TCOT Absurd Assumption C20
Perry's first witness was Jennifer Fisher, the dress shop sales clerk, whom he showed a picture of Bobby Lynch, and whom she positively identified as a man who had purchased a dress identical to People's Exhibit D. It was an expensive dress, and not many had been sold, and the fact that a coarse, unsophisticated man with very specific details about a three-hundred dollar dress he wanted to buy had stayed with her for months. Perry thanked Miss Fisher and headed back to the Defense table.
Barbara Scott stood. "Miss Fisher, is there anyone else in this courtroom you recall having purchased that dress?"
Della, notebook and pencil momentarily forgotten, felt her face grow hot, bracing for the girl's answer. How unreasonably silly was it in the scheme of things that she could be so embarrassed by a dress? The reason of course, from long ago, was that she had vowed Perry would never be judged or embarrassed by the clothing she wore, and to the detriment of her bank account had developed an impeccable fashion sense. This unfortunate dress was a complete embarrassment, from the floral fabric to the droopy waist to the grandmotherly macramé details. She had been embarrassed handing over her charge card to the sales girl when she bought it, had been embarrassed every time she wore it, and was mortified now that it was on display for all to see her serious lapse in judgment.
A hideous thought came to her, far more disturbing than the embarrassment she felt over the dress. What if Bobby Lynch had seen her wear the dress, had watched her to see how she walked, how she held her head, how she wore her hair? There had only been two men who paid such attention to her clothing and carriage – one who liked the dress and how she looked in it, the other who despised the dress and if circumstances were different would joke about liking her better out of the dress than in it. She felt oddly violated.
Jennifer bobbed her head toward the Defense table and pointed at Della. "Yes – that woman there. She was the first one to buy the dress when it came in. I remember her because…"
Perry, without looking up from studying whatever paperwork was in front of him, unerringly reached out and grasped Della's left hand, his long, strong fingers squeezing hers with understanding and reassurance. Della couldn't look either, because if she did she might cry.
"Let the record show the witness identified the Defendant as having purchased the dress," Barbara Scott nearly crowed, interrupting the witness.
Della would have wondered why the Prosecutor was so pleased with her question and the sales clerk's answer had Perry not for the second time that morning publically demonstrated his support and affection for her. Only one other time had he been so demonstrative toward her in court. The resultant gossip and publicity had perversely overshadowed the trial, and she had made him promise not to do anything like it again in open court.
However, she didn't mind in the least he had broken that particular promise this morning.
Perry called Rodney Williams, a parole officer who had been assigned the case of one Robert Lynch upon his release from prison six months earlier. Lynch had been paroled from an involuntary manslaughter plea bargain after two years for knifing a man in a bar, and met with Mr. Williams on a weekly basis. Perry's intent with the witness was to establish that Bobby Lynch had been incarcerated for stabbing a man and was shot and killed, but Barbara Scott was having none of it.
"Objection on the grounds of relevancy."
Perry suspected he would be hearing a lot of that phrase despite the Judge's prior ruling if he couldn't quickly figure out who had hired Bobby Lynch.
"It's my contention that Robert Lynch was hired to kill Arthur Gordon and was in turn murdered by the person who hired him in order to guarantee his silence. I have asked for and received latitude to present this contention." There. His cards were on the table now, with only one still face down. If Paul didn't show up soon, he would have egg on his face when that card turned out to be a joker.
"The Court did rule earlier that it is willing to grant wide latitude, but when will Defense substantiate the relevance of Robert Lynch and his criminal history, or for that matter, of his purchasing a dress? I've purchased a dress or two in my lifetime, and I suspect you have as well, Counselor." Try as he might, Norman Whitewood could not refrain from glancing at the Defendant. He hadn't known Perry Mason well during his tenure as an attorney, but had heard plenty of stories about him and the lovely Miss Street. Harmless gossip among colleagues, no first-hand knowledge that would require recusal from the case.
Barbara Scott sat down with a satisfied smirk on her face. His Honor had very nicely paved the way for introducing Della Street's interesting personal life. Okay, she would just let the great Perry Mason hang himself with all this latitude.
"Your Honor, I have at minimum two and at maximum six additional witnesses to call –"
"While I appreciate that information, Mr. Mason, you still haven't told the Court when you plan to substantiate all of this."
The courtroom doors opened noisily and a breathless Paul Drake burst into the courtroom. He sought Perry Mason's eyes and nodded. A slow satisfied smile spread across the young investigator's face.
Perry could have vaulted the gallery gate and grabbed the boy in a bear hug. "We intend to do that right now. Your Honor, if I may briefly consult with my associate?"
Paul hurried to the Defense table, unzipped his pouch, and pulled out several documents, which he showed to Perry. After thirty seconds of excited whispering, Perry nodded his head once and suddenly spun to face the bench. "I call Mrs. Paula Gordon to the stand."
Paula, who was seated directly behind Della two rows back, where she could see her husband's Executive Assistant but Della couldn't see her without deliberately turning around, looked surprised and disgusted. She had been subpoenaed to testify on behalf of the Prosecution, which she was more than willing to do. Being called as a Defense witness did not please her one little bit. She walked toward the stand with a deliberately slow pace.
"Mrs. Gordon, you are currently and have been for several years, Director of the Gordon Foundation?" Perry was looking down as he asked the question, further studying the information supplied by Paul Drake, who had taken the third seat at the Defense table and was leaning protectively toward Della.
"That's correct." Her answer was belligerent and loud, letting everyone know how offended she was to be called as a witness by the attorney for the woman who had murdered her husband, as if they hadn't surmised that from the elaborate eye-rolling during her swearing-in.
"And as Director you personally approve all grants and projects the Foundation endows?"
"Yes."
Perry finally looked up. "Mrs. Gordon, are you familiar with a solar power project located near Acton?"
Paula crossed and uncrossed her legs, smoothed down her hair, lifted defiant eyes. "Yes." The affirmation was unconvincing despite her posture.
"Have you inspected the facility?"
Paula Gordon cleared her throat. "No, I have not."
"But you signed endowment checks for that project, did you not?"
"Yes." It was probably the truth, she decided, otherwise Perry Mason wouldn't have phrased the question that way.
"That's all, Mrs. Gordon."
Her brow knit in a frown, all defiance gone from her expression. "But I don't understand…"
"That's all, Mrs. Gordon."
Paula Gordon stared at Perry Mason, perplexed. Barbara Scott, refusing to look at the witness, repeated her spiel about reserving the right to recall Mrs. Gordon for cross-examination at a later time. Paula Gordon then descended the stand with less injured dignity than she had ascended, face contorted with anger and disappointment.
Barbara Scott felt she probably should have thrown out another relevancy objection for appearances sake, but after conferring with her associate, decided that objecting to every witness during this highly irregular deviation from proper court procedure surely would not endear the Prosecution to Judge Whitewood, and might very well result in being regarded as the DA who cried wolf. Paula Gordon would have her time to testify against Della Street. And Barbara Scott would leverage the latitude granted Perry Mason to have Mrs. Gordon considered a hostile witness to give credence to all of her prejudicial personal biases.
Katherine Gordon was surprised to be called as the next witness for the Defense, but she nonetheless very much enjoyed her walk to the witness stand after hearing her named announced, and took several seconds to arrange her posture and hair to best advantage before facing Perry Mason with an engaging smile. He certainly was a commanding figure in a courtroom. She was neutral in her feelings for Della Street, not having gotten to know her father's Executive Assistant particularly well over the years as Laura and David had. Why would she? What could a woman do for her? But Perry Mason was another story altogether. Her thoughts about him were decidedly not neutral.
"Miss Gordon, do you own a gun?"
"Yes. A thirty-two caliber revolver with a pearl handle."
"A pearl handle?"
Katherine dipped one shoulder and gave Perry Mason what could only be called a coquettish smile. "The gun was a gift from my father as sort of a joke. He thought I had expensive tastes." She laughed again, eyes dancing, enjoying the spotlight immensely. "He was right."
"Where do you keep the revolver?"
"At my home."
"Is it there now?"
"Yes."
Barbara Scott rattled some papers in annoyance. "I must object to this line of questioning as totally irrelevant and immaterial. The victim in this case was stabbed, he was not shot."
"But Bobby Lynch was shot," Perry Mason reminded the Court, "and it's he we are concerned with at the moment. I only have one more question for this witness, Your Honor."
"Objection overruled."
"How can we be sure the gun is still at your home, Miss Gordon?"
"It's in a drawer in my night stand. I saw it this morning before I left to come here."
Barbara Scott gave a rote speech about reserving her right to blah, blah, blah. This hearing was a travesty, a sanctioned vehicle for Perry Mason's grandstanding, and Jack Welles was going to get an earful about the old defense lawyer's fraternity on display. Misconduct charges had better be filed against Judge Norman Whitewood by her boss or she would pursue discrimination charges from the judge on down to the bailiff on her own. She settled back in her chair, hands clasped across her stomach, placing bets with herself who the Defense would call as a witness next. She lost her own bet badly as Ken Braddock was called to the stand.
Perry approached the witness stand and leaned his hands on the rail. "Mr. Braddock, you were Arthur Gordon's personal attorney as well as attorney for the Gordon Foundation, were you not?"
"Yes." The lawyer sat in the witness chair, an authoritative, urbane air about him.
"And as attorney for the Gordon Foundation, naturally you are familiar with a solar project in Acton?"
"Yes, of course. I drew up all the documents regarding the project for Mrs. Gordon."
"Who received funding for the construction of that project, Mr. Braddock?"
"That's rather difficult to answer, Mr. Mason. I have an attorney/client relationship with Mrs. Gordon as well as with the Foundation. That information is privileged." He spoke as if to a law school freshman on his first day of classes.
Perry responded in kind. "But your activities aren't privileged, Counselor, and you are under oath."
"I don't need you to explain that to me, Mr. Mason," he said with smarmy condescension, what Della had called his 'oiliness' on public display.
Perry lifted one corner of his mouth in a lopsided smile. "Mr. Braddock, are you aware there is no solar project in existence?"
Ken Braddock appeared nonplussed, and took a deliberate length of time to answer. "No, I wasn't aware of that."
"Isn't it true you invented that project and diverted the funds to yourself, Mr. Braddock?"
An even longer pause for effect, apparently stunned by Perry Mason's accusation. Finally he shook his head. "No, it is not true."
"Isn't it true you pushed this non-existent solar project past Mrs. Gordon and diverted funds you requisitioned because you needed money to support your mistress, Katherine Gordon?" Perry strode away from the witness stand, his back to Ken Braddock, eyes locked on the man's mistress seated in the spectator gallery. He had made no promises. He merely agreed with Ken that he could understand.
Another long pause. Why hadn't Perry Mason stayed in San Francisco where he belonged? He was nothing but an over-rated has-been who had no business conducting a defense. "That's ridiculous. Absolutely not."
Perry spun to face the witness once more, levelling steely eyes at the man. "Would you like to reconsider your testimony?"
"No." Ken Braddock remained calm and collected on the witness stand, confidently denying everything Perry Mason threw at him.
Perry twisted the upper portion of his body, caught Della's wide, startled eyes and smiled. She saw where he was headed with Ken Braddock and was stunned. Then he winked at Paul Drake and picked up a piece of paper from the pile on the table. "In that case, Mr. Braddock," he began heavily, "would you like me to read the sworn statement of one Frank Lynch, father of Robert Lynch, describing how you not only used him to divert Foundation funds to you, but paid him hush money to protect your fraud? A sworn statement that also describes how you hired his son to kill Arthur Gordon and frame Della Street for the murder? Would you like me to read it, Mr. Braddock?"
Ken Braddock, so cocky and sure of himself up until then, began to wilt on the stand. His forehead shone with perspiration and his breathing became labored.
"Arthur Gordon was going to remove his incompetent wife as Director of the Foundation and appoint Della Street to the position. Isn't it true that if Della Street took over the Directorship of the Foundation she would have quickly discovered your embezzlement and you had to get her and Arthur Gordon out the way before that happened? Isn't it true you killed Bobby Lynch with Katherine Gordon's gun and then used her as an alibi for your whereabouts that day?"
He advanced toward the witness stand and a cowering Ken Braddock, eyes blazing and unblinking. He hoped the instinctual hatred he felt for the attorney wouldn't show in his voice or his posture. How dare this man hurt Della. "Isn't it true that murder was going to be the solution to all your problems? You'd have the money, the girl, and no one would ever know." He stopped a foot from where Ken Braddock sat, shoulders folding, head lowered. "Isn't it true, Mr. Braddock?"
Ken Braddock raised his head and looked pleadingly toward the gallery. "I'm sorry, Kate," he said brokenly after several seconds.
There was complete silence in the courtroom.
"Mr. Braddock!" Perry barked, relentless in his pursuit, turning the long pause contrivance around on the witness. "Isn't it all true?"
Ken Braddock, once a respected, successful man now had nothing. Everything was gone, taken from him by a lawyer past his prime who should have one foot in retirement. Never in a thousand years would he have thought Perry Mason could abdicate his seat on the Court of Appeals or he wouldn't have gone through with his plan. He took a deep breath. "Yes."
The spectators exploded into excited chatter behind him, Bart's voice the loudest and deepest as he shouted 'yeah', which sounded more like 'yay-ya', something for which he had been famous for shouting on the sidelines during his coaching days. Perry heard every individual voice – Paul's, Henny's, Val's, Carter's, Arthur and Mildreth Tragg's, Gertie's, Janet's, Kay-Kay's, Evelyn's – and so many more.
The one voice he didn't hear was Della's.
Perry whirled and headed toward Della, catching sight of Barbara Scott holding her head in her hands in stunned amazement that her 'dead-bang' case had been nothing more substantial than an elaborate frame. Judge Whitewood hammered his gavel vigorously, shouting for order above the raucous celebrations taking place in the gallery.
"Your Honor," Perry boomed above the noise, "I move for a dismissal." He had to get to Della.
Judge Whitewood banged his gavel harder. "Order! Order in the Court!" The din lessened somewhat. "Did you move for a dismissal Mr. Mason?"
Perry paused briefly, turned, and grinned. "I most certainly did, Your Honor."
"Do the People object?"
With great effort a dejected and disbelieving Barbara Scott got to her feet. "The People have no objection, Your Honor."
There was a trace of a smile on Norman Whitewood's face as he scanned the courtroom. "Very well. Case dismissed. Bailiff, take Mr. Braddock into custody. This court is adjourned." He banged the gavel one last time.
Della stared at the courtroom clock, blinking rapidly. Eleven forty-two. It had taken Perry two hours and forty-two minutes to clear her of a first-degree murder charge. Her eyes, huge and disbelieving, sought his. He closed one eye in a quick wink.
"All rise!" called the bailiff unnecessarily as a uniformed Court Officer removed Ken Braddock from the witness stand, handcuffs at the ready, and the Honorable Norman Whitewood exited the bench, robes billowing behind him.
As the spectators filed out of the courtroom, including friends and family, Perry sat down at the Defense table.
"Not a bad outcome considering I didn't exactly get a sworn statement from Frank Lynch," Paul commented, very pleased with himself.
Della, dazed and tearful, but smiling, reached for the paper Perry had picked up and threatened to read to Ken Braddock. "What is this, then?" What had that wink meant?
Paul stood up and snatched the paper from her. "The shut-off notice from the phone company."
Perry swiveled to face Della and flashed one of those dangerously jocund grins. "I didn't say I had a statement, only if he'd like me to read one."
Good grief. He had elicited a confession from Ken Braddock with a petty distinction, by splitting a hair.
She hated it when he did that.
"You gave me the idea," Perry continued.
"I did?"
"That day Gertie came up to the office, you grabbed a random piece of paper and claimed it was your list of people to call, and that she was next on the list. Gertie fell for it, but I saw what was on the paper, and it wasn't a list of names."
Tears welled in her eyes again.
Paul clapped his hands together. "Well, what do we do now?"
Della laughed through threatening tears. "We celebrate."
"In that case, I'd like to buy you both lunch," Paul declared, his wide grin and blonde curls making him look like a ten-year old.
Della didn't have the heart to say no to him, even though she knew the rest of her friends and relatives, who could be heard from the hallway still chattering and cheering, would be disappointed. She would have to be very deft in her explanation to them. "I'd like that. Why don't you get your car and we'll meet you out front."
"Go with Paul. I'll be along in a moment," Perry said, suddenly distracted, absorbing the fact Della had committed him to lunch with Paul before they could have as decent conversation alone.
Della's heart thudded strangely in her chest as she gathered folders and notebooks. He wasn't going to walk her out of the courtroom. He hadn't usually walked his clients from the courtroom after an acquittal, but she was different...wasn't she? As she was about to stand Perry grabbed her left forearm with both hands and leaned toward her. "Della, I…" He couldn't do it. He had already confused her by suggesting she walk out with Paul. Her eyes were moist and bewildered. He couldn't tell her. It wasn't the time or the place. She would break. And then so would he.
Tears slid down her cheeks as she patted the back of his hand. "I'm fine," she said in a husky, choked voice. "Just fine." And patted his hand again.
Perry smiled, and gave her arm one last squeeze before releasing it so Paul could escort her from the courtroom.
So Paul could perform the honor he should have performed with a glad and happy heart.
He stared down at the documents and folders in front of him and heaved a great sigh. It was over. He had won his most important case ever, and his record was intact.
But his record didn't matter. Only Della mattered, and now that he had chased away her nightmare, what would he do if he couldn't tell her how he felt? More importantly, what would he do if he could tell her how he felt?
He slid documents into folders and folders into the leather portfolio. He would need a new briefcase if he were to begin practicing law again. He didn't use a briefcase as a judge because active appeals could not be removed from the City Center. He smiled remembering how bound appeals were stacked in boxes and transported on dollies to the various justices, to be kept under lock and key in chambers. The first time he had seen the boxes being carted down the hallways in that manner he'd dubbed them 'appeals on wheels' and the term stuck. That would be his legacy to the California Appeals Court. For some reason, to be known for a quip and not for fiery dissents or cogent majority opinions pleased him.
Barbara Scott stepped hesitantly toward the victorious Defense attorney, hand held out in front of her. "Congratulations, Counselor." She wasn't completely over the shock of how Della Street's case ended, but if she didn't try to be gracious in defeat, Jack Welles would never give her another high-profile case again.
Perry shook the Prosecutor's hand. "Thank you."
"May I see that statement your associate got from Frank Lynch?"
Perry paused in his task for a moment before slipping the document back out of his portfolio. "Not only may you see it, Miss Scott, you may have it." He handed the piece of paper to her, pushed back his chair, and got to his feet, stretching to his full height. "If I were you, I'd send the police out to pick up Katherine Gordon's gun as soon as possible – maybe while Ken Braddock's fingerprints are still on it."
Barbara Scott managed a mirthless smile. "Oh sure, yes. I will." She glanced down at the paper in her hand as a legend in his lifetime, arguably the best criminal attorney ever, made a quick escape. "Hey!"
Reporters and photographers swarmed Perry Mason as he emerged from the courtroom. He paused for only a few seconds, made no comments, the smile on his face not for the cameras, but for Henny, Val, Gertie, and the rest of the happily crying females in his extended family standing behind the frustrated reporters. This was why he had wanted Paul to escort Della out. Let the boy share in the glory and get his name in the newspapers. He had never experienced it before. In those days gone by Della would have been on his arm (that is if they actually exited out the front door of the courthouse) and after every case speculation about the true status of their relationship intensified. This case had been all about Della, and there was no reason to add more fuel to whatever speculation his stepping down from the bench had stirred up, not until they had a chance to talk. He'd stuck to his resolve not to read the newspapers, although he knew Val and Henny did read the newspapers, and that there was a box of clippings somewhere in the house. Someday he would read them.
He carried a sea of photographers with him out of the Criminal Courts Building to the curb where he found Della wedged into the back of a…he didn't know what. He stood in front of the vehicle, eyeing it critically as cameras continued to click behind him.
"I thought Della said you had a car," he said to Paul.
"I do. This is it. Get in."
Perry handed his portfolio to Della, who was smiling and chuckling and not crying thank heaven, enjoying his consternation as he climbed onto a seat without restraints or a headrest, perched high above the pavement without so much as a door to contain him. "I suppose you think this is fun," he tossed over his shoulder to Della.
"Loads," she laughed back at him.
"You're at least somewhat protected back there," Perry pointed out. "I'm sitting out in the open."
"Where's your sense of adventure?"
"I left it in the courtroom."
Della laughed again, enjoying herself immensely. "Let's eat. I'm starving."
Perry and Paul exchanged covert glances, hiding their smiles. Paul put the vehicle into gear and let out the clutch a bit. Perry jerked forward in the seat, suspecting the boy had done it on purpose. He supposed he deserved it, but it was still a cheeky move.
But the boy had come through. He might have caused the rest of Della's hair to go grey, and severe cases of indigestion all around, but in the end, he had delivered the final piece of the puzzle.
"In case I forget, Paul – nice job."
Paul Drake Jr. glanced at happy, beautiful Della, then at Perry Mason's strong profile. He laughed. "You too, Counselor."
Bartholomew Mason stood at the curb, feet planted apart, hands thrust into his trousers, watching the Jeep speed away down the boulevard. His blue eyes held a faraway look, and a couple of photographers, suspecting who he was, snapped several pictures before dispersing into the lingering crowd.
Valerie slid her hand around her husband's elbow and gave a gentle squeeze. "It's hard when you realize they're grown up and don't need you anymore."
Bart looked down at her with a rueful smile. He had experienced that feeling more than once in the past couple years. "He never listened to a damn thing I said and yet he's able to do that." He jerked his head back toward the courthouse. For Della's sake he had hoped Perry was as good as he claimed, and to see his little brother in action had been one of the most eye-opening experiences in his life. How many hundreds of times had Perry done it? And why had it taken until now for his own brother to witness him doing it?
"He's tried to tell you, Bart. We've all tried to tell you."
"I always envisioned him defending criminals and getting them off on some sort of technicality. I didn't like the idea of it. All of the people he's defended for murder really have been innocent, haven't they?"
"Even the one case he lost the woman was innocent. Della said she sacrificed herself to protect her sister." And nearly nabbed herself a helluva man in the process, but Bart didn't need to know that. "Perry figured out who had actually committed the murder after she had been sentenced to the gas chamber."
A small shudder travelled up Bart's spine. He'd known his brother was famous and held in high professional regard, that his prowess in the courtroom had made him a wealthy man capable of commanding six figures for appearances, but he hadn't realized that in order to do that he had to be…special. Bart had seen trials before, and had participated in one as a juror recently, but none of them had been anything like this preliminary hearing. Mostly the attorneys had been dull and boring, versed in the law but not so much in their client's case, conducting defenses methodically, by the book, with very little spirit.
Perry was definitely not dull or boring, and although he was a brilliant student of the law, his methods came from no published book. When he spoke, everyone listened, enthralled with his voice, his physical presence, his utter command of the courtroom, and even when something surprised him, he wrestled it to the ground effortlessly and turned it to his advantage.
Maybe it wasn't such a hare-brained idea for Perry to practice law again.