The Case of the Lonely Heiress

by Erle Stanley Gardner

  “As the murder weapon?” Hanover asked.

  Mason’s smile was frosty. “I have no objection to it being received in evidence as a knife which was found in the back of the defendant’s automobile.”

  “Very well,” Hanover snapped, “introduce it on that basis and we’ll connect it up later.”

  Judge Osborn pursed his lips, as though debating whether to make some comment, finally decided against it and said, “Very well, the knife will be received in evidence and marked with the appropriate exhibit number by the clerk. Proceed, gentlemen.”

  “Now then, Your Honor,” Hanover said, “I’d like to excuse Lieutenant Tragg for a moment, put another witness on the stand and then recall Lieutenant Tragg in a few minutes.”

  “No objection,” Mason said.

  Tragg left the stand.

  “Call Sergeant Holcomb,” Hanover said.

  Sergeant Holcomb was sworn, testified as to his name, age, address and occupation, then settled back comfortably in the witness chair.

  “You’re acquainted with the defendant, Marilyn Marlow?” Hanover asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And did you have any conversation with her concerning her relations with Rose Keeling? Now that’s a preliminary question, Sergeant. Just answer it ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”

  “Yes.”

  “When was that?”

  “On the seventeenth of this month.”

  “That was the date the body of Rose Keeling was discovered in her flat?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Where did this conversation take place?”

  “In the office of the Homicide Squad at police headquarters.”

  “At that time did the defendant, Marilyn Marlow, make any statements to you as to whether she had been in the flat of Rose Keeling at any time during the day?”

  “She did.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Just a moment,” Mason said. “The proper foundation has not been laid. There has been no statement on the part of this witness as to whether or not this statement was a free and voluntary statement or whether it was obtained by duress.”

  “It’s not necessary to lay that foundation, Your Honor,” Hanover said. “We’re not asking for a confession. We’re asking only for an admission. It is a well-settled rule that an admission against interest does not necessarily require that it was made voluntarily.”

  “Nevertheless,” Mason said, “I think that what Counsel is claiming as an admission affects the rights of the defendant so that I am entitled to find out first if it was a free and voluntary statement. Your Honor, may I ask a few questions of Sergeant Holcomb on this point?”

  “Very well, go ahead,” Judge Osborn said.

  “There were several officers present when this statement was made?” Mason asked Sergeant Holcomb.

  “That’s right.”

  “These officers were grouped in a circle around the defendant?”

  “They were around where they could hear.”

  “How was the room illuminated?”

  “With electric lights,” Sergeant Holcomb said. “We quit using kerosene before I came on the job.”

  A ripple of merriment sounded from the spectators.

  “Was there one big light in the room?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that was directed full on the face of the defendant?”

  Sergeant Holcomb said, “You can’t illuminate a room and not have it so that some light doesn’t shine on the face of the defendant. We try to give ’em service but we can’t give ’em that much service.”

  People in the courtroom tittered.

  “Wasn’t that light so arranged that it concentrated its rays upon the face of the defendant?”

  “The defendant was just sitting there,” Sergeant Holcomb said.

  “Facing the light?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Who was questioning the defendant?”

  “I was.”

  “And didn’t some of the others question her?”

  “Some of them, yes.”

  “Didn’t all of them question her?”

  “Well, they may have.”

  “During the time that the defendant was in that room, did some other person enter the room?”

  “How do I know? I didn’t keep track of everybody that came and went. Perhaps they did. Perhaps they didn’t.”

  “Did anyone enter that room at your suggestion?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Didn’t you ask a young woman to come to that room?”

  “I think maybe I did.”

  “And did you ask that woman to identify the defendant?”

  Sergeant Holcomb shifted his position. “Well, yes.”

  “Had that woman actually ever seen the defendant before?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t tell what people that woman had seen and what people she hadn’t seen.”

  “You instructed that woman before she entered the room to come in the door, to point at the defendant and say, ‘That’s the woman,’ or words to that effect?”

  “I told her to come in and identify the woman.”

  “Who was this person whom you told to enter the room and identify the defendant?”

  “A night stenographer in the traffic department.”

  “And sometime later you signaled Lieutenant Tragg to come in?”

  “I may have.”

  “And resort to a prearranged act by which he dispersed all the officers and took the defendant into his office?”

  “Well, what if he did?”

  Mason said, “There you are, Your Honor, a typical case of a police third degree.”

  “I don’t think I’ll entertain evidence of a confession,” Judge Osborn said, “but I will receive evidence as to an admission. Go ahead, Mr. Hanover.”

  “Now then,” Hanover said, “did the defendant make any statement at that time as to what she had done on that day with reference to being in the apartment of Rose Keeling?”

  “She certainly did. She said she went to see Rose Keeling, that Rose Keeling was dead, that the defendant went to the telephone and called Perry Mason and that she was responsible for Perry Mason being there. She admitted that she was there in Rose Keeling’s apartment right about the time the murder was committed and that she had got in there with a key Rose Keeling had given her.”

  “Cross-examine!” Hanover said triumphantly.

  “The defendant admitted to you that she was in the apartment at about the time the murder was committed?”

  “Well, she said she was there and it was about the time the murder was committed, because the police got there very shortly after Rose Keeling had been killed.”

  “But she didn’t tell you that she was there at the time the murder was committed?”

  “Well, not in so many words.”

  “Or at about the time the murder was committed?”

  “Not in so many words.”

  “Or that she knew anything about the murder?”

  “Not in so many words.”

  “And did she tell you she entered the apartment with a key?”

  “She said she had a key to the flat.”

  “But did she tell you that she used it?”

  “Not in so many words.”

  “Didn’t she say she found the door open or slightly ajar?”

  “Well, she may have put across some idea like that, but she had the key and …”

  “What did she tell you?”

  “I think she said she found the door open, but she had the key.”

  “Thank you,” Mason said with sarcastic exaggeration of politeness. “That’s all, Sergeant Holcomb. Thank you for being such a fair and impartial witness.”

  Sergeant Holcomb heaved himself to his feet, sneered at Mason and lumbered down off the witness stand.

  “Now we’ll recall Lieutenant Tragg,” Hanover said. “Just take the stand again, Lieutenant.”

  Tragg returned to the w
itness stand.

  Hanover’s voice had an edge of triumphant power. “Now, Lieutenant, when you arrived at the apartment of Rose Keeling, what did you find specifically?”

  “I found a house of the type known as a four-flat house,” Lieutenant Tragg said. “The flat which had been occupied by Rose Keeling was that on the second story on the south side.”

  “I’ll show you a map and some photographs and ask you if you can identify these.”

  “That’s right,” Tragg said. “This is a photograph of the four-flat house. This diagram is a map showing the layout of the apartment where the body was found. The location of the various rooms is shown on this map and the places marked here showing the approximate position of the body. Now this photograph is one that shows the bedroom and the body. This one shows the interior of the bathroom. This one shows the interior of the living room. This one shows the bedroom from another view. This is a close-up of the body. I can identify all of these maps and photographs as showing the things which I have mentioned. In other words, they’re true representations.”

  “I ask these be marked with appropriate numbers and be received in evidence,” Hanover said.

  “No objection,” Mason said. “Let’s just get the records straight.”

  The court clerk stamped the various exhibits, giving them appropriate numbers.

  Hanover said, “Now, Lieutenant Tragg, calling your attention to the photograph, People’s Exhibit Number Four, I indicate two suitcases.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did you notice those two suitcases when you first entered the flat?”

  “I did, yes, sir.”

  “What was in those suitcases, if anything?”

  “Clothes,” Tragg said, and added quite casually, “she’d been packing up at the time she was killed.”

  “Oh, indeed!” Hanover said, and added parenthetically, “Taking a trip?”

  “She was packing up for a long trip, all right,” Lieutenant Tragg said. “She hadn’t finished packing when she was killed.”

  “I see. And over here in the photograph of the living room there’s a telephone shown in the picture.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Now what did you do with that telephone, if anything?”

  “Well, we dusted it pretty carefully for fingerprints.”

  “And did you find any?”

  “Fingerprints of only one person,” Tragg said. “Those of Mr. Perry Mason, attorney for the defendant.”

  Judge Osborn leaned forward. “What’s that?” he said.

  “Just the fingerprints of one person. Perry Mason’s fingerprints are on it.”

  “No other fingerprints at all?”

  “No.”

  “Have you asked any explanation of the? … Well, go ahead, Mr. Hanover.”

  Hanover said smilingly, “I was coming to that, Your Honor. Now, Lieutenant Tragg, just what happened when you arrived at the apartment?”

  “Well, when we first got there to the flat,” Tragg said, “we were answering a call which had been put in by Mr. Perry Mason. We found Mr. Perry Mason and his secretary, Miss Street.”

  “Did you have any conversation with them?”

  “With Mr. Mason, yes. He told me that he’d found the door open and had walked in, and that he’d found the body and had telephoned police headquarters. He said he’d also telephoned Marilyn Marlow, his client.”

  “Did he say anything to you about Miss Marlow having been at the flat?”

  “No. Definitely not.”

  Judge Osborn frowned ominously.

  “Now, did the defendant subsequently make any statements to you as to how she happened to be at this flat?”

  “Yes, she said she had an appointment to play tennis with Rose Keeling.”

  “I notice in this photograph of the bedroom, there are tennis shoes, a tennis racket, and a container holding tennis balls.”

  “That’s right. I noticed those particularly.”

  “Did you have any conversation with the defendant concerning them?”

  “Yes.”

  “What was it?”

  “I keep accusing the defendant of putting those things out after she had murdered Rose Keeling, putting them out so as to give a prop to her story about the tennis game.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “She would never admit that she’d done it.”

  “Did the defendant ever offer you any explanation as to how it happened that Rose Keeling would extend an invitation to play tennis at a time when Miss Keeling was quite evidently hurried packing to get out of town as fast as she could?”

  “No explanation,” Tragg said, and grinned.

  “Now, did you have any conversation about a letter she had received from Rose Keeling?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What about it?”

  “She said she’d destroyed it.”

  “I now hand you what purports to be a carbon copy of a letter written in longhand addressed to Marilyn Marlow and bearing the signature of Rose Keeling and ask you if you’ve ever seen that carbon copy before.”

  Mason said, “I submit, Your Honor, this certainly falls far short of an identification.”

  “Marilyn Marlow destroyed the letter. We’re entitled to use the carbon copy,” Hanover said.

  “Certainly you are,” Mason said, “provided you establish two things. One of them is that the original has been destroyed or is not available, and, secondly, that this is a carbon copy of that original.”

  Hanover said, “In view of this technical objection, Your Honor, it will be necessary for me to call other witnesses whom I have not planned to put on the stand. I think there can be no question but what this is a true carbon copy. It would expedite matters if I did not have to call these other witnesses.”

  Mason said, “You have what purports to be a carbon copy of a letter. If you want to introduce it, you’ll have to show that it is a carbon copy. You’ll have to show that it is in the handwriting of the person who purported to sign that letter, and you have to go further and prove that the letter of which this purports to be a carbon copy was received by the defendant.”

  “Very well, if you want to get technical,” Hanover said angrily, “I’ll do it the hard way. Your Honor, I notice that it is approaching the noon luncheon hour, and if we may have a recess until two o’clock, I believe I can have witnesses here who will go through the long, tedious process of identifying something which the defendant knows very well is perfectly authentic.”

  “It’s your case,” Mason said. “Put on the evidence if you want to.”

  “I most certainly will,” Hanover snapped.

  “Very well,” the Court said, “we’ll adjourn until two o’clock. The defendant is in custody and will be remanded. Two o’clock, gentlemen.”

  19

  Perry Mason and Della Street sat in a secluded booth in their favorite restaurant near the Hall of Justice.

  Mason, sipping a glass of tomato juice, said, “Hanover’s trying to breeze through the case, making it appear that I’m being unduly technical.”

  She nodded. “He’s making quite an impression on Judge Osborn.”

  “Osborn,” Mason said, “is a fine, honest, direct, upright judge, but he never had much actual courtroom experience. His calendar is crowded and he’s in a hurry to get things cleaned up. He falls for tricks like that, whereas a judge who had been more accustomed to rough and tumble courtroom stuff would see what Hanover was trying to put over. Only, then Hanover wouldn’t try it. He’s pretty shrewd and he knows all of the various judges and how they react.”

  The waiter served them salad and crackers.

  Mason said, “Well, Della, we’ve seen their atomic bomb now. That knife is the piece of evidence we have to explain or else have our client found guilty.”

  “What possible explanation can there be? It was found concealed in her automobile,” Della said. “Gosh, Chief, it looks like curtains for Marilyn. That knife really clin
ches the case against her!”

  Mason said, “Not necessarily, Della. There are two possibilities. Either Marilyn Marlow killed Rose Keeling with that knife, or someone is deliberately framing a crime on her.”

  “Robert Caddo?” Della Street asked, hopefully.

  Mason played with his fork. “Darned if I know, Della. There’s another significant clue in the fact that Dolores Caddo never did call on Marilyn Marlow and try to make a scene. She admitted to me she called on Rose Keeling. I don’t think there’s any question but what she’s telling the truth. I don’t think there’s any question but what a visit from Dolores accounts for the torn sunsuit and the ink stains.

  “But somehow something intervened before Mrs. Caddo went to call on Marilyn Marlow.

  “Now let’s suppose that Mrs. Caddo called on Rose Keeling at eleven-thirty. Her time was more or less approximate, but we can assume that it was very shortly after Marilyn left. Mrs. Caddo rang the bell and Rose Keeling probably pressed the electric button which released the catch on the outer door.”

  Della nodded, said, “Go on, Chief.”

  Mason said, “Dolores went up and staged a scene. She threw some ink. Rose ran for the bathroom. Dolores made a grab at her, caught the neck of her sunsuit, tore it off, and Rose locked herself in the bathroom.

  “Now, if that’s what actually happened, Marilyn Marlow has quite a bit of corroboration for her story that Rose wanted to play tennis. And if that part of her story is true, the rest of it can be true.

  “Rose was not packing. She was unpacking. She suggested to Marilyn that they play tennis, and as soon as Marilyn left the apartment, she jumped out of her clothes and into a sunsuit. She got the tennis things out of the closet and about that time the bell rang. She went to the head of the stairs and sounded the buzzer which opened the door. Dolores Caddo entered and climbed the stairs, probably smiling affably until she got to the head of the stairs, and then, without any preliminary, said, ‘So you’re the woman who has been making passes at my husband!’ and splashed her with ink from a fountain pen she was holding in her hand in readiness for just such a move.

  “Rose tried to tell her she hadn’t been making passes at anyone’s husband, and Dolores grabbed her and tried to spank her. Rose wrenched herself free and that’s when the inkstained sunsuit was torn. Rose made a dash for the bathroom and locked herself in. Dolores felt she had done enough to embarrass her husband. I don’t think Dolores loses her temper the way she pretends to. She simply puts on an act to impress her husband and make him think twice before he goes out with any woman.