Beware the Curves

country. I have been making a practice of firearms identification for more than ten years.”
    “Are you familiar with the town of Citrus Grove in this county?”
    “I am, yes, sir.”
    “Are you familiar with the premises known as the Whippoorwill, the estate of Karl Carver Endicott?”
    “I am, yes, sir.”
    “Do you recognize the premises shown on this map, People’s Exhibit Number One?”
    “I do, yes, sir.”
    “I will ask you if you have at any time searched the hedge shown on People’s Exhibit Number One?”
    “I have, yes, sir.“
    “I will ask you if at any time within the past week you found a weapon in that hedge?”
    “I did, yes, sir.”
    “Do you have that weapon with you?”
    “I do.”
    “Produce it please.”
    The witness produced a rust-encrusted, blued-steel revolver.
    “What is that?”
    “That is a Colt .38 caliber revolver.”
    “How many shells are in that revolver?”
    “Five shells with bullets in them and one empty chamber in the cylinder.”
    “Have you been able to fire test bullets through that gun?”
    “I have had considerable difficulty restoring it to a condition where it is safe to fire it, but I have removed enough of the rust to enable the mechanism to function. I have purposely refrained from removing any of the rust which was not essential for this purpose in order to show the condition of the weapon when it was found.”
    “From your test have you been able to determine whether that was the weapon from which the bullet was fired which killed Karl Carver Endicott?”
    “Well, I’ll put it this way. The barrel has been badly rusted. The individual markings from that barrel are such that it is impossible to make an identification. All I can state is that this revolver is a .38 Colt revolver firing bullets of a certain type and the bullet which was taken from the head of Mr. Endicott is the same caliber as the bullet which was taken from this revolver, has the same characteristics, and both bullets were fired from a .38 caliber Colt revolver.”
    “In other words, there is no reason from the standpoint of ballistic science why the bullet which was taken from the head of Karl Carver Endicott could not have been fired from this revolver?”
    “That is right. This revolver could have fired the fatal bullet.”
    “Have you traced the ownership of that revolver so that you know whose revolver it is?”
    “I have, yes, sir.”
    “Whose is it?”
    “Objected to as not the best evidence, as calling for hearsay evidence, as calling for a conclusion of the witness and invading the province of the jury,” Barney Quinn said.
    Irvine seemed annoyed. “If the Court please, we can get at this another way, but it is going to be a costly procedure and will necessitate the calling of a witness who will have to take a plane to be here.”
    “Nevertheless,” Judge Lawton ruled, “that is one of the constitutional guarantees of a man charged with crime. He has the right to be faced with the witnesses against him and to have the privilege of cross-examining them. I take it this witness now on the stand doesn’t know of his own knowledge to whom the weapon belongs, only that he has conducted investigations as an officer which have convinced him that the weapon is the property of a certain person.”
    “That is right, Your Honor.”
    “The objection is sustained,” Judge Lawton said. “It now appears that we have reached the hour of the afternoon adjournment. Court will take a recess until tomorrow morning. In the meantime, the defendant is remanded to the custody of the sheriff and the jurors are admonished not to discuss the case among yourselves nor to permit anyone to discuss it in your presence. You are not to form or express any opinion until the case is finally submitted to you for a decision.
    “Court will recess until tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.”
    Quinn walked past me on his way out of the courtroom. “Meet me in my office,” he said in an undertone.
    I fell into step beside him. “What do you want?”
    “To discuss the evidence.”
    “To hell with it!” I told him. “I’ve got something else to do. Keep on the end of your telephone so I can reach you at any hour of the night. Get what sleep you can. This is going to be one hell of a night!”
    I beckoned to Bertha, and we pushed our way through the crowd.
    “Now what?” Bertha asked.
    “Now,” I said, “we go to our own ballistics expert in Pasadena and find out what the hell ice dug