The Baxter Trust

ask you if you have ever seen it before.”
    “Yes, sir. That’s the envelope the defendant gave me. The one she said the letter came in.”
    “How do you identify it?”
    “By my initials, which I marked on it at the time.”
    “I ask that the envelope be marked for identification as People’s Exhibit number four.”
    “No objection.”
    “So ordered.”
    “Now then, Lieutenant. Did you make a search of the decedent’s apartment?”
    “Yes, sir. I did.”
    “Did you find anything that you considered significant?”
    “Yes, sir. I found a Smith-Corona portable typewriter.”
    Dirkson produced a typewriter from a bag on the prosecution table. “Is this the typewriter to which you now refer?”
    “Yes, sir. It is.”
    “I ask that the typewriter be marked for identification as People’s Exhibit—uh, what are we up to now?—number five.”
    “No objection.”
    “So ordered.”
    Dirkson watched while the clerk marked the typewriter for identification. He looked over at the defense table. Winslow was still sitting calmly, with that maddening smile on his face. All right, damn him, Dirkson thought. Time to turn the tables on him. Let’s let him get angry. Let’s let him start objecting. Let’s wipe that smug smile off his face.
    “Now then, Lieutenant,” Dirkson said. “Did you make any tests to determine whether the envelope, People’s Exhibit number four had been typed on the typewriter, People’s Exhibit number five?”
    Farron was surprised by the question. Dirkson hadn’t intended to ask him that. It had been understood that the handwriting expert was going to give that testimony.
    “I did,” Farron said.
    “And had the envelope been typed on that machine?”
    “It had.”
    Judge Crandell frowned, and looked at Steve Winslow. Steve just sat smiling. He might not even have heard the question. Judge Crandell leaned forward.
    “One moment here,” Crandall said. “Would the court reporter read back that last question and answer?”
    The court reporter looked at the tape. “Question: ‘And had the envelope been typed on that machine?’ Answer: ‘It had.’”
    Judge Crandell looked expectantly at Steve, who said nothing.
    Crandell cleared his throat. “I do not wish to presume upon the responsibilities of the defense counsel, but in order to keep the record straight, I must point out that that last question clearly calls for a conclusion on the part of the witness for which no proper foundation has been laid. Lieutenant Farron is a police officer, but he has not been qualified as a handwriting expert.”
    Steve smiled. “I think the point is well taken, Your Honor.”
    Judge Crandell stared at him.
    “In that case, Your Honor,” Dirkson said, “I ask that the witness be temporarily withdrawn so that Stanley Forrester, an eminent handwriting expert, can take the stand.”
    “There’s no need for that,” Steve said casually. “I will stipulate that Mr. Forrester would testify that the envelope, People’s Exhibit number four, was typed on the typewriter, People’s Exhibit number five.”
    Judge Crandell looked at him incredulously. “Mr. Winslow, how can you possibly make such a stipulation? The prosecution hasn’t even stated what it expects to prove by this witness.”
    “Why else would they call him, Your Honor?” Steve said. “I think it’s perfectly clear to everyone that the envelope was typed on the machine. I’ll stipulate that it was.”
    Judge Crandell was annoyed by his attitude. “Well, I don’t intend to have the matter disposed of in this manner. Mr. Forrester will take the stand.”
    Lieutenant Farron stepped down from the stand, and Stanley Forrester was sworn in.
    “Yes,” Forrester said. “There is no question. The envelope was typed on the machine, People’s Exhibit number five.”
    “Cross-examine,” Dirkson said.
    Steve yawned. “No questions.”
    “I now ask that People’s Exhibits numbers three, four and five be received in evidence.”
    “No objection.”
    “So ordered. Now, Lieutenant Farron was on the stand for direct examination. Would Lieutenant Farron please return to the stand?”
    Sheila Benton leaned over to Steve. “I need to talk to you,” she said between clenched teeth.
    “Later.”
    “No. Now.”
    “Not in front of the jury.”
    “Then ask for a recess.”
    He saw the look on her face, and he didn’t want the jury to see it. Strategically, it was a bad time to request a recess, but he had no choice. He stood