A Handy Death (22 page)

“The deceased had been hospitalized at Wickersham Hospital with what he claimed were recurring and increasingly severe headaches, and died there. The deceased had been a patient of the hospital eight years before, suffering from gunshot wounds, and the autopsy was requested by his physician to determine if those gunshot wounds could have been responsible for his death. As for his identity, his physician vouched for it, and his fingerprints are on record with the police department, who verified them for identification.”

“Thank you,” Varick said. “Now, as to your examination, would you tell us of your procedure and results?”

Dr. Hamilton's attitude, like that of Mr. Paretta, was completely relaxed, also the result of having testified in court many times. He brought forth his glasses, carefully polished them and put them on, and then reached into his pocket for the autopsy report. He glanced at it and then looked up.

“I did a customary post-mortem examination which is called an autopsy. The body was that of a well-developed Caucasian male weighing one hundred eighty-five pounds and measuring five feet nine inches in height. The hair on the head was black. The body below the neck had no scars or tattoos. There was a severe scarring on the lower right cheek, the result, according to the Wickersham Hospital records, of a gunshot wound suffered eight years before. The scarring was entirely consistent with these records.

“The body was opened through a Y-shaped incision. The lower—”

Varick interrupted smoothly.

“Doctor, I have seen a copy of the autopsy report, and a copy has also been furnished to the defense. To save the jury from details which have nothing to do with the case, could I put this question to you: In examining the other organs, other than the brain, did you find any evidence of disease or trauma that could possibly have caused death?”

“No, sir.”

“Were the organs in a condition consistent with a man of Mr. Neeley's age?”

“They were.”

“Thank you, Doctor. Now, could you come to the point and tell us the cause of death?”

Dr. Hamilton looked up from the written autopsy report.

“It was the finding of the post-mortem examination that death was caused by the presence of a lead fragment having worked its way into contact with the frontal lobe of the brain during a period of time, that lead fragment being the result of a previous gunshot wound.”

There were several moments of silence when the doctor finished speaking. Varick nodded slowly, allowing the words to sink into the jury; when he spoke his voice was respectful, almost reverent.

“Thank you, Doctor.” He turned to Ross, his whole attitude challenging the defense to fault the testimony.

Steve Sadler smiled at Ross. “Go get him, boss!”

Ross squeezed Steve's shoulder as he rose and faced the bench.

“No questions.”

Judge Waxler's eyebrows went up. The startled expression on the faces of both Gorman and Varick were nothing compared to the look of utter incredulity on Steve Sadler's face. He bent over, whispering furiously as Ross sat down.

“Damn it, Hank! You could have created tons of doubt in the minds of the jury! How often have they done an autopsy on a man eight years after he was shot? What happened to all those lovely questions we formulated yesterday before you got that hot flash about Grace Melisi's husband?”

“I changed my mind,” Ross said in a low voice, his eyes crinkled in a slight smile. “It would have been a smoke screen, and while I've got nothing against smoke screens, it's not what we need as a weapon right now.”

“Then what
do
we need?”

Ross glanced at his wristwatch.

“To hear from Mike Gunnerson,” he said shortly, and returned his attention to the trial. During their whispered conversation a stocky, plainly dressed man had taken the stand and been sworn in. Varick stood before him.

“Please state your name, shield number, and assignment.”

“I am Detective Martin Schwab, shield number 879, assigned to the twentieth precinct here in Manhattan.”

“On July 25, 1964, were you working for the police department of New York?”

“I was.”

“What was your assignment then?”

“I was a uniformed police officer assigned to radio motor patrol number 2641, assigned to Sector Adam.”

“On that date were you involved in the arrest of the defendant?”

“I was the arresting officer.”

“Will you describe the circumstances surrounding the arrest?”

“We—my partner and I—were called on the car radio and told to investigate an alleged shooting at apartment six, 453 West Sixtieth Street. We proceeded there. When we arrived a man, the defendant, was running from the lobby of the building. We apprehended him and returned him to the sixth floor where my partner held him while I investigated. The door of apartment six was open. Inside I found a man on the bedroom floor suffering from a gunshot wound to the face. My partner went downstairs to call an ambulance on the radio while I stayed and did what I could to stop the bleeding.”

“This wounded man was Raymond Neeley?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did Mr. Neeley make any statement in your presence?”

“No, sir. He was unconscious.”

“Did you find the weapon used in the shooting?”

“Yes, sir. It was a twenty-two caliber S&W target pistol.”

“Did you find any other gun on the premises?”

“No, sir.”

“How thoroughly did you search for a second weapon?”

“The suspect told us the other man had pulled a gun on him and he had fired in self-defense, so we searched
very
thoroughly, even before the ambulance came. And then, after we had booked the defendant, we returned and did an even more thorough search, because the defendant also told us of a suitcase—”

“We've already heard the testimony of the defendant,” Varick said, interrupting. “You never found the second gun?”

“No, sir.”

“Nor the suitcase?”

“No, sir.”

“While you and the police officer with you were seeing that the wounded man was sent off in the ambulance, and while you were booking the suspect at the precinct, was it possible that someone might have entered the apartment and removed this alleged suitcase, say, or the alleged revolver?”

“No, sir. I remained in the apartment with the suspect while my partner helped the ambulance attendants with the wounded man. Then we sealed the apartment when we removed the suspect to book him. When we returned to continue our search, the seals were intact.”

“These were standard police-department seals used for this purpose all the time?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, regarding this gun, this twenty-two caliber weapon, we have heard testimony from the trial transcript here today that indicated the defendant claimed he was in the apartment with a woman and that this woman gave him the gun and told him to fire it in self-defense. Did you find any woman on the premises?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you find any sign that a woman had been there and had vacated the premises within a short period of time of the shooting?”

“No, sir. We found no evidence that a woman had been there at all.”

“I see. Now,” Varick said, “was this gun this unknown woman supposedly handed the defendant ever identified as to ownership? This twenty-two caliber pistol that was used to shoot Raymond Neeley?” He glanced over toward the defense table and said, “If the defense objects to this witness presenting the facts, I can easily have Mr. Paretta return and read them from the transcript.”

Ross tipped his head politely. “No objection.”

Detective Schwab said, “The twenty-two caliber weapon used in the shooting was identified as a weapon belonging to the suspect himself.”

Varick smiled, a triumphant smile.

“No more questions. Your witness for cross-examination, Counselor.”

Ross started to rise and then paused at a slight disturbance at the rear door of the courtroom. Sharon McCloud was hurrying down the aisle. She leaned over to speak to Ross in a low tone.

“Mike Gunnerson said you're just plain lucky …”

She handed him a sealed envelope. Ross tore it open and read the brief note inside with a smile. Judge Waxler tapped his gavel to get Ross's attention, and then tapped it a bit harder. Ross looked up.

“Mr. Ross,” Judge Waxler said with a bit of sympathy—as far as he could see, the defense was in trouble—“if the defense would care for a recess until tomorrow morning, it is now after four o'clock and the court is prepared to entertain such a request.”

Ross came to his feet. “Thank you, Your Honor, but the defense is prepared to continue at this time.”

“Very well, if that is your wish. You may cross-examine then.”

“No questions, Detective Schwab. You may stand down.”

Steve Sadler stared at him with an amazement approaching shock.

“Hank, that's twice! What is this? You could have taken him apart! The apartment was empty when they came and the door was open; anyone could have been in there! And what kind of a search do you think they could have done waiting for the ambulance, and trying to keep Neeley from bleeding to death? A
very
thorough search, he said! You could have—”

Hank Ross grinned. “Patience, Steve. Patience.”

Gorman and Varick, equally startled, were in conference, but it did not last long. Judge Waxler's gavel tapped again.

“Mr. Varick, we have another half hour if you care to use it. Are you prepared to call your next witness?”

“Your Honor, Detective Schwab was my last witness,” Varick said, and glared across the room at Ross with suspicion. Ross was up to something, he was sure, but he could not imagine what it could possibly be; he knew the prosecution had done a good job. Paul Varick sighed. “The People rest.”

Judge Waxler looked from the prosecution table to the defense table and raised his gavel.

“Court is adjourned!”

CHAPTER

16

Judge Waxler had ascended the bench and settled himself; the spectators had squirmed themselves into relative comfort and the Press had completed the betting that was normal among reporters on an interesting trial. Despite Ross's reputation, the odds were strongly against Dupaul. Hank Ross came to his feet; on the table beside him was a thick folder of information miraculously procured by Mike Gunnerson and an army of agents in a matter of less than twenty hours.

“The defense calls its first witness: William Dupaul.”

Billy Dupaul rose and crossed the room under the curious eyes of everyone in the courtroom. He sat down in the witness chair, slouching a bit, and was sworn in while Ross waited patiently. Ross then moved forward.

“What is your full name?”

“William Emerich Dupaul.”

“What is your business or occupation?”

There was a small gasp of surprise from everyone in the courtroom; Billy Dupaul's history was only too well known. Judge Waxler looked down disapprovingly, as if suspecting levity, but Ross's face was calm. At the prosecution table both Gorman and Varick were studying the defense counsel with suspicion. Billy Dupaul's face was unconcerned. Ross waited until the small disturbance had quieted itself.

“Mr. Dupaul, the question was: What is your business or occupation?”

“At present I'm unemployed.”

“I see. The last time you
were
employed—gainfully employed, that is—what did you do?”

“I was a baseball player.”

“A professional baseball player?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What position did you play?”

“I was a pitcher.”

“Since the time when you were employed as a professional baseball player, have you played any—shall we say—
amateur
baseball?”

“Yes, sir.”

“When was the last time you played in an amateur game?”

“A week ago Thursday.”

“You pitched in that amateur game?”

“Yes, sir.”

Ross nodded to him pleasantly. “Thank you, Mr. Dupaul. That's all. I have no more questions.” He turned to Varick, nodding pleasantly. “Mr. District Attorney, you may cross-examine.”

This time the surprise of the spectators took the form of a loud buzz that swept the courtroom. Judge Waxler's gavel came down several times before the sound level in the room reduced itself to his satisfaction. The reporters in the press box were scribbling furiously. Varick came to his feet, smiling confidently for the benefit of the jury, but behind the façade of assurance was a complete lack of understanding as to why Ross should have handed him his case on a platter. Still, he intended to follow his pretrial plan before testing the gift that had been presented to him by Ross's direct examination.

“Your Honor,” he said, “the prosecution, frankly, is rather surprised by Mr. Ross's brief and rather unusual direct examination. We had expected the direct examination to take at least several hours. The prosecution is at a loss to know what Mr. Ross has in mind, but yes; we are certainly not only anxious to cross-examine, but quite prepared.”

He smiled at the jury and turned to the witness.

“Mr. Dupaul, we will get around to your baseball career in a little while, but first a few questions regarding the crime on which you are charged. First, in your testimony you claim that on the night of July 25, 1964, you were in a bar with a woman, but that nobody—among the customers or the bartenders—saw you two together. Is that true?”

“Yes, but I—”

“Unless a more detailed answer is indicated by a question, please just answer ‘yes' or ‘no.' Now, you further claim that you went to the Neeley apartment with this woman in a cab, but no cab was ever located that made that trip. Is that true?”

“Yes, but—”

“Please. You further claim that Raymond Neeley appeared in the doorway with a suitcase, but that suitcase was never found. Is that true?”