Sons of Fortune

“Objection, your honor,” said Ebden, rising from his place, “how can Detective Petrowski be expected to answer that question?”

“Your honor, Detective Petrowski has been only too willing to give his opinion on the habits of amateur and professional criminals, so I can’t see why he wouldn’t feel comfortable answering my question.”

“Overruled, counselor. Move on.”

Fletcher bowed to the judge, stood up, walked over to the witness stand and came to a halt in front of the detective. “Were there any other fingerprints on the gun?”

“Yes,” said Petrowski, not appearing to be fazed by Fletcher’s presence, “there were partials of Mr. Elliot’s prints, but they have been accounted for, remembering that he took the gun from his desk to protect himself.”

“But his prints were on the gun?”

“Yes.”

“Did you check to see if there was any powder residue under his fingernails?”

“No,” said Petrowski.

“And why not?” asked Fletcher.

“Because you’d need very long arms to shoot yourself from a distance of four feet.” Laughter broke out in the court.

Fletcher waited for silence before he said, “But he could well have fired the first bullet that ended up in the ceiling.”

“It could have been the second bullet,” rebutted Petrowski.

Fletcher turned away from the witness box and walked over to the jury. “When you took the statement from Mrs. Elliot, what was she wearing?”

“A robe—as she explained, she had been asleep at the time when the first shot was fired.”

“Ah yes, I remember,” said Fletcher before he walked back to the table. He picked up a single sheet of paper and read from it. “It was when Mrs. Elliot heard the second shot that she came out of the bedroom and ran to the top of the stairs.” Petrowski nodded.

“Please answer the question, detective, yes or no?”

“I don’t recall the question,” said Petrowski, sounding flustered.

“It was when she heard the second shot that Mrs. Elliot came out of the bedroom and ran to the top of the stairs.”

“Yes, that’s what she told us.”

“And she stood there watching Mr. Cartwright as he ran out of the front door. Is that also correct?” Fletcher asked, turning around to look directly at Petrowski.

“Yes it is,” said Petrowski, trying to remain calm.

“Detective, you told the court that among the professionals you called in to assist you was a police photographer.”

“Yes, that’s standard practice in a case like this, and all the photographs taken that night have been submitted as evidence.”

“Indeed they have,” said Fletcher as he returned to the table and emptied a large package of photographs onto his table. He selected one, and walked back to the witness stand. “Is this one of those photographs?” he asked.

Petrowski studied it carefully, and then looked at the stamp on the back. “Yes, it is.”

“Would you describe it to the jury?”

“It’s a picture of the Elliots’ front door, taken from their driveway.”

“Why was this particular photograph submitted as evidence?”

“Because it proved that the door had been left open when the murderer made good his escape. It also shows the long corridor leading through to Mr. Elliot’s study.”