Arthur Cabot asked, “Do you mean, Sergeant, that what King was in a position to reveal about Mr. Hathaway and/or Mr. Stander might have constituted a motive for murder in each case?”
“Possibly.”
“In other words, Sergeant, public disclosure would have discredited or damaged the persons you have just named?”
“Yes, sir.” Trimble added quickly, “But in Mr. Hathaway’s case we discovered that he had instructed his chief control engineer, during the intermission, to cut King off the air if he began to say anything derogatory about anyone connected with KZZX. This would have shut King’s mouth before he could damage Mr. Hathaway publicly, if that was what King meant to do. To that extent Mr. Hathaway had no immediate motive.”
Hathaway was perspiring. Layton saw him begin to reach for a handkerchief, then stop.
The coroner leaned forward. “I remind the jury that no one is on trial here and that your sole duty is to determine the cause of death. While the coroner’s jury has a choice of verdicts — homicide, justifiable homicide, suicide, accidental death, or death from natural causes — you are not empowered to elaborate on any of these possible verdicts by finding, for example, that death was by homicide at the hands of a specified person or persons. Even if the testimony should point to some individual as a murderer, the name of such individual cannot be included in the verdict. We are here today to get at the cause of Tutter King’s death, and nothing more.”
The coroner turned to Trimble. “Consequently, Sergeant, as you know, we have a great deal of latitude in these proceedings. In your opinion, is it necessary for the jury to know precisely what information the deceased had about Mr. Hathaway?”
“In my opinion, no, sir,” the one-eyed detective said. Layton heard Hathaway expel a long, tremulous breath. “It was nothing technically illegal, but to have it made public might cost Mr. Hathaway his job. I personally don’t see that anything would be gained, for purposes of this proceeding, by putting it on the record.”
“Can you tell us, Sergeant,” the assistant district attorney asked wearily, “what information the deceased had in respect to Mr. Stander?”
Out of the corner of his eye Layton saw Stander stiffen.
“Yes, sir, because I have reason to believe it’s going to be all over the newspapers soon, anyway. Mr. Stander secretly owns a substantial interest in a recording company. Under FCC regulations this constitutes a conflict of interest, since Mr. Stander is also chairman of the board of KZZX. However, Mr. Cabot, we discussed this with your office, and the consensus of legal opinion was that the only thing the FCC would do in such a case is insist that Mr. Stander dispose of his stock either in KZZX or in the recording company. Both stocks have gone up in value recently, so while to dispose of either holding might inconvenience Mr. Stander, he would certainly suffer no financial loss and would, in fact, gain.”
“In short, then, Sergeant,” Cabot said, “your considered opinion, as the police officer in charge of the investigation into King’s death, and after discussing all aspects of the case with the district attorney’s office, is that while various persons had the opportunity to murder the deceased, none possessed what you regard as a compelling motive? Is that a fair statement of your opinion?”
“Yes, sir.”
Cabot glanced, at the bench. The coroner nodded. “You may step down, Sergeant.”
Layton was astounded. Trimble had not testified as to the ice pick missing from Hubert Stander’s kitchen, or to any of Mrs. Stander’s revelations. And he had not even hinted at the rivalry between Stander and King over Lola Arkwright’s affections.
But on reflection Layton realized what must have happened. The police, the coroner’s office, and the district attorney’s office had agreed in advance that there was no evidence sufficient to warrant an indictment for murder.
Such prior agreement among the three agencies of the law was, of course, perfectly ethical. The thing that bothered Layton was that the agreement indicated fresh developments in the case of which he was totally ignorant.
16
The thin, bald, keen-eyed man seated in the front row was called to the stand and identified himself as Dr. Maxwell Swart, chief of the medical division of the coroner’s office. Stripped of its medical terminology, Dr. Swart’s testimony peeled down to what Layton already knew: the blade of an ice pick had penetrated the deceased’s heart, causing immediate death; the angle of the wound was such that it could have been self-inflicted; there were no bruises, contusions, or other wounds on the body that might have indicated a struggle.
The police lab man, Lewis Mason, described his and his coworker’s findings in room 1, where the body had been discovered, and in room 2, the disc jockey’s dressing room. There had been no detectable sign of a struggle in either room. There Had been no clues, of any nature, to indicate the presence of a second person in room 1 with the deceased, and no indication that King might have suffered the fatal stab-wound in room 2 and been dragged across the corridor to room 1. Shown a tagged ice pick by Cabot, Mason identified it as the ice pick he had found imbedded in King’s chest.
“Were you able to trace this ice pick, Mr. Mason?”
“No, sir. It’s of a very common type, sold by the thousands all over the country.”
“Did you find fingerprints on the ice pick?”
“Yes, sir. Four, which we identified as coming from the right hand of the deceased.”
“Which four, Mr. Mason?”
“All but the thumb.”
“Were you able to establish whether deceased was right-handed or left-handed?”
“He was right-handed. Millions of TV viewers can testify to that from having watched him perform on his show for five years. We have affidavits to the same effect from numerous persons connected with Station KZZX who were in daily contact with him, and from Mrs. King.”
“Was the position of deceased’s four fingerprints on the ice pick handle compatible with, let us say, his having grasped the ice pick firmly to stab himself?”
“Yes, sir. The thumbprint was not laid down, of course, because in grasping the handle the thumb would overlap the fingers.”
“One thing more, Mr. Mason,” young Cabot murmured. “Was there any indication on the ice pick, identifiable or not, of a print or prints not belonging to the deceased?”
“No, sir.”
The photographer took the witness chair. He identified the photographs he had snapped of King’s body and of the two dressing rooms. Prints of these photographs were handed around to the jury.
Layton was called. Prepared as he was for the predetermined course of the inquest, he was nevertheless surprised at the brevity of his questioning. Before he had time to adjust to the witness chair, it seemed to him, he was told to step down.
Hathaway, Stander, and Lola Arkwright received equally perfunctory treatment. Like Layton, they were merely asked to describe what they had done and seen during the news-break interval. In the redhead’s case, Cabot asked two further questions.
“As Mr. King’s assistant, Miss Arkwright,” the young man from the D.A.’s office said, “you were very close to him from the time he reached the station on the day of his death, not to mention at other times?” Was there the faintest sardonic note in Cabot’s murmur? Layton saw Lola flush; she had caught it, too. And he heard Nancy’s almost inaudible sniff of contempt.