A Handy Death

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.