“I’ll overrule the objection,” Judge Lankershim said. “I doubt that it’s entirely pertinent, but I am going to give the defense the benefit of the widest latitude in cross-examination. The question doesn’t call upon the lieutenant to divulge in any way the source of his information. Answer the question.”
Tragg picked his words cautiously. “I received an anonymous telephone communication, giving me approximately that information.”
Mason smiled. “That’s all.”
“I call Matilda Shore as my next witness,” Burger said.
Matilda Shore, who was sitting next to the aisle, raised herself from the seat by clinging to her cane with one hand, the back of the seat in front of her with the other, and walked to the witness chair, where the clerk administered the oath. While she was walking, the jurors, as well as the spectators, had an opportunity to listen to the peculiarly distinctive sound of her steps.
When she had given her name and address, Burger lost no time in getting to the point.
“You are the wife of Franklin B. Shore?”
“I am.”
“And where is Mr. Shore now?”
“I don’t know.”
“When did you see him last?”
“Approximately ten years ago.”
“Can you give us the exact date?”
“January 23, 1932.”
“And what happened on that date?”
“He disappeared. Someone was talking with him in his study, someone who wanted money. The voices were raised for a while in angry altercation. Then they quieted down. I went to bed. I never saw my husband after that. He disappeared. I knew, however, that he wasn’t dead. I knew that some day he would show up...”
“Never mind what you felt or surmised,” Burger interrupted hastily. “I just want to establish certain things to prove a possible motivation for the entering of your house by a person who was interrupted before he could achieve the purpose for which he had come. For that purpose only, I’ll ask you if there were some checks which were cashed just before and after your husband’s disappearance?”
“Yes.”
“One of those checks was for ten thousand dollars?”
“Yes, sir.”
“To whom was it payable?”
“A man named Rodney French.”
“There were several other checks?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, where were those checks when you saw them last?”
“They were in my bedroom in a pigeonhole in a desk which was pushed back against the wall.”
“That was a roll-top desk?”
“Yes, sir.”
“An old one?”
“Yes, sir. It had been in my husband’s study. It was his desk.”
“You mean he had used it continuously up to the time of his disappearance as his desk?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you were using it on the thirteenth of this month?”
“That’s right.”
“And these checks which I have mentioned were in there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How many of them?”
“There were about a dozen of them in an envelope, checks which had been put through the account within the last few days prior to his disappearance, or checks which had been written immediately before his disappearance and were cashed afterwards.”
“Why were those checks segregated in that manner?”
“Because I thought they might prove to be evidence. I put them in an envelope and kept them in this drawer.”
“When did you leave your house on the night of the thirteenth?”
“I don’t know exactly what time it was. I was getting ready for bed. It was probably around ten o’clock. I followed my usual custom of drinking a bottle of stout and shortly afterwards became violently ill. Remembering that the kitten had been poisoned, I took an emetic and went at once to the hospital.”
“Where were the checks which you have mentioned when you went to the hospital?”
“In that pigeonhole in the desk.”
“How do you know?”
“I had been looking at them shortly before, and I hadn’t left the bedroom except to go to the icebox and get a bottle of stout and a glass.”
“When did you next enter your bedroom?”
“The next morning about nine o’clock when I was discharged from the hospital.”
“Did anyone accompany you?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Lieutenant Tragg.”
“At his suggestion, did you search through your room to see if anything was missing?”
“Yes.”
“Did you find anything missing?”
“No.”
Burger produced the watch and fountain pen which had been identified as having been found near Leech’s body. Mrs. Shore stated positively they were the property of her husband, that he had had both of these objects in his possession the night he had disappeared, and that she had never seen them again until the police had shown them to her.
“Cross-examine,” Burger said.
“You couldn’t find that anything was missing from your room when you searched it after your return from the hospital?”
“No.”
Mason said, “That’s all.”
Swiftly Hamilton Burger laid the foundations for a complete case. He called the autopsy surgeon, called Dr. Rosllyn, identified the bullets which had been taken from the wound inflicted on Jerry Templar and from the body of Henry Leech. He then recalled Lieutenant Tragg to get the bullet which had embedded itself in the woodwork of the Shore home; following which he called the expert from the criminal laboratories who introduced photographs showing the distinctive scratches made by the rifling and by pits in the barrel of the gun, showing that these bullets had all been fired from the same gun.
Judge Lankershim glanced at the clock. “You will understand,” he said to Burger, “that we are not trying the murder case at this time.”
“Yes, Your Honor, but we are showing the circumstances which surrounded the commission of the alleged crime in this case. We are showing the significance of what had happened and the importance of having the police unimpeded in their efforts to solve these crimes.”
Judge Lankershim nodded, glanced curiously at Mason, who seemed to be taking but very little interest in the entire procedure.
“I will now call Thomas Lunk,” Hamilton Burger announced with something of a flourish.
Lunk came shuffling forward. He seemed reluctant to testify, and Burger had to draw his story from him a bit at a time, frequently using leading questions, occasionally cross-examining his own witness, a procedure which Judge Lankershim allowed because of the apparent hostility of the witness.
Pieced together, Lunk’s story made a convincing and dramatic climax to the case the district attorney had been building up. He told of how he had gone home from work that night, of how Helen Kendal had brought the kitten to his house where it was left for safekeeping, told of how he had listened to the radio, read a magazine, and while he was in the midst of reading this magazine, he had heard steps on the porch, knocking at the door. He had opened the door, and then drawn back in surprise as he recognized the features of his former employer.
He mentioned but briefly that they had “talked for a while” and then he had given Shore the bed in his spare bedroom. He had waited until he felt certain his visitor was asleep, then had quietly slipped out of the front door, taken a late street car, got off at a point nearest the Shore residence, and started hurriedly for the house; that the defendant had intercepted him, asked him if he wanted to see Mrs. Shore, and, on being assured that he did, had taken him in an automobile, stating that she would take him to Mrs. Shore that thereafter she had, as he reluctantly admitted, “stalled around” until Perry Mason had appeared on the scene, whereupon they had gone to a hospital, and Mason had told him Mrs. Shore was virtually in the custody of the police that thereafter Mason had taken him to the Maple Leaf Hotel, had secured a room for him under the name of Thomas Trimmer that he had gone to his room. After he had started to undress, there had been a knock at the door. Police radio officers had taken him into custody. He had no idea how they had found out where he was.