Giving some indication of the importance which the district attorney’s office attached to the case, was the fact that Hamilton Burger, the district attorney, was present in person, assisted by Maurice Linton, one of the most able of the younger trial deputies.
Maurice Linton, a slim, fiery man with quick, nervous gestures and a gift for oratory, arose to make a brief opening statement.
“Your Honor,” he said, “while I realize that it is somewhat unusual to make an opening statement in a preliminary hearing of this nature, yet, inasmuch as much of our evidence will be circumstantial, and as it seems quite evident from the number of witnesses subpoenaed and the preparations made by the defense that an attempt will be made to throw this case out of court at the end of this hearing, I want the court to understand what we are trying to prove.
“We intend to prove that Roger Burbank had a violent altercation with the deceased on the night of the murder; that thereafter, the defendant, Carol Burbank, endeavored to give her father a false alibi by suborning perjury. We intend to show that at an auto court where a political meeting was claimed to have been held, a collection of empty bottles holds the fingerprints of Carol Burbank, of Judson Beltin, and of no one else. We will also prove that the defendant, Roger Burbank, a strong, powerful man, a trained boxer in his youth, inveigled the decedent to his yacht and there murdered him.”
The judge looked to Perry Mason, “Do you desire to make any statement, Mr. Mason?”
Jackson, seated at Mason’s left, leaned forward and whispered, “I think he’s impressed by that statement. You’d better say something.”
Mason merely shook his head. “We’ll wait until we see how the case develops, Your Honor.”
“Very well. The prosecution will call its first witness.”
The prosecution called Lieutenant Tragg, introduced evidence of the finding of the body of Fred Milfield, the identification of the body, the position in which the body was found, the place where the yacht was moored, virtually all of the elements necessary to establish a corpus delicti.
“You may cross-examine,” Linton announced.
Mason seemed elaborately casual in his cross-examination. “The murder was committed aboard a yacht?”
“Yes.”
“And where was the yacht anchored?”
“I think if counsel will wait a little while,” Burger said, “that question will be satisfactorily answered. We have some witnesses who will produce charts, photographs and maps.”
“Then,” Mason said, “I feel that I should be entitled to postpone my cross-examination of this witness until after those are introduced.”
“No objection,” Burger said.
Mason announced with a smile, “That’s all, Lieutenant.”
Burger next called a surveyor, introduced a chart of the estuary, showing the place where the yacht was anchored, showing diagrams of the ulterior of the yacht, a diagram of the deck, of the cabin, then announced triumphantly, “You may cross-examine.”
Mason said, “The yacht was anchored at the place you have marked with a cross on People’s Exhibit Number One. Is that correct?”
“That’s correct.”
“How deep was the water at that point?”
The surveyor smiled, “I don’t know. I located the yacht by triangulation, and superimposed the location upon a chart of the estuary.”
“Very interesting. And you don’t know how deep the water was?”
“No, I’m a surveyor — not a diver.”
The courtroom laughed.
Mason didn’t even smile. He said, “That’s all.”
The surveyor was followed by a photographer who introduced various photographs showing the interior of the cabin, the body of Fred Milfield sprawled on the floor, the yacht riding at anchor, a view of the starboard side of the yacht; then a view of the port side of the yacht; then one of the bow, and one of the stern.
“Cross-examine,” Linton said.
Mason said very quietly, “How deep was the water at that point?”
A titter ran through the courtroom.
The photographer said quickly, “I don’t know. I’m a photographer, not a diver.”
The titter swelled into audible merriment. The judge rapped for order.
Mason said casually, “That’s all.”
Jackson, somewhat concerned, leaned forward to whisper to Mason, “I think the audience in the courtroom is laughing at you.”
“Do you, indeed,” Mason whispered without even bothering to turn around.
Burger called Mrs. Daphne Milfield.
Mrs. Milfield, attired in black, her eyes still slightly swollen from weeping, took the witness stand.
“You are the widow of Fred Milfield, the decedent?” the district attorney asked with that sympathetic consideration which district attorneys always show for the widows in murder cases.
“Yes,” she answered in a voice that was hardly audible.
“Mrs. Milfield, are you acquainted with Roger Burbank, one of the defendants in this case?”
“Yes.”
“How long have you known him?”
“Ten years.”
“Do you know whether Roger Burbank asked your husband to meet him at any designated place on the day your husband met his death?”
“Yes. Mr. Burbank telephoned.”
“When?”
“About eleven-thirty that morning.”
“Who answered the telephone?”
“I did.”
“And did you recognize the voice of Roger Burbank?”
“I did.”
“The voice which you have known for some ten years?”
“Yes.”
“And what did Mr. Burbank say?”
“When he found Fred wasn’t there, he said he was very anxious to get in touch with him, that he wanted Fred to come aboard his yacht for a conference at five o’clock that afternoon. He said his yacht would be at the usual place, that the thing he wanted to see Fred about was a matter of greatest importance.”
“And you’re certain this was Roger Burbank with whom you were talking?”
“Yes.”
“Did you communicate this message to your husband?”
“I did.”
“When?”
“About twenty minutes after the call was received.”
“How?”
“My husband called up on the telephone to tell me he wouldn’t be home for dinner, might not get in until after midnight.”
“And you gave him this message from Roger Burbank?”
“Yes.”
“What did your husband say, if anything?”
“He said he bad already talked over the telephone with Mr. Bur...”
“Objected to,” Mason interposed, “as incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial, not part of the res gestae, and therefore hearsay.”
“Sustained,” Judge Newark ruled.
“You may cross-examine,” Hamilton Burger announced.
Jackson leaned forward to whisper to Mason, “That ‘knowing him for ten years’ business is a trap. He’s hoping you’ll walk into it and give her an excuse to get that old case in front of the court.”
Mason nodded, said to the witness, “You say you have known Roger Burbank for ten years, Mrs. Milfield?”
“Yes,” she answered in a voice that was hardly more than a whisper.
“Have you known him well?”
“Quite well.”
“Was he in Los Angeles all of that time?”
“No.”
“Where was he when you first got acquainted with him?”
“In New Orleans. I did some yachting, and Mr. Burbank was an enthusiastic yachtsman. We met that way. Actually, the first time I met him I was rowing a skiff out to a yacht, and Mr. Burbank in another rowboat started racing me.”
“You have known him longer than your husband?”