fact, in your own words will you explain why you and the defendant are in Lake City?”

  Ed Ossening was again on his feet. “I object, Your Honor. It is immaterial to this case why either the defendant or the witness are in Lake City.”

  “On the contrary, it is highly material,” Farraday put in smoothly. “And even if it weren’t, the prosecution has no right to object to data not directed to the jury. If Mr. Ossening is afraid the jury will be unduly prejudiced, he should ask the court to retire it until this matter is finished. But I assure both Your Honor and the prosecution it will make not the slightest difference to the outcome of this trial what the jury thinks. If the prosecution intends to continue objecting every time I ask a question, I will request Your Honor to reconsider his own suggestion and receive the witness’ testimony in the privacy of his chamber. However, I sincerely feel that it is in the public interest and to the interest of justice that the prosecution and the spectators in the courtroom hear what the witness has to say.”

  “This is a highly irregular procedure,” said the judge, “and I am not sure I shouldn’t take your witness’ testimony privately. However, in view of the peculiar manner in which this case has so far progressed, I am not inclined to stifle the first evidence of interest counsel for the defense has shown in the trial.” He glared at the prosecuting attorney. “If there are further interruptions from the prosecution, I will recess court and take this evidence privately. If you want to hear it, please keep that in mind.”

  Ed Ossening opened his mouth, closed it again and sat down.

  John Farraday said to the witness, “Please explain to the court why you and the defendant are in Lake City.”

  “We were on a job,” the little man said. “Martin Robinson, the father of Eugene Robinson, who awhile back was sentenced to death in this same court for the murder of a man named Saunders, hired us to prove his son had been framed.”

  “How did you decide to approach this case?”

  “Well, from what old Mr. Robinson told us about the trial, we were convinced from the beginning that one of two things was true. The evidence against Eugene Robinson was so complete, either he actually was guilty, or the trial was crooked. We decided to work on the assumption that the trial was crooked.”

  Ed Ossening jumped to his feet, but sat down again when the judge glared at him.

  “Mr. Fact,” Judge Anderson interrupted in a cold voice, “the case you refer to was tried in this court. Unless you clarify that last statement immediately, you will find yourself held in contempt.”

  “I didn’t mean the court was crooked,” Adrian Fact said calmly. “The governor of this state is a personal pal of Martin Robinson, and the old man had him check up on you. He was quite satisfied with your integrity.” Undisturbed by His Honor’s speechless glare, the little man went on, “I meant we decided all eleven witnesses and the two police officers involved perjured themselves.”

  This time the prosecuting attorney jumped to his feet and remained there, silent but quivering.

  “That’s a pretty serious charge,” Judge Anderson said, after pounding down the sudden hum in the courtroom. “For your own sake, I hope you can substantiate it.”

  “I can’t directly,” the little man admitted. “But I can prove it’s a likely situation in any trial prosecuted by District Attorney Ed Ossening. I can prove all the witnesses in this trial perjured themselves.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Good Hunting, Mr. Fancy!”

  Following a deathly silence, an excited hum rose over the audience. Judge Anderson rapped for order.

  John Farraday, who had quietly stepped to one side while the judge was asking questions interposed himself again.

  “Mr. Fact, will you describe the exact procedure you and the defendant took in your investigation of the Robinson trial?”

  “Sure,” the little man said agreeably. “We reasoned that in a local setup tight enough to run a frame like the one worked on the Robinson kid, we wouldn’t have the chance of a snowball—we wouldn’t have much chance to uncover evidence that it had been a frame. At the same time, there was a good chance the same crowd that framed Robinson would work a similar frame on us if we stepped on their toes.

  “Then Fancy got the idea of coming down here and deliberately throwing his weight around until the local crowd got tired of him and framed him. He figured if he could publicly expose this bunch in the middle of a frame, it would force an impartial reinvestigation of the Robinson case. He had me tail him and keep track of every move he made.” He added modestly, “I’m pretty good at tailing people, because hardly anybody notices me.

  “I planted a mike in Dan’s room and recorded every conversation that took place there. I’d be glad to play these off for Your Honor. Particularly the one where a local man known as Big Jim Calhoun bragged about the way he controlled this town, and what would happen to Dan Fancy if he didn’t drop his investigation of the Saunders murder. I also took a lot of pictures with a chest camera, which I would like Your Honor to examine.”

  He paused to separate his shirt front slightly and expose the lens of a flat camera strapped to his chest.

  Judge Anderson said, “You have made some amazing statements, Mr. Fact. But so far I detect no proof that the defendant was framed for the murder of Sergeant Bull.”

  “I’m coming to it,” the little man assured him. “On the evening of the fourteenth, Dan Fancy visited Larry Bull about eight o’clock, just as various witnesses testified. I know, because I followed him. Or rather I followed the taxi which followed Dan’s, for he was tailed there and back by Detective Gyp Fleming, one of the officers who later arrested him.

  “But from that point on, all the witnesses’ testimony departs from the facts. No shot sounded inside the house. I happened to be watching through the window the whole time Dan Fancy and Larry Bull talked, and Bull was still alive when he left. When Fancy came out, he was walking, not running as that taxi driver said.

  “When Dan got back to his room at the Lakeview, he phoned our client long-distance and told him one of the arresting officers in the Saunders murder was willing to talk for five thousand bucks. I knew Fancy’s phone was tapped by the local mob, bec
ause I had it tapped too, and I could always hear a second click after Fancy hung up. I figured Fancy’s conversation with our client meant a death sentence for Larry Bull, because the local mob would figure Bull was selling out. I also figured Fancy would be framed for the killing. So I dropped Dan fast and scooted back to Larry Bull’s house to keep an eye on him.”

  Adrian Fact paused for breath. “This is where the proof comes in that every witness in this trial is a perjurer. Bull was supposed to have been killed around eight p.m. on the fourteenth. But at nine p.m. that evening he left his house with Lieutenant Morgan Hart, who took him to the Downtown Athletic Club, the headquarters of Big Jim Calhoun. Bull was inside with Hart not more than ten minutes, then came out alone and returned home. At midnight he was sitting in his front room watching television when Morgan Hart came back and shot him with a snub-nosed thirty-eight revolver. I’ve got a picture of the shooting.”

  Pandemonium broke loose in the courtroom. The crowd shouted, news cameras flashed, and the district attorney began objecting at the top of his voice. Judge Anderson pounded until there was a momentary hush.

  Taking advantage of the silent interval, the little man finished calmly, “That makes a liar of everybody, including the medical examiner who said Bull had been dead since eight p.m. and the ballistic expert who said he was killed by Dan Fancy’s forty-five.”

  Disorder broke out again, and this time the judge’s gavel could not quench it. A half-dozen news men broke for the door, but slid to a halt in unison when Lieutenant Morgan Hart suddenly barred the way with a snub-nosed thirty-eight revolver.