The Case of the Murdered MacKenzie: A Masao Masuto Mystery (Book Seven) (3 page)

At this point Geffner said, “Excuse me, Detective Beckman. It is possible that some members of the jury are unaware of what this signifies. Would you explain to them.”

“A fuse is a safety device,” Beckman told the jury. “So is a circuit breaker, but the circuit breaker is an improvement because it's hard to tamper with. The purpose of a fuse is to limit the amount of electricity that can be drawn over a single circuit. When the electrical demand exceeds the bearing capacity of the fuse, the fuse blows out and breaks the circuit. Without fuses we'd have an endless stream of fires—in fact, I guess you couldn't have electric power without fuses or circuit breakers. But if you want a real shot of electric power, you can take out the fuse and replace it with a conductor—in this case, a copper penny. But there's one catch to that, and a very dangerous one. If the radio had dropped into the tub and was left there, at some point the wiring would have burst into flame—unless someone had unplugged the radio cord within a minute or so after it was put into the tub.”

Cassell objected and Geffner fought back, and Judge Simpkins called both of them up to the bench and told Cassell that a scientific fact was not an unfounded premise. “On the other hand,” he said to Geffner, “I presume you will put an electrical engineer on the stand?”

“That has been arranged for, Your Honor.”

“Then let the engineer go into the scientific background and hold Beckman to what he saw and did.”

Geffner then asked Beckman what his next step was.

“I telephoned Captain Wainwright, and I told him that the Mackenzie thing had every appearance of being a homicide. You see, Dr. Baxter wanted the ambulance from All Saints to pick up Mackenzie's body, but that would only wash if we were dealing with a homicide. If it was an accidental or medical death, it would be up to the family where they wanted the body taken or whether they wanted an autopsy.”

“But at that moment, Detective Beckman, there was no family present?”

“No, sir. Only Mrs. Scott. Mrs. Mackenzie came home about a half hour later. She said—”

“Never mind what Mrs. Mackenzie said. We'll get to that later. I want to know what happened after you telephoned Captain Wainwright.”

“Well, he said to leave the body where it was, in the tub, until we could contact someone in the family. Then Mrs. Scott—”

“The housekeeper.”

“Yes, sir. Then Mrs. Scott brought me Mrs. Mackenzie's notebook.”

“Did you ask for it?”

“No, sir. At that point I didn't know of its existence.”

Geffner handed Beckman a black vinyl-covered looseleaf notebook. “Is this the notebook in question?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How can you be sure without opening it?”

“It has my mark—that bit of tape.”

“Would you glance through it just to make sure.”

Beckman glanced through the notebook, after which Geffner entered it as evidence.

“Officer Beckman, did you ask Mrs. Scott whether she knew the contents of the notebook?”

“Subsequently, I did.”

“And what was her answer?”

“She said she did not know what was in the notebook, but since she suspected that Mrs. Mackenzie had killed her husband—”

Cassell was on his feet, objecting angrily. The judge called him and Geffner up to the bench, where Cassell whispered hoarsely, “This is unconscionable. Mrs. Scott is not on the witness stand, and her opinion is not evidence, and when you put her opinion in the mouth of a homicide detective, you do my client an irreparable injury.”

“I don't think so,” Simpkins said gently. He was a soft-voiced man, white-haired and fatherly. “However, I shall sustain your objection and instruct the jury to ignore Beckman's answer.”

“Your Honor,” Geffner said, “that notebook is central to the people's case—”

“Softly, Mr. Geffner. No one is attacking the notebook. There are other ways to get at its contents.”

The judge instructed the jury to ignore Mrs. Scott's opinion, and Geffner said to Beckman, “We will return to the notebook later, but at this point, Detective Beckman, I would like to stay with the sequence of events so that the jury may have a clear idea of what you saw that morning at the Mackenzie home. You have testified that Captain Wainwright of the Beverly Hills police instructed you to go there to look into what might or might not have been a homicide—”

“Are you summing up so early in the trial, Mr. Geffner?” the judge asked gently.

“No, Your Honor. But this is a complicated sequence of events. I am trying to clarify it.”

“I think that proper questioning will simplify it and clarify it.”

Geffner nodded and referred to his notes. “About what time was it that Mrs. Scott gave you the notebook?”

“It was exactly nine fifty-one.”

“How can you say exactly, Detective Beckman?”

“In a homicide investigation, I note the time if something happens that I consider of importance.”

“And you considered the notebook a matter of importance?”

“After Mrs. Scott—”

Geffner anticipated Cassell's objection. “Simply yes or no, Detective Beckman.”

“Yes.”

Geffner was making a timetable for his own use. “You left the police station about eight-forty, arrived at the Mackenzie home before nine, made your investigation, and received the notebook at nine fifty-one. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what time did Mrs. Mackenzie arrive at the house?”

“Ten thirty-three.”

“I presume that once again you noted the time and consulted your watch?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And since we're being precise about time, Detective Beckman, in the forty-two minutes that elapsed between Mrs. Scott handing you the notebook and Mrs. Mackenzie arriving home, did you have any opportunity to digest at least part of its contents?”

“I don't know what I digested,” Beckman replied. “Mrs. Scott practically insisted that I begin to read the notebook right then and there.”

“Did she? How very interesting. Now, let's get back to Mrs. Mackenzie. Did the officer outside make her aware of what had happened?”

“Well, I opened the door for her. She knew something had happened. She asked me who I was. I told her and showed identification. Then I told her there had been an accident and her husband was dead.”

“How did she react to this information?”

“She was cold and—maybe you'd call it withdrawn—”

Cassell was already on his feet, objecting.

“On what grounds, Mr. Cassell?” the judge asked patiently.

“This witness is a policeman. He is not competent to analyze a person's reactions on the basis of a facial expression.”

“I'm not asking for an analysis,” Geffner argued. “The question is how does a person look. We ask and answer that question every day of our lives.”

“I tend to agree with that. I'm going to let it stand.”

Geffner thanked the judge and then had the stenographer read the question and answer.

“You said cold and withdrawn, Detective Beckman. Could you elaborate on that?”

“Well, ordinarily if you inform a woman that her husband has been badly hurt or killed, which I have had to do at times, she has a violent reaction.”

“Explain what you mean by a violent reaction, please.”

“Hysteria, screaming, fainting—sometimes just a frozen sort of paralysis.”

“And Mrs. Mackenzie's reaction was none of these.”

“No, none of them. I told her that her husband was dead. She nodded. Then she asked how it happened. Did someone kill him? I asked her why she should think so, and she replied that with a house full of cops, it was more or less evident. Then she asked me again how it had happened. I told her, and then she nodded and shrugged her shoulders.”

Cassell was on his feet again, demanding that this testimony be stricken as prejudicial. “This policeman is, in fact,” he shouted, “telling the jury that my client is a soulless person. On what basis? On the basis of the fact that her husband's death drew a particular response from her!”

“That's enough, Mr. Cassell,” Judge Simpkins said. “My hearing is excellent. There is absolutely nothing improper about this testimony and I intend to allow it to stand. You will have your turn with Detective Beckman. Until then, I suggest you be patient.”

“And then, Detective Beckman?” Geffner asked.

“I told her that the ambulance from All Saints Hospital would be there in a few minutes to pick up the body, and that since there was reason to believe that a crime had been connected with her husband's death, an autopsy was scheduled, but if she wanted to get in touch with her lawyers, she could have the autopsy postponed. She said, no, she had no objection. Then I asked her whether she wanted to see her husband's body. She said, yes, she would.”

“And where was the body at that point in the sequence of events?” Geffner asked.

“It was still in the tub. Dr. Baxter said that rigor mortis had already set in and that we might as well leave it where it was until the ambulance arrived. We covered it with a sheet.”

“I presume that the water had been let out of the tub?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You told Mrs. Mackenzie where her husband's body was?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What was her reaction to that?”

“She just shook her head and mumbled something about her husband not using the tub—something about him taking showers. I led the way to the bathroom. Dr. Baxter had already left the house. Joe Garcia, one of our officers, was stationed outside the bathroom door.”

“This was a large upstairs bathroom—the master bathroom?”

“Yes, sir, there are five bathrooms in the Mackenzie house, if you count the powder room. This one had to be entered through the master bedroom.”

“All right. Continue.”

“I mentioned that her husband was naked but covered with a sheet and I asked her if she wanted me to go into the bathroom with her. She said she'd rather go in alone. She left the door open, and from outside I saw her pull the sheet off and stare at the body in the tub. She was a very cool lady. She turned around and left the bathroom, and as she came out, she said—”

Geffner tried to stop Beckman with “You can—” but let it go when he realized that it was too late.

“‘That dead man is not my husband,'” Beckman finished.

The reporters in the courtroom broke for the door in a mad rush, while the judge pounded his gavel for order.

Masuto had listened carefully to every word of testimony, and this last bit, the statement by Mrs. Mackenzie, via Beckman, that the dead man was not her husband, intrigued him completely. What had been, so far as the newspapers had reported it, a straightforward and mundane Hollywood scandal, now showed indications of becoming something else entirely. Masuto was interested and fascinated, but examining the source of his own interest, and given to a good deal of introspection, he wondered whether it was not simply the woman who fascinated him—the woman whose control allowed her to walk into that bathroom without hysteria or apparent fear.

Geffner sighed and said, “I would like you to repeat Mrs. Mackenzie's remark, now that it's on the record.”

“She said, ‘That dead man is not my husband.'”

“You were interrupted before. Please go on.”

“I asked her what she meant. I told her that the body had been identified by Mrs. Scott, who told us it was her husband. Then she kind of snorted and shrugged.”

“Snorted?”

“Like this.” Beckman gave an imitation of someone snorting. “Then I asked her where she had been.”

“Yes? Go on, Detective Beckman.”

“She asked me if she was under arrest. For what, I asked her. Then she said—” he consulted his notebook—“‘everything around here points to the fact that you people believe someone has been murdered.'”

“Did she refer to her husband?”

“Not at that time, no. Later—”

“We'll take later in due time. Please stay with the sequence of events.”

“Yes, sir. At that moment Mr. Cassell arrived.”

“You mean Henry Cassell, Mrs. Mackenzie's attorney.”

“Yes, sir. The gentleman sitting there.” Beckman pointed to the defense table.

“Do you know who had called him to the house?”

“I did not then. Subsequently, I learned that Mrs. Scott had telephoned his office and left a message for him to come to the Mackenzie house as soon as he arrived.”

“Very well. Mr. Cassell arrived. What then?”

“He demanded to know who I was. I identified myself. He then told Mrs. Mackenzie that she did not have to speak to me or answer any questions, and she said she would like to go to her room, and he said she could, and then she noticed her notebook, which I had left on a small credenza. She grabbed it, very angry. I told Mr. Cassell that it was evidence in a criminal situation, and he persuaded her to let me have it. She was disturbed, and she went to her room. I guess she was very disturbed.”

Geffner looked at Cassell, waiting for an objection, but he said nothing.

“And then, Detective Beckman?”

“Mr. Cassell asked me if he could see the deceased. I then took him upstairs. Mrs. Mackenzie was at the door of her room, which would be the master bedroom. But she said she would lie down in her room.”

“Do you mean the master bedroom? You identified that as her room.”

“No. I meant that it was a bedroom I thought she and her husband both used because it was the master bedroom. But I learned that they slept in separate rooms.”

“Then it was not to the room with the body that she went?”

“No, sir. She was just standing there next to the policeman who was on duty there. Then she walked down the hall to her own room. Mr. Cassell and I went into the master bedroom and then into the bathroom where the deceased was. I removed the sheet and Mr. Cassell looked at the body.”