The first conference took place the day after Dan Fancy, accompanied by Broadway columnist Henry Drew, turned himself in at the Lake City police headquarters.
“You said Fancy would never come up for trial,” Ed Ossening complained nervously. “You said he’d be killed resisting arrest, or attempting to escape, and no one but the coroner would have to pass on the evidence against him.”
“That was before Drew entered the picture,” Big Jim snapped. “How the hell can I have him bumped when a nationally syndicated columnist sits outside his cell all day?”
“I don’t understand how Drew got down here, or what his interest in it is.”
“I do,” Big Jim said grimly. “He flew down. He’s a pal of Dan Fancy’s, and Fancy is using him as life insurance. But with the evidence we’ve got rigged, he’ll need more than a newspaper columnist, to beat this rap.”
The second conference took place the following afternoon.
“I don’t like this lawyer, Farraday, who’s defending Fancy,” the D.A. said. “He’s one of the top criminal lawyers in the country.”
“It takes more than a legal rep to beat the kind of evidence you’ve got,” Big Jim growled at him. “What’s eating you?”
“He hadn’t been in town ten minutes when he had a writ of habeas corpus,” Ossening said nervously.
“So what? The hearing went all right, didn’t it? Fancy’s bound over for the grand jury without bail.”
“That’s what worries me. Farraday didn’t didn’t even ask for bail.”
“Relax,” Big Jim advised. “At least Fancy is where he can’t make any trouble over the Saunders killing. In two more weeks young Robinson takes the final jolt, and Fancy won’t even be up before the grand jury by then.”
That same evening the third conference took place.
“Listen,” Ed Ossening said plaintively. “I’m getting scared. Somebody’s pulling strings.”
“What now?” Big Jim inquired irritably.
“Fancy has been moved way up on the grand jury’s calendar. He goes before it tomorrow morning.”
Big Jim pulled a blank mask over the expression of surprise which started to grow on his face. “So what?” he asked with studied indifference.
“Well, we don’t have any fix in with the grand jury, do we?”
“We don’t need one,” Big Jim said. “What can they do in the face of the evidence but remand him until trial?”
The fourth conference occurred the morning after the grand jury decided Fancy should be tried for first degree homicide.
“I thought somebody big was pulling strings in the Fancy case,” Ed Ossening said breathlessly. “Circuit Judge Anderson has Fancy’s trial scheduled to start this afternoon!”
“Well, you’re ready, aren’t you?” Big Jim asked irritably.
“Yes, of course. But who ever heard of such quick action in a murder case?”
“You lawyers make me sick,” Big Jim told him. “You get all upset if there isn’t a lot of legal delay. I read of a case in Alabama where a guy was arrested for murder, legally tried and hanged in twenty-four hours.”
“This isn’t Alabama,” the D.A. muttered.
The fifth conference took place the evening of the first day of Dan Fancy’s trial.
“I can’t understand this lawyer, Farraday,” Ed Ossening said worriedly. “He didn’t challenge a single juror. Didn’t even question them. Who ever heard of a jury in a murder trial being seated in one day?”
“You got the jury you wanted, didn’t you?” Big Jim said. “I own every one of those guys. With that jury, you couldn’t lose the case even without evidence.”
“I’m scared,” the district attorney said simply. “Let’s withdraw charges.”
“Are you crazy?” Big Jim roared. But his next words were a tacit admission that the same thought had at least occurred to him. “We can’t withdraw charges without admitting the whole thing is a frame. Get in there and prosecute, or there’ll be a new district attorney in this county next election.”
“Yes, sir,” said the D. A.
The case of the People versus Daniel Fancy started out rather dully. The prosecutor, though a man of unquestioned legal ability, and seemingly in possession of an airtight case, did not have an inspiring courtroom manner. Though he presented a bland, unruffled visage to the jury, there was an indefinable air of unease surrounding him, and it seemed to increase as he paraded witness after witness before the jury. There was no obvious reason for his unease, for little by little he was weaving what appeared to be an indestructible case.
From the spectator’s standpoint the defense contributed little more to the interest of the trial. The famous John Farraday, who most of the spectators had come to see in action, disappointed them by apparently going to sleep in his chair. His sharp chin rested upon his chest during the entire presentation of the state’s case, and his eyes seemed to be closed. But periodic indication that he was conscious came each time Prosecuting Attorney Edward Ossening finished with a witness and Judge Anderson inquired if the defense wished to cross-examine. Then the theatrically long white hair of the famous lawyer would flutter briefly as his head gave an impatient shake, after which he again seemed to sink into a coma.
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-thirty o’clock, a call had come into the Homicide Bureau from the fiancée of Detective 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 hack. 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 Hart 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.