“She has no alibi,” pointed out Ellery, “and a theoretical double motive of uncomfortable potency.”
“All embroidery.” Bill’s tone was savage. “We don’t need an alibi, legally speaking. Even at that, though, I’m in hopes that I can get the cashier of the Fox theatre to identify her. At any rate, that’s the extent of his case. And will you tell me, please, where in this set of facts there is anywhere the slightest implication of Lucy in person? You don’t know the law. Circumstantial evidence strong enough to convict must place the accused at the scene of the crime, above all other evidence. You tell me how Pollinger’s going to prove that Lucy Wilson, herself, in the flesh, was in that shack on the night of June first!”
“Her car—” began Ella.
“Rats. Her car doesn’t put her there. Anybody could have stolen her car. As a matter of fact, that’s what happened.”
“But the inference—”
“The law doesn’t countenance such inferences. Even if Pollinger produced an article of her clothing in that shack — a handkerchief, a glove, anything — that wouldn’t be proof she was there. I mean proof within the rules of circumstantial evidence.”
“Well, don’t throw a fit over it, Bill,” sighed the red-haired woman. “It sounds good the way you put it, but...” She frowned and, picking up her glass, took a long drink.
Bill’s face softened. He went to her and seized her free hand. “I want to thank you, Ella — I haven’t had a chance before. Don’t think I’m ungrateful. You’ve been a pillar of strength, and your newspaper articles have unquestionably swayed public opinion. I’m damned glad you’re on our side.”
“Hey, that’s my job,” she said lightly, but her smile was tender. “I don’t believe Lucy knifed that ape. All’s fair in love and murder trials, isn’t it? And the class-angle on this case was too tempting... I hate the guts of that Park Avenue crowd, anyway.” She pulled her hand free.
“So,” murmured Ellery, “does Bill.”
“Now listen—” began Bill. “Just because I recognize a certain human balance doesn’t mean...” He stopped, flushing.
Ella Amity glanced at him with raised brows. “Aha,” she said. “Snoop Scents Romance. What’s this, Bill — another case of the Montagues and the Capulets?”
“Don’t be silly,” he snapped. “You two have the most annoying faculty for making mountains out of molehills! The girl’s engaged to be married. Hell, she’s ‘way out of my class. I’m just...”
Ella’s left eyelid drooped at Ellery. Bill champed his jaws in a helpless fury and turned away. Ella rose and refilled her glass. None of them spoke for a long time.
In the jammed courtroom Paul Pollinger launched the State’s case with a fanged rapidity, as cold and sure as if the trial were an inconsequential formality to the fore-ordained conviction. Even though the tall windows and skylights were open and the electric fans going, the room was suffocating with the heat of packed bodies. Pollinger’s collar was a rag, and Bill’s face steamed. Only Lucy Wilson’s at the defense table, flanked by two hard-eyed State troopers, seemed impervious to the heat. Her skin was dry and pallid, as if already the vital processes of perspiration had ceased. She sat stiffly, her hands in her lap, staring at the seamed face of Judge Menander and avoiding the embarrassed glances of the mixed jury.
‘By the end of the first day,’ typed the cross-eyed reporter from the Philadelphia Ledger, ‘Prosecutor Pollinger demonstrated once more in a murder trial his genius for lightning construction of vital elements. Mr. Pollinger built his case rapidly. During the day he put on the witness-stand Coroner Hiram O’Dell, Defense Counsel William Angell, Chief of Police De Jong, Grosvenor Finch of New York, John Sellers, Arthur Pinetti, Sergeant Hannigan, and Lieutenant Donald Fairchild of the New York Police Department. Through the testimony of these witnesses he succeeded in establishing an insurance motive against the defendant, primary facts concerning the discovery of the body, and a number of important exhibits, including the broken halves of the radiator-cap alleged to come from the defendant’s Ford coupé. In the opinion of trained observers Mr. Pollinger scored a damaging blow when he was able, over the constant hecklings and objections of Mr. Angell, to inject into the record the testimony of his experts concerning the all-important Firestone tire prints in the mud before the shack where Joseph Kent Wilson was stabbed to death. The entire afternoon was consumed by the direct testimony and cross-examination of Sergeant Thomas Hannigan of the Trenton police, who first examined the tire impressions, of Chief De Jong, who found the Ford coupé alleged to belong to Mrs. Wilson, and of Lieutenant Fairchild. Lieutenant Fairchild is a recognized authority on the science of automobile-tire identification.’
‘On the stand,’ clicked out the telegrapher in the press-room, continuing his transmission of the Ledger man’s story, ‘Lieutenant Fairchild resisted all Mr. Angell’s savage attempts to cast doubt upon his findings, substantiating to the last detail Sergeant Hannigan’s testimony. The New York expert compared photographs and plaster casts of the tire prints from the roadway with the actual tires of Mrs. Wilson’s Ford, exhibited in the courtroom by the State.
‘“In the case of worn automobile tires,” testified Lieutenant Fairchild in summing up his findings, “it is possible to make as positive identification as in the case of human fingerprints. No two tires which have seen service for any length of time will be found to leave the same impressions in a plastic surface. These Firestones are several years old and their treads are scarred and gashed. I have carefully run the defendant’s car over the driveway before the scene of the crime, under conditions exactly similar to those on the night of the murder. I found that these tires left scar-prints, gash-prints, worn areas and so on identical with those in these plaster casts.”
‘“And your conclusion from this, Lieutenant?” asked Mr. Pollinger.
‘“In my opinion there is no doubt whatever that the impressions from which these photographs and casts have been taken were made by the four tires in evidence.”
‘An attempt by Defense Counsel Angell to insinuate that the “four tires in evidence” were not the tires from Mrs. Wilson’s car but had been deliberately substituted by the police was effectually resisted by Mr. Pollinger in re-direct examination.’
“No fireworks yet,” said Bill Angell to Ellery on the evening of the third day. They were in Bill’s room at the Stacy-Trent. Bill was in his undershirt, bathing his cheeks in cold water. “Whew! Have a drink, Ellery. Soda’s on the dresser. Ginger ale, if you like.”
Ellery sat down with a groan; his linen suit was crumpled and his face was caked with dust. “No, thanks. I just had a couple of exquisitely lousy lime concoctions downstairs. What’s happened?”
Bill picked up a towel. “The usual. To tell the truth, I’m getting a little worried myself. Pollinger can’t conceivably hope to get a conviction on the case he’s presenting. He hasn’t connected Lucy at all. Where’ve you been all day?”