“Yes, sir.”
“And you immediately got rid of that car?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t want to be called as a witness.”
“Why not?”
“I wanted to keep out of the whole business. I’m a gambler. I knew that would be brought out somehow. You’ve done it now. That’s going to ruin my business. I’ll be closed up.”
“Your desire to keep out of it wasn’t because you were mixed up in the murder itself?”
“No, sir.”
Mason said, “That’s all.”
“Call Sergeant Holcomb,” Sampson said.
Sergeant Holcomb came striding to the witness stand. His manner clearly indicated that he had a sneering contempt for the defendant and her counsel. He was a man who knew what he was going to testify to, and didn’t intend to let any attorney confuse him. He was sworn and gave his name, address and occupation to the court reporter. He sat down in the witness chair and crossed his legs, after the manner of one who is thoroughly at his ease, amid familiar surroundings. He glanced at Larry Sampson, and his manner said very plainly, “All right, young man, go ahead.”
Sampson started building up his case with Sergeant Holcomb. The Sergeant testified to finding the body of Austin Cullens, testified to the presence of Perry Mason and Paul Drake, a private detective, at the scene of the crime, to the copper coin in the light socket. One by one, he identified photographs showing the room, the body, the red smears leading from the body to the corridor. Later on, Sampson would use those photographs with telling effect. He’d compare the size and shape of the stains in the corridor with the size and shape of the stains on the sole of Mrs. Breel’s left shoe. Right now, he wanted to get the evidence in, and minimize the effect of it as much as possible so that he could crash it home to the jury with dramatic force. And so, the long line of photographs were identified and received in evidence. Then he brought up the fatal bullet.
Sergeant Holcomb identified it. He had been standing by the side of the autopsy surgeon when the bullet had been taken from the body of Austin Cullens. He had received this bullet from the doctor. He had handed this bullet to the witness, Hogan, for the purpose of making tests. He had been present at those tests. The fatal bullet had been fired from the gun which had been taken from Mrs. Breel’s handbag.
“Cross-examine,” Sampson said to Perry Mason.
“How long have you been attached to the homicide squad, Sergeant Holcomb?” Mason asked.
“Ten years,” Holcomb said.
“You’ve had considerable experience in working up murder cases in that time?”
“Naturally.”
“You know what to do when you enter a room where a homicide has been committed?”
“I think I do.”
“Do you go through the pockets of the corpse, Sergeant?”
“Not until the coroner gets there. We leave the body just the way it is until the coroner arrives.”
“And you did that with the body of Austin Cullens?”
“Yes.”
“And then you searched the pockets?”
“We did.”
“You found a chamois-skin belt on the corpse?”
“We did.”
“Were there some jewels in that belt?”
“There were a few jewels left in the belt,” Sergeant Holcomb said. “Mrs. Breel had taken the gems from front pockets of the chamois-skin belt and put them in her bag.”
“You don’t know, of your own knowledge, that Mrs. Breel did that, do you, Sergeant?”
“Well, I have a pretty good idea... As you said, I’ve been on Homicide for ten years, and I’m not so dumb.”
Judge Barnes said, “The Court, of its own motion, will strike out the remarks of the witness as to what Mrs. Breel must have done, as being a conclusion of the witness and not responsive to the question.”
“Can you remember what was in the pockets of the corpse?” Mason asked.
“I can by refreshing my recollection from notes I made at the time.”
“Do so,” Mason said. Sergeant Holcomb produced a memorandum book. “What was in the upper left-hand vest pocket of the corpse?” Mason asked.
“A fountain pen and a pocket comb.”
“What was in the left-hand hip pocket?”
“A handkerchief and a pen knife.”
“What was in the right-hand hip pocket?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“That’s right. You heard what I said — nothing.”
“Nothing at all?”
Sergeant Holcomb said, “I don’t know how you can have a nothing, unless it’s a nothing at all. When I say nothing, Mr. Mason, I mean nothing.”
Mason said, “Let’s see, Sergeant, you were present at a post-mortem examination made by Dr. Frankel on the body of Austin Cullens, and immediately following that you were present at the postmortem made on the body of George Trent. Is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“You didn’t leave the room where the postmortem was conducted, from the time Dr. Frankel started to work on the body of Austin Cullens until he finished with the body of George Trent?”
“That’s right.”
“You received one bullet from Dr. Frankel which had been taken from the body of Austin Cullens?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, just to keep the records straight, Sergeant, let’s refer to the bullet which was taken from the body of Austin Cullens as the Cullens bullet, and the thirty-eight caliber revolver, which the witness Diggers says he found in the handbag of Sarah Breel, the defendant in this case, as the Breel gun. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, what did you do with the Cullens bullet?”
“I put it in my left-hand vest pocket.”
“Now, a few minutes later you received from Dr. Frankel a bullet which had been taken from the body of George Trent, did you not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, for the purpose of keeping the records straight, let’s refer to that as the Trent bullet. And, since it is claimed that that bullet was fired from a revolver found in the drawer of a desk in Trent’s office, we’ll refer to that gun as the Trent gun. Do you understand, Sergeant?”
“Certainly.”
“All right. Now what did you do with the Trent bullet?”
“I put that in my right-hand vest pocket.”
“Then what did you do?”
“Then I went at once to the ballistics department, where I had Mr. Hogan fire test shells from the gun.”
“How did it happen,” Mason asked affably, “that you got those bullets confused?”
“That I got what?” Sergeant Holcomb roared, half rising from the witness chair. “I didn’t confuse any bullets.”
“I thought you did,” Mason said. “Didn’t you hand Hogan the Trent bullet to check with the Breel revolver?”
“I did no such thing.”
“I thought Hogan said you did.”
“Well, he didn’t,” Sergeant Holcomb said, sliding over to the extreme edge of the witness chair, in order to emphasize his remarks, “and,” he went on, his face flushed to a brick red, “any insinuation to that effect is a deliberate falsehood. Your...”
Sampson jumped to his feet to interrupt hastily, “That’s enough, Sergeant, I understand how you feel, but please remember your function here is only that of a witness. Any resentment you may feel for what you consider tactics of obstruction or confusion used by counsel, is to be kept out of the case. You will please be respectful in your answers to Mr. Mason’s questions.”
Judge Barnes said, impressively, “The witness is a police officer. He is undoubtedly familiar with courtroom procedure. He will answer questions, and refrain from any comments or recriminations.”
Sergeant Holcomb’s hands were clenched into fists, his eyes glittered dangerously, and his complexion was that of a man who has been holding his breath for several seconds.