Chapter One
The defense attorney paced in front of the witness stand. He smiled at the witness, a middle-aged man with an expanding waistline and receding hairline. Both men wore gray business suits, but the lawyer's suit was immaculately pressed, able to pass the inspection of the strictest of drill sergeants. In contrast, the man on the witness stand obviously seemed out of place in his dress clothes.
"Mr. Able," attorney Daniel Sinclair said to the witness, "did you see Judge Branson shot?"
The eyes of the man on the witness stand followed the steps of the man asking the question. "I saw him fall backwards out of his chair," Able replied with a thick southern accent.
"But," Sinclair said, "did you actually see the alleged assassination?" Sinclair ceased his pacing in front of the witness and turned to face him.
"Oh, there was nothing 'alleged' about it," Able said. "That judge fell backwards out of his chair, dead."
A ripple of laughter went through the courtroom. Even the presiding judge smiled slightly before restoring silence with the bang of his gavel.
"You heard the shot," Sinclair pressed, "but didn't see it being fired, right?"
Able pondered the question as he looked the attorney directly in the eye. "That's right, sir," he replied after a moment of thinking. "I heard the shot, and me and my wife dove for cover."
"So you weren't actually a witness to Judge Branson's assassination, were you?"
Frank Scanlon popped out of his seat at the prosecutor's table like a Jack-in-the-box. "Objection!" he said as he jerked his glasses off his face and dropped them atop the papers in front of him. "Counsel is leading the witness."
Judge Charles Clement, a man about the same age as Frank with more gray in his hair than the District Attorney, tapped his gavel once. "Sustained," he announced. Frank returned to his seat in a better frame of mind than he had left moments earlier.
Sinclair, the youngest of the men on courtroom stage, nodded toward the judge. "My apologies, Your Honor." He returned his attention to the witness. "Let me rephrase the question, Mr. Able. Is it your testimony that you did see Judge Branson react to being shot, but you did not actually see the shot fired?"
Able reacted slowly to the question. "I'm sorry," he said finally, "I don't understand all this highfalutin lawyer talk." Able shrugged amid a few snickers in the court. "We came up here on vacation," Able continued. "We stopped at this restaurant. I was talkin' to my wife. I wasn't payin' real close attention. I wasn't expecting a James Cagney movie to break out in the middle of my dinner!"
Amid another interruption of low-level laughter Sinclair turned from the witness stand. "No further questions, Your Honor."
Judge Clement used his gavel again. "The witness is dismissed," he said. "Court is adjourned until nine o'clock tomorrow morning." The occupants of the courtroom stood as the gavel hit against the sound block. The judge and jury left through doors on opposite sides of the courtroom.
After watching the judge depart Frank looked to his left. Sinclair and his client, the notorious Carl "Cornhusker" Tillman, were staring at the District Attorney with glares that could have been as fatal as the gun used on the murder victim. Tillman gave a parting sarcastic smile to Frank before turning to chat in hushed tones with his attorney.
Frank's attention was drawn from the occupants of the table to his left as Able stopped in front of him. "Have a safe trip back to Tennessee, Mr. Able," Frank said, extending his hand.
"Sorry I wasn't much help, Mr. Scanlon," Able apologized as they shook hands.
"You were a good deal of help, Mr. Able," Frank assured the witness. "You put Tillman in the restaurant at the time of Judge Branson's murder."
For a moment Frank was distracted by the activity at the defendant's table. The police arrived to escort Tillman back to his cell. Tillman handed a man seated in the courtroom directly behind him an envelope then willingly extended his hands to the policeman. The defendant was handcuffed and escorted from the courtroom with Sinclair tailing them.
"I have a witness who saw the whole thing," Frank said to Able. "His testimony will send Tillman to the chair."
Michael Reeves entered the study. His presence brought an immediate silence in with him. Five men watched Reeves walk to the desk that sat in front of the wall to the right of the room. As Reeves reached the desk a man who was seated on the desk said anxiously, "How'd it go today?"
Reeves looked at the man with disgust. "Get off the desk!" he snapped. The man stood quickly and obediently. Reeves brushed the surface of the desk where the man had sat as if smoothing a wrinkle in his suit. Satisfied no permanent damage was inflicted on the desk, he sank into the chair behind it. "Today was not the problem," he announced to the men in the room. "All we've had thus far are witnesses who gave circumstantial evidence, putting Cornhusker at the restaurant. Tomorrow is the problem, when that newspaperman gets on the stand. He saw Cornhusker pull the trigger."
One of the five men, a tall man with unkempt dark hair and a suit to match, asked, "So, what does Mr. Tillman want us to do?"
Reeves removed a folded sheet of paper from an inside pocket. He examined the typed nonsense on the paper: "LO: NTOYY TROF OM S ESU YJSY FPRD MPY O,¼:OVSYR ID."
"Delmore," Reeves said, extending the paper away from him. In response a blond-haired man stepped forward and took the paper from Reeves. "Translate, please." Delmore nodded and went to a smaller desk on the opposite side of the room. He took a seat and wound the sheet of paper around the platen. Reeves smiled as he watch Delmore type. "I think I know what it says," he announced. "Delmore? Is the first word of the message, 'kill'?" Delmore looked at what he had typed and nodded.
"Miss Case? Are you free tonight?"
"Yes," Lenore Case replied.
Everyone who worked at the Daily Sentinel called Britt Reid's secretary "Casey". That suited her fine. "Casey" was preferable to "Lenore", which she considered too old-fashioned a name. The notable exception, at least in the office, was Britt Reid himself, who stuck to formalities.
"Good. Would you like to go to dinner?"
The muscles in Casey's jaws clenched together forcefully as if her physical being knew to override her emotional desire to scream, "Yes, I'd love to go to dinner with you!" at the top of her lungs. "That'd be great," she smiled, unsure of how long she could keep her glee from showing. "What's the occasion?"
Britt stood and left his executive desk. He stopped directly in front of Casey. "No occasion," he said. "I can reward you for doing an excellent job by taking you out to dinner, can't I?"
Casey's brown eyes darted around the room quickly before her gaze returned to Britt's handsome face. She wore a knee-length dark blue dress with a gold bee shaped broach pinned near the top. Her dark blond hair was neatly pinned up. "Sure," she said, still surprised by Britt's invitation.
"Is eight good?"
"It's great," Casey said. She grimaced to herself immediately after she spoke. The reply sounded too urgent to her ears. "What restaurant do you have in mind?" she added quickly, as much a genuine question as to take her own mind off her fears of overreacting.
Britt shrugged. "Is a quaint little steakhouse sufficient?"
"Gee, I was hoping for a hamburger joint," Casey teased.
"No hamburger joint," Britt said with a grin. "That's where the Sentinel Christmas party is going to be this year."
A knock on Britt's office door interrupted the conversation. He looked at his closed door. The door opened and Mike Axford charged in before Britt could answer the knock. Mike was an older man with a bubbling enthusiasm that seemed unusual for someone who had been in the same occupation for decades.
"Afternoon, Casey," he greeted Britt's secretary with a pat to her shoulder.
Casey started for the door. "I'll leave you two alone," she said.
"Thanks, Miss Case," Britt called sarcastically.
"Tim just got in from the courthouse," Mike announced as he walked to Britt's desk. He stopped and turned to his right. No one was next to him. His eyes traced the path to the entrance, where a young man stood timidly peering into the office. Mike motioned for the man, but he remained just outside the door.
The young man was slender and neatly dressed. He backed away from the door when Casey approached. "Hi, Miss Case," he said shyly. As a newer Sentinel employee, he addressed everyone formally.
"You can go on in," Casey said with a gesture of her thumb toward Britt's private office. The man smiled but remained just outside of the door.
Britt smiled at the young man. "Come in, Tim," he called. The man tentatively walked into the office after receiving permission from Britt. "You're doing an excellent job covering the trial," Britt complimented as he leaned against the front of his desk.
"Thanks, Mr. Reid," Tim Wilson said with a bashful smile. An expression of apprehension dominated his handsome face. "I don't like it, though," he confessed. "This is Mr. Axford's beat, not mine."
"Don't worry," Mike said with a smile and a pat to Tim's shoulder. "I'm not heading out to pasture yet. It's only temporary."
"That's right, Tim," Britt confirmed. "Mike may be called as a witness for the prosecution since he was in the restaurant with me. Therefore, he can't cover the trial. Tillman's lawyer might claim 'conflict of interest' or accuse us of trying to use the paper to sway the jury. The D.A. has waited too long to nab this guy, and I don't want to see a mistrial."
Mike's jovial nature disappeared. "I don't mind telling you, Boss, I wish I could tear into Tillman."
"Listen, Mike," Britt said, extending his right index finger toward the reporter for emphasis, "if you get on that witness stand, leave your opinion of Tillman out of it. Stick to the facts."
Mike nodded. "Don't worry about me, Boss," he assured.
Britt smiled. "If Mr. Scanlon gets the guilty verdict I'm expecting him to get, I'll let you write the editorial. How about that?"
Mike's face suddenly brightened like a light turned on. "Great!"
Britt turned his attention to the young reporter who was noticeably uncomfortable in the presence of the owner of the newspaper. "How did the trial go today, Tim?"
"Well, Mr. Scanlon won most of the objections," Tim replied, "and I think his witnesses did a good job of putting Tillman at the scene of the crime. Tillman's lawyer kept pointing out that none of them saw Tillman pull the trigger, but I don't think it had much effect."
"Don't worry about that," Britt said, "I did see Tillman pull the trigger."
"What's his lawyer like?" Mike asked.
"He's one of those 'kill them with kindness' types," Tim replied, happy to turn his attention away from his employer to the veteran reporter. "Every time Mr. Scanlon won an objection he'd apologize like a school boy caught taking cookies." Tim frowned slightly, revealing dimples in his boyish cheeks. "I found that pretty annoying."
Mike patted Tim on the back with both hands. "C'mon," Mike said gleefully, "let me see your notes about the trial today!"
As Mike neared the door Casey reappeared at the entrance. She and Mike nearly bumped into each other. "Oh, sorry, Casey," Mike said, taking a step back to allow Britt's secretary into the office.
"What's your hurry, Mike?" Casey asked with a smile. "You won't have to testify until tomorrow afternoon, at the earliest."
Mike laughed. "I'm gonna go over the kid's notes," he said with a gesture of his head in Tim's direction.
"See you later, Miss Case," Tim said quietly as he walked past her and out the door.
Casey watched through a plate glass window as the two men walked out of her office adjacent to Britt's and into the city room. She turned to her boss with a smile. "Tim's a nice kid," she commented.
Britt nodded. "Timid, shy, polite." Britt paused for a moment then added, "Think some of that will rub off on Mike?" He winked at Casey and smiled.
Casey laughed in response to Britt's joke. "Mr. Scanlon's here to see you," she announced.
"Send him in," Britt said. Casey stepped back into her office to escort Britt's guest. She returned momentarily with Frank Scanlon two steps behind her. Britt met Frank halfway into the office. "Hi, Frank," he said, warmly shaking the District Attorney's hand.
"My star witness," Frank said with a smile. He took a seat in a chair in front of Britt's desk.
"Would you like some coffee, Mr. Scanlon?" Casey offered.
"Please."
After Casey left to get coffee Britt leaned against the front of his desk. "How's it going?" he asked.
Frank raised his eyebrows. "Not bad," he replied. "You never can tell what the jury's thinking, though. The last witness today was the man from Tennessee. He was very 'folksy,' I guess you'd say, obviously honest."
The phone hidden on a moveable shelf beneath Britt's desk rang. Britt walked behind the desk and pulled the shelf out to see which line was ringing and if the call was worth interrupting his visit with Frank over. His eyebrows rose slightly when he noticed his private line was blinking. Only three people had the private line number, two of which were within Britt's sight. He put the receiver to his ear and pushed the blinking button. "Kato?" he answered with the name of the third person with access to the number. "What's up?"
Kato Ikano stood at Britt's desk in the den in his home. The handsome young man wore a white shirt and serving jacket with a black bow tie and trousers. "Sorry to disturb you at work," he said, "but I thought you'd want to hear this. Michael Reeves has word out on the street that he is looking to hire the Green Hornet."
Britt's brow wrinkled. "Michael Reeves? Cornhusker Tillman's right-hand man? What does he want with the Green Hornet?"
"The Green Hornet?" Frank repeated upon hearing the name.
"Hang on a second, Kato," Britt said into the phone. He lowered the phone from his mouth slightly to speak to Frank. "Reeves has put the word out that he wants to hire the Green Hornet."
The mysterious man in the green mask was considered by many, especially reporter Mike Axford, to be a worse malefactor than Capone, Dillinger, and Bonnie and Clyde combined. For all the successes during his tenure as District Attorney, Mike considered Frank Scanlon a failure because the Green Hornet had not been apprehended, and Mike lambasted Frank on numerous occasions for that. As editor and publisher of the Daily Sentinel, Britt used his veto authority to remove Mike's tirades against the D.A. before they reached the printing press.
"What does he want with the Green Hornet?" Britt repeated to Kato.
"He wants to hire him to kill you," Kato replied.
Britt smiled. "Okay, Kato, get ready to roll. I'll be home in half an hour." Britt hung the phone up and closed the shelf door with his right hand.
"What's up?" Frank asked.
Casey appeared at the door with two cups of coffee in her hand. Britt met Casey halfway and took the coffee from her. "Close the door, please," he said. After Casey shut the door Britt's said, "I'm sorry, but I have to postpone our dinner engagement for this evening."
I knew it was too good to be true, Casey lamented to herself.
"I have a good excuse," Britt continued, handing a cup to Frank and setting the other coffee on his desk. "It seems Tillman's muscle man wants to hire the Green Hornet to kill me."
Casey chuckled. "Well, if that's all it is…"
Frank watched a mental replay of the final moments Tillman had been in the courtroom at the end of the day's proceedings. "Now that you mention it," he said, "Tillman handed someone a note right before he was escorted back to his cell."
"Well, now we know what the note said," Britt said. He started for the door. "If you'll excuse me," he said with a grin, "I have to go prepare for my execution."
Casey and Frank laughed at Britt's parting remark. Neither of them feared the threat of the Green Hornet attacking Britt. They both knew the man behind the mask was Britt Reid.