“I mean to say,” Mason replied, “that I am going to give an interview to the press in which I will positively deny that the body is that of Carl Moar.”
“There’ll be newspaper reporters there?” Della Street asked.
“There will be before I get through talking,” Mason said grimly.
Drake, reaching for the telephone, said, “Gosh, Perry, if you’d only stayed in Bali!”
Chapter 18
Donaldson P. Scudder entered the courtroom with the air of a crusader, armed in the cause of righteousness and intent on routing the forces of evil. He faded to speak to Perry Mason. Judge Romley took the bench. The bailiff intoned the usual formula for opening court.
Scudder arose as soon as court had been convened, cleared his throat and said with the distinct articulation of one who is carefully weighing his words, “Your Honor, it has reached my knowledge within the last few hours that there is another eyewitness to the murder who was within a few feet of the defendant when she fired the first shot. I have endeavored to locate this eyewitness and have failed. While I can make no promises, I sincerely hope to be able to have this witness in court within forty-eight hours. I can assure your Honor that the circumstances necessitating the making of this motion are most unusual. I therefore ask that the case be continued for two days.”
Judge Romley shifted his eyes toward Perry Mason.
Mason was on his feet, his manner indignant, his voice booming through the courtroom. “Your Honor, not only do I oppose the motion and object to it, but I characterize the making of it as prejudicial misconduct. I characterize the statements made in regard to that witness as pure propaganda intended for newspaper consumption and comparable in every way with the statement released to the press yesterday that the body of Carl Moar had been recovered!”
Scudder took a deep breath, stood very erect, and said, “Your Honor, the only reason I cannot produce this witness now is that Perry Mason has concealed him. I even have reason to believe that the witness is being concealed against his will.”
Mason jumped to his feet. “Your Honor,” he shouted, “that is the most dastardly accusation which can be made against a practicing attorney. The deputy prosecutor...”
“Just a minute, Mr. Mason,” Judge Romley interrupted, his voice crisp and businesslike. “I wish to ask Mr. Scudder a few questions. Mr. Deputy District Attorney, are you aware of the grave implications attending your statement?”
“I am, your Honor.”
“Are you prepared to substantiate those statements?”
“I am not only prepared to do so, your Honor, but I would welcome the opportunity of doing so. At this time, I cannot produce the evidence which my office hopes to produce at a later date, when criminal action will be taken against the attorney for the defendant, but I can at least produce sufficient evidence to justify your Honor in granting this continuance.”
“And I demand that such proof be produced!” Mason shouted.
Judge Romley said, “Very well, the Court will at this time entertain proof in support of a motion made by the Prosecution that the case of The People versus Anna Moar be continued for forty-eight hours. Proceed with your proof, Mr. Deputy District Attorney.”
“Call Mabel Foss to the stand,” Scudder said.
The woman who had waited on Perry Mason and delivered the photographs to him, came forward and was sworn.
“You reside and have a place of business in a little storeroom at 3618 Stockton Boulevard?” Scudder asked.
“I do.”
“Are you acquainted with Perry Mason, the attorney sitting here?”
“I have seen him, yes.”
“When?”
“Day before yesterday.”
“Did you have any business transactions with him?”
“I did.”
“What?”
“Mr. Mason asked for some pictures which had been left to be developed by a Mrs. Morgan Eves. He said that he was a neighbor and friend.”
“And who is Morgan Eves?”
“He resides in the flat on the third floor.”
“Of the house in which you have your shop and place of business?”
“Yes.”
“How long have you known Morgan Eves?”
“Some two months.”
“I will show you a photograph and ask you if that is a photograph of Morgan Eves.”
Scudder produced a printed placard showing a man’s face, both front view and profile. A prison number was printed across the man’s chest. Below appeared a series of fingerprints.
Mason said, “I object to this. There is no need to introduce a man’s criminal record in this indirect manner.”
“The objection is overruled,” Judge Romley said. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this, Counselor.”
“Do you know the man whose picture is shown here?” Scudder asked.
“Why, yes, that’s Mr. Eves. I had no idea he was a—”
“That’s the man you know as Morgan Eves, the man who lives in the flat on the third floor of the house at 3618 Stockton Boulevard?” Scudder asked.
“Yes.”
“And Mr. Mason called and secured pictures which had been left to be developed by Mr. Eves’s wife?”
“Yes.”
“Now, do you know a Roger P. Cartman?”
“I have seen him,” she said. “He came over from Honolulu with Mrs. Eves. She’s a nurse. He was suffering from a broken neck.”
“And was removed from an ambulance and taken up to the flat rented by Mr. Eves?”
“Yes.”
“That’s all,” Scudder said. “No questions,” Mason announced. “My next witness,” Scudder announced, “is Christopher G. Borge.”
Borge, looking decidedly bored, raised his huge frame from his chair, walked to the clerk, was sworn, eased himself into the witness chair, crossed his knees and looked at the deputy district attorney.
“Your name is Christopher Borge, and you are now, and for several years have been, a criminologist connected with the homicide detail of the police force in this city?”
“I am.”
“And what has been your training for your position?” the deputy district attorney inquired.
Mason raised his eyebrows in surprise, inquired, “May I ask if you’re endeavoring to qualify this man as an expert?”
“Yes!” snapped the deputy, without turning his head.
Borge paid no attention whatever to the comments of Counsel. He glanced indifferently down at the reporter’s desk, where the shorthand reporter was making his pen fly across the paper, and said, “I studied chemistry, fingerprinting, forensic medicine, and toxicology, ballistics, handwriting, photomicrography and several other allied subjects.”
“When you say that you studied fingerprinting, what do you mean?” the deputy district attorney asked.
“I mean that I took a regular course in fingerprinting and all of its phases, learned the methods of indexing and filing fingerprints, of identifying men from fingerprints, of developing what are known as latent fingerprints, photographing them, checking and comparing them.”
“I call your attention to the photograph which has been identified by the witness who preceded you as that of Morgan Eves and ask you if you have ever seen that man.
“I have.”
“Do you recognize him?”
“I do.”
“Who is he?”
“He’s James Whitly, also known as James Clerke.”
“Does he have a criminal record?”
Mason jumped to his feet, his manner that of one who is cornered and fighting desperately.
“Your Honor, I object. This is incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial.”
“It is on a motion only, your Honor, addressed to the discretion of this Court,” Scudder said, “and this is preliminary. I intend to connect it up.”
“Overruled,” Judge Romley said.