“The front door was open, and Mrs. Elliot was sitting on the floor in the hallway, her knees hunched up under her chin. I let her know I was there, and then joined Detective Petrowski in Mr. Elliot’s study. Mr. Petrowski,” the chief added, “is one of the most respected detectives on my force, with a great deal of experience with homicide, and as he seemed to have the investigation well under way. I left him to get on with his job, while I returned to Mrs. Elliot.”
“Did you then question her?”
“Yes, I did,” replied the chief.
“But wouldn’t Detective Petrowski already have done that?”
“Yes, but it’s often useful to get two statements so that one can compare them later and see if they differ on any essential points.”
“Your honor, these statements are hearsay,” Fletcher interjected.
“And did they?” Ebden hurriedly asked.
“No, they did not.”
“Objection,” Fletcher emphasized.
“Overruled, Mr. Davenport. As has already been pointed out, you have had access to these documents for several weeks.”
“Thank you, your honor,” said Ebden. “I would like you to tell the court what you did next, Chief.”
“I suggested that we go and sit in the front room, so that Mrs. Elliot would be more comfortable. I then asked her to take me slowly through what had happened that evening. I didn’t hurry her, as witnesses are quite often resentful of being asked exactly the same questions a second or third time. After she’d finished her cup of coffee, Mrs. Elliot eventually told me that she had been asleep in bed when she heard the first shot. She switched on the light, put on her robe and went to the top of the stairs and that was when she heard the second shot. She then watched as Mr. Cartwright ran out of the study toward the open door. He turned to look back, but couldn’t have seen her in the darkness at the top of the stairs, although she recognized him immediately. She then ran downstairs and into the study where she found her husband lying on the floor in a pool of blood. She immediately called me at home.”
“Did you continue to question her?”
“No, I left a female officer with Mrs. Elliot while I checked over her original statement. After a farther consultation with Detective Petrowski, I drove to Mr. Cartwright’s home accompanied by two other officers, arrested the defendant and charged him with the murder of Ralph Elliot.”
“Had he gone to bed?”
“No, he was still in the clothes he had been wearing on the television program that night.”
“No more questions, your honor.”
“Your witness, Mr. Davenport.”
Fletcher walked across to the witness box with a smile on his face. “Good afternoon, Chief. I won’t detain you for long, as I’m only too aware how busy you are, but I do nevertheless have three or four questions that need answering.” The chief didn’t return Fletcher’s smile. “To begin with, I would like to know what period of time passed between your receiving the phone call at your home from Mrs. Elliot, and when you placed Mr. Cartwright under arrest.”
The chief’s fingers twitched again while he considered the question. “Two hours, two and a half at the most,” he eventually said.
“And when you arrived at Mr. Cartwright’s house, how was he dressed?”
“I’ve already told the court that—in exactly the same clothes as he was wearing on television that night.”
“So he didn’t open the door in his pajamas and dressing gown looking as if he had just got out of bed?”
“No, he didn’t,” said the chief, puzzled.
“Don’t you think that a man who had just committed a murder might want to get undressed and into bed at two o’clock in the morning, so that should the police suddenly turn up on his doorstep, he could at least give an impression of having been asleep?”
The chief frowned. “He was comforting his wife.”
“I see,” said Fletcher. “The murderer was comforting his wife, so let me ask you, Chief, when you arrested Mr. Cartwright, did he make a statement?”
“No,” the chief replied, “he said he wanted to speak to his lawyer first.”
“But did he say anything at all that you might have recorded in your trusty notebook?”
“Yes,” said the chief, and flipped back some pages of the notebook before carefully studying an entry. “Yes,” he repeated with a smile, “Cartwright said, ‘but he was still alive when I left him.’”