Free The Ability to Kill by Eric Ambler

thing had not been engineered by one of the studio publicity departments to promote a new picture.
    The bearing of the defendants themselves did nothing to correct that impression. They appeared relaxed and unselfconscious, even a little bored. The smiles they exchanged now and again were fondly rueful. They behaved a little like a pair of newlyweds separated for the first time by different bridge tables.
    The Deputy District Attorney in charge of the prosecution made no noticeable contribution to the dignity of the proceedings. He was a lanky, soft-spoken, middle-aged man with the apologetic air of an amateur actor cast as Marc Antony in a charity performance of
Julius Caesar
, and worried about the draping of his toga. He smiled too often, as if to inform us that he appreciated the joke, too. He was, no doubt, a most capable lawyer. Unfortunately, he had a habit of mislaying his documents and exhibits. Photograph in hand he would advance on a witness. ‘I show you this photograph of a Cadillac car,’ he would begin sternly, ‘and ask if you can identify.…’ At that moment he would himself catch sight of the photograph, realise that it showed a house or a bullet wound, and break off. ‘Excuse me, Your Honour,’ he would say to the judge, and then pick his way unhurriedly through the contents of a big soap-flakes carton in which he kept his records of the case. If this failed him, he would cross to the courtroom filing cabinet, containing the already labelled exhibits, and try there. Usually, he found what he wanted in the end, but the delays were boring and gave the prosecution’s case an indecisive air.
    Mr Grant Cooper (for Dr Finch) and Mr Egan (for Miss Tregoff) were more impressive; Mr Cooper in particular.
    His cross-examination of the Swedish maid was in the best tradition. The young woman was harassed and confused. It would have been easy for him to have confused her still further. Instead, he handled her quietly and gently, obviously earning the liking and respect of the jury as he did so. He threw just enough doubt on her recollection of events to make room for the defence’s accidental death story which was to come later.
    The stumbling block, however, was Mr Cody. If he were believed, the doctor and Miss Tregoff were conspirators with a very determined intent to murder. Accident would be out of the question. Cody’s evidence had to be discredited.
    With his record, it should have been easy. It was not. He could admit to the basest motives and behaviour without a trace of embarrassment. He was the defence lawyer’s nightmare. It is hard to discredit the evidence of a man who insists so cheerfully on his own perfidy, his total
lack
of credit.
    Cooper did his best. For example, he brought out the fact that the witness was an escapee from a bad cheque sentence, and that, in the period of a year, he had worked a total of four days at two jobs.
    Mr Cooper: ‘What did you do?’
    Cody: ‘I loafed.’
    Mr Cooper: ‘How did you support yourself?’
    Cody: ‘By my wit.’
    Mr Cooper (later in reference to one of Cody’s girl friends): ‘Did she support you?’
    Cody: ‘Yes.’
    Mr Cooper: ‘Did she support you in Hollywood or did you live by your wits?’
    Cody: ‘Both.’
    Mr Cooper: ‘How about Las Vegas?’
    Cody: ‘I got a job as a shill at the Fremont Hotel—for two days.’
    Mr Cooper: ‘Was that very hard work?’
    Cody: ‘Oh, no. I was forced to quit. I had to get a police card. They would find out where I was and take me back to Minneapolis.’
    Cooper became impatient with this frankness. Concerning the transaction with Dr Finch and Miss Tregoff he asked: ‘You felt that, regardless of what the agreement had been, you had swindled Dr Finch and Carole?’
    Cody: ‘Well I don’t know if I would call it swindled.’
    Mr Cooper (sarcastically): ‘Cheated?’
    Cody (accepting the distinction): ‘Yes.’
    Mr Cooper tried another gambit. ‘You wanted to co-operate with the law enforcement