Dan and the Death-Cell Bluff

“Who was I supposed to have killed?” he asked curiously. “Larry Bull?”

“Yes. You didn’t, did you?”

“Not that I remember. But I have been expecting him to show up dead. When was I supposed to have done it?”

“Last night. A little after eight.”

“Humm...” he said thoughtfully. “I was at his house about then. No doubt Big Jim has witnesses to the shooting, ballistic tests to prove it was my gun and all the other necessary proof. Should make an interesting trial.”

“What are you going to do, Dan?”

“Nothing. But you are. Get a pencil and paper. I want you to make a couple of long distance calls for me.”

Chapter Four Tough Town Justice

District Attorney Edward Ossening was a round, sleek man with a calm manner and horn-rimmed glasses which gave him the appearance of a benevolent owl. During the first few days after the murder of Homicide Detective Lawrence Bull, a series of secret conferences took place between Big Jim Calhoun and District Attorney Ossening. They were not very satisfactory conferences, and Big Jim’s temper grew more ragged after each one. The D.A. managed to maintain his benevolent air, but beneath it his calmness disintegrated and his nerves became as ragged as Big Jim’s temper.

The first conference took place the day after Dan Fancy, accompanied by Broadway columnist Henry Drew, turned himself in at the Lake City police headquarters.

“You said Fancy would never come up for trial,” Ed Ossening complained nervously. “You said he’d be killed resisting arrest, or attempting to escape, and no one but the coroner would have to pass on the evidence against him.”

“That was before Drew entered the picture,” Big Jim snapped. “How the hell can I have him bumped when a nationally syndicated columnist sits outside his cell all day?”

“I don’t understand how Drew got down here, or what his interest in it is.”

“I do,” Big Jim said grimly. “He flew down. He’s a pal of Dan Fancy’s, and Fancy is using him as life insurance. But with the evidence we’ve got rigged, he’ll need more than a newspaper columnist, to beat this rap.”

The second conference took place the following afternoon.

“I don’t like this lawyer, Farraday, who’s defending Fancy,” the D.A. said. “He’s one of the top criminal lawyers in the country.”

“It takes more than a legal rep to beat the kind of evidence you’ve got,” Big Jim growled at him. “What’s eating you?”

“He hadn’t been in town ten minutes when he had a writ of habeas corpus,” Ossening said nervously.

“So what? The hearing went all right, didn’t it? Fancy’s bound over for the grand jury without bail.”

“That’s what worries me. Farraday didn’t didn’t even ask for bail.”

“Relax,” Big Jim advised. “At least Fancy is where he can’t make any trouble over the Saunders killing. In two more weeks young Robinson takes the final jolt, and Fancy won’t even be up before the grand jury by then.”

That same evening the third conference took place.

“Listen,” Ed Ossening said plaintively. “I’m getting scared. Somebody’s pulling strings.”

“What now?” Big Jim inquired irritably.

“Fancy has been moved way up on the grand jury’s calendar. He goes before it tomorrow morning.”

Big Jim pulled a blank mask over the expression of surprise which started to grow on his face. “So what?” he asked with studied indifference.

“Well, we don’t have any fix in with the grand jury, do we?”

“We don’t need one,” Big Jim said. “What can they do in the face of the evidence but remand him until trial?”

The fourth conference occurred the morning after the grand jury decided Fancy should be tried for first degree homicide.

“I thought somebody big was pulling strings in the Fancy case,” Ed Ossening said breathlessly. “Circuit Judge Anderson has Fancy’s trial scheduled to start this afternoon!”

“Well, you’re ready, aren’t you?” Big Jim asked irritably.

“Yes, of course. But who ever heard of such quick action in a murder case?”

“You lawyers make me sick,” Big Jim told him. “You get all upset if there isn’t a lot of legal delay. I read of a case in Alabama where a guy was arrested for murder, legally tried and hanged in twenty-four hours.”

“This isn’t Alabama,” the D.A. muttered.

The fifth conference took place the evening of the first day of Dan Fancy’s trial.

“I can’t understand this lawyer, Farraday,” Ed Ossening said worriedly. “He didn’t challenge a single juror. Didn’t even question them. Who ever heard of a jury in a murder trial being seated in one day?”

“You got the jury you wanted, didn’t you?” Big Jim said. “I own every one of those guys. With that jury, you couldn’t lose the case even without evidence.”

“I’m scared,” the district attorney said simply. “Let’s withdraw charges.”

“Are you crazy?” Big Jim roared. But his next words were a tacit admission that the same thought had at least occurred to him. “We can’t withdraw charges without admitting the whole thing is a frame. Get in there and prosecute, or there’ll be a new district attorney in this county next election.”

“Yes, sir,” said the D. A.