“Well, let me put in two or three and then I’ll …”
“But the minute you do that,” Mason said, “you’re unpacking the suitcase, Lieutenant.”
Tragg became awkwardly embarrassed as the extent of his dilemma suddenly dawned on him.
“So,” Mason said, “it would now appear that these garments which you saw on the bureau had been folded as they were put into the suitcase and then removed and placed on the bureau. Isn’t that right?”
“Well, I don’t know that they just exactly fitted into the suitcase.”
“But you said they did.”
“Well, it looked to me as though they did.”
“And the edges were exactly even and uniform? In the form of a rectangle?”
“On three sides, yes.”
Mason said, “Try and fold that pile of garments so the edges are in the form of an exact rectangle without having some box or a suitcase to act as a pattern.”
Tragg said wearily, “All right, you win. She was unpacking. That is, she’d taken some garments out of the suitcase and put them on top of the bureau.”
“Exactly,” Mason said. “So you were mistaken when you said she was packing at the time she was killed. What you meant was that she was unpacking. Is that right?”
“I still don’t think she was unpacking,” Tragg said.
“But you can’t explain the evidence any other way?”
“All right. I withdraw what I said about her packing at the time of her death.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Mason said. “So it now appears that the defendant’s story is not so inherently improbable. Miss Keeling could have suggested that they play tennis.”
“Well, she wouldn’t have taken a bath just before going to play tennis.”
“But in the bathroom, in the soiled clothes hamper, you found a playsuit that was torn and on which there were spots of ink, did you not?”
“That’s right.”
“And if some person had entered the flat after Miss Keeling had dressed herself in a playsuit for the purpose of going to the tennis court, had thrown ink on her, and had also torn that suit, and Miss Keeling had located herself in the bathroom and waited there until her assailant had departed, it then would have been only reasonable to expect that she would have divested herself of the torn playsuit and taken a bath to wash off any stains of ink that were on her skin. Isn’t that right?”
“Oh, sure,” Tragg said sarcastically, “go ahead. You can make an explanation that will fit anything, provided, of course, you concede those impossibilities. Go ahead and prove that some person called on her and threw ink on her.”
“Thank you,” Mason said. “I think I will, Lieutenant. That, I believe, is all.”
“That’s all, Lieutenant,” Hanover said.
Judge Osborn said, “At this time, in view of the fact that Mr, Endicott wishes to have his check back, I think that it will be in order for the Court to take a twenty-minute recess while the clerk makes a photostat of that check. The photostat can then be received in evidence as an exemplar of the handwriting of the decedent.”
Judge Osborn retired to his chambers. The newspaper reporters, gleefully sensing a dramatic picture which would attract the interest of their readers, thronged around the embarrassed Lieutenant Tragg, snapping a series of flashlight photographs showing the police officer pulling feminine lingerie from the shopping bag and trying to assemble it on the table in the form of a rectangle.
Mason caught the eye of Paul Drake as the tall detective arose from the spectator’s seat where he had been taking in the proceedings.
Drake came forward, grinning. “You’ve sure got the boys on the run, Perry,” he said.
Mason’s features showed the extreme nervous tension under which he was laboring.
“Quick, Paul,” he said in a low voice, “I want you to pull a job for me.”
“What is it?”
Mason said, “We’ve got to consider the plain simple facts in this case. Rose Keeling had packed up to go somewhere. She suddenly started to unpack for no apparent reason. She gave Ralph Endicott a check for a thousand dollars. After having written Marilyn Marlow that Marilyn’s mother was a crook and that the will was invalid, she suddenly became friendly and wanted to play tennis with Marilyn. Does that give you any ideas?”
“What do you mean?” Drake asked.
“There’s only one logical explanation. Paul, there’s no question but what Ralph Endicott has an iron-clad alibi?”
“No question. I’ve checked it and double-checked it.”
“All right,” Mason said, “then there’s only one other explanation. I want you to go and stand at the door of the courtroom and continue to stand there.”
“Why?” Drake asked.
“Just stand there,” Mason said, “that’s all. You don’t need to do it until court reconvenes, but the minute Judge Osborn gets on the bench, I want you to go and take up a position just outside the door of this courtroom, where you can hear what’s going on. And I want you to stand there.”
“That’s all?”
“No. One more thing. You’ve got some men here to help you?”
“A couple of my best boys.”
“All right. I want you to give one of them this subpoena. It calls for the attendance of the cashier of the bank where Rose Keeling had her account and on which this check is drawn. The cashier is the one who certified that check and accepted Rose Keeling’s signature on it. I want that man brought here and I want the records of Rose Keeling’s account for the last sixty days brought along with him. Get one of your men in a cab, rush him to the bank, grab the cashier and bring him up here pronto. Tell him it’s a forthwith subpoena and he has to appear at once.”
“Okay. Anything else?”
“That,” Mason said, “is all. But be sure that when court reconvenes you’re standing in the door of the courtroom.”
21
Before the clerk returned with the photostat of the certified check, some thirty minutes had elapsed. Judge Osborn, apprised of the delay, waited in chambers, automatically extending the recess.
At the end of the thirty minutes, Judge Osborn, reconvening court, said, “The clerk was unfortunately detained. However, we now have a photostatic copy of the certified check which, I believe, you want to offer in evidence, Mr. Mason?”
“That is right, Your Honor.”
“Very well. That photostat will be received in evidence as Defendant’s Exhibit One. It will be stipulated, gentlemen, that so far as this entire case is concerned, the photostat may be considered as the original and the original check may now be returned to Mr. Ralph Endicott?”
“So stipulated,” Hanover said.
“That is my understanding, Your Honor,” Mason agreed.
“The clerk will deliver the original certified check to Mr. Ralph Endicott,” Judge Osborn said. “Come forward, Mr. Endicott, and receive the check.”
At that moment, Mason, who had been watching the door of the courtroom, saw Drake’s operative come in with the cashier of the Central Security Bank.
While the clerk was delivering the certified check to Endicott, Mason walked out through the gate of the railed-off enclosure to greet the cashier.
“Mr. Stewart Alvin?” he asked in a whisper.
“That’s right.”
Mason said, “I want to put you on the stand. You have the bank’s records with you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Just a moment,” Mason said. “Wait right there, please.”
He walked back to the railed-off enclosure, bent over Marilyn Marlow and said, “Marilyn, I’m going to take a gamble. I think I know what happened. I haven’t any time to try and verify it.” Then he straightened, said to Judge Osborn, “Your Honor, I have a witness whom I would like to put on out of order. I feel that the Deputy District Attorney will have no objection because I think he will also wish to use this same witness.”
“Who is it?” Hanover asked, instantly suspi
cious.
“Mr. Stewart Alvin, Cashier of the Central Security Bank. It is his signature which appears on that certification of the check drawn by Rose Keeling. I wish to ask him about the certification and assume that the Deputy District Attorney will welcome an opportunity to have him identify the signature of Rose Keeling.”
“Very well,” Hanover said, “go ahead and put him on,” and then added with something of a smirk, “If you don’t, I will.”
Mason said, “Take the stand, Mr. Alvin.”
Alvin was duly sworn, answered the preliminary questions and then turned to Mason expectantly.
Mason said, “For the purposes of this examination, Your Honor, it might be better to show the witness the original certified check rather than the photostat. If Mr. Ralph Endicott will stand up beside the witness, he can show the witness the check as I ask him the question.”
Ralph Endicott moved over toward the witness stand.
“You certified a check purporting to have been drawn by Rose Keeling, dated the seventeenth of the month and payable to Ralph Endicott, and being in the sum of one thousand dollars?” Mason asked.
“I believe I did, yes, sir.”
“Please show him the check, Mr. Endicott.”
Endicott handed the check to the cashier.
“That’s right. Yes, sir. That’s the check and that’s my signature. It was certified at ten minutes past ten on the morning of the seventeenth.”
“Go ahead and ask him about Rose Keeling’s signature,” Hanover said tauntingly.
Mason bowed. “And that’s Rose Keeling’s signature?”
“That’s correct.”
“You were acquainted with Rose Keeling personally?”
“I knew her signature.”
“And were acquainted with her personally?”
“Yes, I knew her when I saw her.”
“You knew that she was a nurse?”
“Yes.”
“Now, can you tell us exactly what happened when Mr. Endicott appeared and asked you to certify that check?”
“Why, yes, I took the check, felt positive that it was the genuine signature of Rose Keeling, but knew I had to check her balance, and decided to check her signature at the same time.”
“Why did you do that?”
“She didn’t usually carry a very large balance, and I remember thinking that a thousand dollars was rather a large check for her to issue in one amount. I wanted to make certain that she had that amount on deposit. While I was checking the balance I decided that I’d check her signature just to make sure.”
“So you compared the signature on the check with her signature on the records of the account?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And found she had a thousand dollars on deposit?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you remember the exact amount of her balance?”
“I can refresh my recollection.”
“Do so.”
The cashier looked at his records, said, “The exact balance was eleven hundred and sixty-two dollars and forty-eight cents.”
“If that check had been presented the week before, would it have been good?” Mason asked.
The cashier smiled and shook his head.
“How did it happen that it was good on that particular day?”
“She had deposited one thousand dollars in cash on the afternoon of the sixteenth, shortly before closing hours.”
Mason said, “Thank you, Mr. Alvin! That’s all.”
“No questions on cross-examination,” Hanover said.
The cashier picked up his brief case and left the witness stand.
Mason said, “Just a moment. I’d like to have Mr. Ralph Endicott answer another question. He’s already been sworn. You might just return to the witness stand, Mr. Endicott.”
“This is further cross-examination?” Judge Osborn asked.
“Further cross-examination,” Mason said. “Just a question or two.”
Endicott slid into the witness chair.
“You’ve already been sworn,” Mason said. “You’ve heard the testimony of the cashier of the Central Security Bank?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You did present that check to him for certification?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you know anything about the ink smear which appears on the back of the check? The smear of a thumbprint?”
“Yes, sir. I explained that to you a few days ago when you first asked me about it.”
“And what was the explanation?”
“When I presented the check at the bank I started to endorse it. I got some ink on my finger from the fountain pen and that ink left the imprint of my thumb on the back of the check.”
“Exactly,” Mason said. “Now, I notice that that is a different type of ink, a different quality of ink from that which appears on the face of the check.”
“That’s right.”
“And that,” Mason said, “is because you use a ball-point fountain pen which writes with ink which is inserted into the pen under pressure and is a different type of ink from that used in the fountain pen with which Rose Keeling customarily signed her name.”
“I don’t know about what kind of a pen she uses,” Endicott said suspiciously.
“You will notice the shading in the lines of the signature on that check which you have, Mr. Endicott. That was written by Rose Keeling.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you notice the shading?”
“Yes, sir. I do, now that you call my attention to it”
“And it is impossible to shade with a ball-point fountain pen. No matter how much pressure is exerted, the width of the line remains the same?”
“I guess so. Yes.”
“But you use a ball-point fountain pen and Rose Keeling customarily used a conventional fountain pen?”
“Apparently that’s right.”
“But this letter which she sent Marilyn Marlow, and a carbon copy of which was sent to you, must have been written with a ball-point pen?”
“Apparently it was. Yes, sir.”
“Your pen?” Mason asked.
“What makes you ask that?”
Mason smiled and said, “Because, Mr. Endicott, the evidence would now indicate that you had called on Rose Keeling on the sixteenth, that you had bribed her by giving her a thousand dollars in cash and got her to write this letter at your dictation and send it to Marilyn Marlow. You had taken a carbon copy for your own protection.”
“That’s not true!” Endicott said savagely.
“And the next day,” Mason went on smoothly, “Rose Keeling had a change of heart. She called you and told you she wasn’t going to go through with it, that she was going to tell Marilyn the whole story and that she was going to give you the thousand dollars back. You called on her and tried to persuade her not to do this, but nevertheless she gave you the thousand-dollar check. Isn’t that right?”
Endicott moistened his lips with his tongue. “No, sir,” he said, “that’s not right!”
Mason smiled and said, “No, Mr. Endicott, I don’t think it’s right.”
“I’m glad you don’t, because that’s un unwarranted accusation.”
“But the reason I don’t think it’s right,” Mason said, “is because I don’t think you were the one who called on her the next day.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let me see that fountain pen you’re carrying in your pocket,” Mason said.
Endicott handed him the pen, then suddenly thinking over the situation, made a grab for it, trying to get it back.
Mason avoided the grasping hand, unscrewed the cap and said, “But this isn’t a pen with a ball-point. And it has your name stamped on it. It is a conventional stub-point, rubber sack fountain pen.”
“It’s an old one,” Endicott said. “My ball-point is my new one. I loaned it to someone and haven’t got it back—never did get it back—or if I did, I lost it. I haven’t been able to find
it for some few days now.”
Mason said, “You say that’s your thumbprint on the back of the check. Suppose you just make your thumbprint here so we can see if it matches.”
“But, Your Honor,” Hanover protested, “that’s incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial. It’s not proper cross-examination. It has no bearing on the case.”
Mason said, “It has a bearing on it now. The man has sworn that’s his thumbprint. I submit, Your Honor, that it’s not. And this man can be prosecuted for perjury. Go ahead and make your thumbprint, Mr. Endicott. I challenge you to do so!”
“You know that’s my thumbprint,” Endicott shouted.
Mason smiled and said, “It’s not your thumbprint, Mr. Endicott. That thumbprint is the thumbprint of your brother, Mr. Palmer E. Endicott. And I’m going to ask Mr. Palmer Endicott to come forward. Come right forward and be sworn, Mr. Endicott, you … Stop him!”
Palmer Endicott, who had been edging toward the door, suddenly bolted from the courtroom.
Paul Drake, standing in the door, stepped forward and tackled the running man. The pair of them crashed to the floor of the corridor, with Paul Drake holding Endicott in a firm grip, the little man kicking and squirming, throwing his arms around in an attempt to pummel Drake’s face.
Pandemonium broke loose in the courtroom.
22
Mason, seated in his office, grinned across at Della Street, said, “Della, I think this calls for a celebration. The Ice Follies are here this week. Get four of the best seats available, and make arrangements for a table at our favorite night club.”
Della Street moved toward the telephone.
She had just completed the call when Paul Drake’s code knock sounded on the door.
Della Street opened the door.
Drake came into the office, assumed his favorite position in the big leather chair, scratched his head, and said, “How the hell you do it is beyond me!”
Mason grinned. “A murder case is simply a jigsaw puzzle, a lot of things to be put together. If you have the right solution, all of the parts fit into the picture. If some of the parts don’t seem to fit, it’s a pretty good indication you haven’t the right solution.”
The Case of the Lonely Heiress Page 21