“Well, Doctor, if you scratched your initials into the handle of the knife with an etching tool, how can you be sure that the pressure you put on the knife didn’t alter its position in the body and cause more extensive wounds than would otherwise have shown up in your autopsy?”
Dr. Fenton was indignant. “I did no such thing. I never said I scratched my initials on the knife while it was still in the body.”
Steve feigned surprise. “Oh? So when you scratched your initials on the knife it had been removed from the body?”
“It had.”
“Did you remove the knife from the body?”
“Ummm. No, sir. I did not. My assistant, Dr. Blake, removed it.”
“And what did he do with the knife?”
“Ummmm. Well…”
“Yes?”
“Well, Sergeant Stams wanted to fingerprint the knife, so he turned it over to him.”
“I see. So it was Sergeant Stams who gave you back the knife?”
Dr. Fenton shifted in his seat. “Well, no, actually it was Lieutenant Farron who returned it to me.”
“Ah. So it was Lieutenant Farron who gave you back the knife. And where were you at the time?”
“In my laboratory at the city morgue.”
“And it was at Lieutenant Farron’s request that you scratched your initials on the handle of the knife, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Then how do you know that the knife Lieutenant Farron handed you was the same knife you found in the body?”
“I recognized it.”
“How? You hadn’t scratched your initials on it yet.”
“I recognized it by the blood.”
“Anyone can put blood on a knife. What was there about the knife itself that enabled you to distinguish it from the hundreds of other knives of the same make and model as that found in the body?”
“It looked like the same knife.”
“I daresay it did. Now then, Doctor, if I were to produce evidence that on the afternoon of the seventh Lieutenant Farron purchased a knife similar to the one you have identified as People’s Exhibit number one, is there anything in your testimony that would prove that this was not that knife?”
Dirkson was on his feet. “Your Honor, I object. Counsel is indulging in the wildest fantasy. I defy him to produce such testimony.”
“It is a hypothetical question only, Your Honor,” Steve said, “for the purpose of impeachment.”
Judge Crandell nodded. “It is an impeaching question. The objection is overruled. Witness will answer the question.”
Dirkson slowly sat down.
Steve turned back to the witness.
Dr. Fenton sighed. “No, sir, there is not,” he said wearily.
“And you can’t identify this knife as being the one you found in the body?”
“No. I cannot.”
“Thank you.” Steve turned to the judge. “Your Honor, I move that the doctor’s testimony as to the knife, People’s Exhibit number one, being the fatal weapon, be stricken from the record.”
“Granted,” said Judge Crandell. “It will go out. The jurors will disregard Dr. Fenton’s testimony concerning the murder weapon.”
Dirkson was back on his feet. “Your Honor, this comes as something of a surprise. I had intended to introduce the knife into evidence at this time as the murder weapon.”
Judge Crandell shook his head. “Not unless you can connect it up.
“I understand. If I might have a short recess to locate the necessary witnesses?”
Judge Crandell glanced at the clock. “Court will stand in recess for half an hour.”
The judge banged his gavel. Court broke up.
Steve Winslow turned to Sheila Benton. Already the officer and the matron had appeared at her side. “Chin up, kid,” he said.
She had time to flash a twisted smile before they led her away.
38
Mark Taylor pushed his way through the crowd in the courtroom.
“Steve!” he called out.
Steve turned and saw him coming through the gate.
“What is it, Mark?”
“I just heard from our correspondent in California.”
“And?”
“There’s no record of a marriage license issued to an Alice Baxter and Samuel Benton. There is no record of a death certificate on Samuel Benton. And there is no record of a birth certificate issued for Sheila Benton or a Sheila Baxter.”
Steve stroked his chin. “So maybe she was illegitimate.”
“Maybe. And maybe this Samuel Benton didn’t die after all.” Taylor smiled. “That’s assuming he ever existed in the first place.”
“Let’s assume he did. Try finding him, Mark. Give him top priority. I don’t care about anything else in the case, but I want that man.”
“I’ve got men working on it now. Listen, what’s this about the knife not being the fatal weapon?”
Steve waved it away. “Forget it. That’s bullshit.”
“You mean it is the fatal weapon?”
“Of course it is. The prosecution will connect it up as soon as the recess is over.”
“Then why make such a fuss about it?”
“Just misdirection.”
“Misdirection?”
“Yeah. You know, like the way a magician fools his audience by focusing their attention on his right hand while he’s doing something with his left. The important part of the coroner’s testimony isn’t the murder weapon, it’s the time element. The D.A. laid a trap for me by only asking the doctor when Greely was killed, and not asking his reasons. He wanted me to cross-examine him as to how he determined the time of death. Then the doctor would come out with volumes of medical testimony, all of which would have pointed up the fact that Greely was killed at just the time Sheila was in the apartment. Every question I asked would only prejudice the jury against her. So I’m ignoring the time element and concentrating on the murder weapon.”
“Great. But when the prosecution connects it up, won’t it look as if you’ve lost a point?”
Steve smiled grimly. “Listen,” he said. “I’m going to lose a lot more of them before this is over.”
39
When court reconvened, Dirkson called Dr. Morton Blake to the stand.
“Your name?” Dirkson asked.
“Dr. Morton Blake.”
“What is your occupation?”
“I am deputy coroner.”
“Directing your attention to the seventh of June, were you called to 193 West 89th Street, apartment 2B, to examine a body?”
“I was.”
“And did you examine the knife in the back of the body?”
Steve Winslow rose to his feet. “Your Honor, the prosecutor is leading the witness. All these questions are leading and suggestive.”
“These are preliminary questions, Your Honor,” Dirkson said, irritably.
“I think they are,” Judge Crandell said. “Nevertheless, try not to lead the witness. The objection is sustained. Please rephrase your question.”
Nettled, Dirkson turned to the witness and said sarcastically, “Did you notice anything sticking in the back of the decedent that struck you as unusual?”
Dr. Blake smiled. “Yes, sir. A knife.”
“Did you do anything to that knife?”
“Yes, sir. I removed it from the body.”
“And then what did you do with it?”
“Well, the police wanted to test it for fingerprints, so-”
“That’s not the question,” Dirkson interrupted quickly, hoping to stave off another objection. “You know you can’t testify as to what the police wanted. The question is, what did you do with it?”
“I gave it to Sergeant Stams.”
“And where were you when you gave it to him?”
“Right there. At the scene of the crime.”
“And did you see what Sergeant Stams did with the knife?”
“Yes, sir. He put it in a plastic evidence bag and wrote his name on it.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Dirkson said. He turned to the defense table. “Your witness.”
With a broad grin, Steve announced, “No questions.”
Dirkson frowned. After Steve’s cross-examination of the coroner, Dirkson had expected him to tear into Dr. Blake.
“The witness is excused,” said Judge Crandell. “Call your next witness.”