Sergeant Holcomb unlocked the door of the Fritch apartment. His face was dark with anger.
“Now, of course,” Judge Kaylor said, “it is usual in such cases to have all testimony taken in court and no testimony given while we are inspecting the premises. However, in this case since there is no jury I see no reason for enforcing such a rule.
“Now, Mr. Mason, you had reference to a deep-freeze box.”
Mason nodded.
“Will you show me that, Sergeant?” Judge Kaylor asked.
Sergeant Holcomb led the way to the deep-freeze and threw back the cover.
“Now, as I understand it, Mr. Mason,” Judge Kaylor said, “it is your contention that the body was placed in this deepfreeze.”
“The Court will notice that the box is big enough to accommodate a man,” Mason said.
“So are a thousand other iceboxes within a radius of a hundred yards,” Sergeant Holcomb blurted.
“That will do, Sergeant,” Judge Kaylor said. “I simply want to get Mr. Mason’s contention. Now, Mr. Mason, is there any evidence, any single bit of evidence whatever that would indicate that the body had been put in here? There is the opportunity. The box is deep enough. However, you’re going to have to show more than opportunity.”
“In the first place,” Mason said, “let’s look at this.”
He grabbed a pasteboard container of ice cream from the top of the deep-freeze, pulled the cover back, walked over to a silverware drawer in the cupboard, took out a teaspoon and plunged it down into the contents of the ice cream.
“Do you see what I mean?” he asked.
Judge Kaylor frowned. “I’m not certain that I do.”
“This ice cream,” Mason said, “was melted and then refrozen. See how it has frozen into crystals? It isn’t smooth, as would have been the case if it had been stored without having been melted.”
“I see, I see,” Judge Kaylor said, his voice showing great interest. “Let me take a look at that.”
He took the spoon and plunged it into the ice cream. The edge of the spoon rasped on frozen crystals.
“You see there’s been a shrinkage in volume and it has frozen in the form of flakes, not as a smooth mixture,” Mason said.
“Sergeant,” Judge Kaylor snapped, his tone showing sudden interest, “open up another one of those ice-cream cartons.”
Sergeant Holcomb pulled back the cover of another.
“The same condition,” Mason said.
Judge Kaylor tested it with the spoon.
“Try another one, Sergeant.”
Again Sergeant Holcomb took out another container, and Judge Kaylor plunged the spoon into it, brought up the contents so he could inspect them.
“This certainly is interesting,” he said.” Quite apparently this ice cream has been melted and refrozen.”
“Any icebox is apt to have trouble,” Sergeant Holcomb said. “I’m not certain but what we shut off this icebox when we were inspecting the place.”
“Did you?” Judge Kaylor asked.
“I’m not certain.”
“Well, you should be certain if you shut it off,” the judge snapped.
He turned to Mason and there was a new interest in his voice. “Do you have any other evidence, Mr. Mason?”
“Certainly,” Mason said. “Take out the packages. Test the bottom of the deep-freeze for blood stains.”
“This is only a grandstand,” Moon said. “This was done to get newspaper publicity to divert attention from—”
“Sergeant,” Judge Kaylor asked, “did you remove the foodstuffs from this deep-freeze unit when you inspected the premises?”
“We didn’t touch a thing in there,” Sergeant Holcomb said. “We preserved everything just like it was. We looked the place over for fingerprints, that’s all.”
“Take them out,” Judge Kaylor ordered.
“Of course, if we once take them out they’ll start melting and Perry Mason will claim—”
“Take them out,” Judge Kaylor ordered. “We’ve already ascertained that the ice cream has been out long enough to at least partially melt. Now get the rest of these things out. Let’s look at the bottom of this box.”
Sergeant Holcomb started lifting out the packages. He tossed out one package after another, piling them helterskelter on the floor, mixing up meats, frozen vegetables, frozen fruits. His manner was all but openly defiant.
As he neared the bottom of the box Judge Kaylor leaned over to look.
As the last package thudded to the floor, Judge Kaylor said, “It took you two minutes and eighteen seconds, Sergeant and—what’s that?”
“That’s a place where some of the juice leaked out of the meat,” Holcomb said.
“Juice doesn’t leak out of meat that’s frozen hard,” Judge Kaylor snapped. “I Want—Where’s Dr. Hanover?”
“He’s coming,” Moon said. “He—”
“Well, get him,” Judge Kaylor said. “I want every precaution taken to see that that stain is not disturbed. I want the police technicians up here. I want to find out if that’s human blood. If there’s enough of it to type I want the blood typed with that of the victim, J. J. Fritch.”
Judge Kaylor turned to Mason. “How did you know that stain was there, Mr. Mason?” he asked.
“I didn’t know, Your Honor. I surmised.”
“Well, you took a long gamble on it,” Judge Kaylor said, his manner suspicious.
Mason grinned at him. “What else was there to take a gamble on?” he asked.
Judge Kaylor thought that over and slowly a smile touched the corners of his stern mouth. “I guess you have something there, Counselor,” he said, and turned away.
“Moreover,” Mason pointed out, indicating the pile of packages which Sergeant Holcomb had dumped on the floor, “you’ll notice a couple of blood smears on the outside of one of those packages. I think if Your Honor will have the fingerprint expert up here you may find there’s a latent fingerprint outlined in blood on that package.”
“That’s where the butcher wrapped it up,” Sergeant Holcomb said. “That—”
“Let me see, let me see,” Judge Kaylor announced. He peered down at the package, then abruptly straightened. “Everybody clear out of here,” he said. “I want everybody out of this apartment. I want this place sealed up. I want the fingerprint expert and the police pathologist in here and then I’m going to tell them how I want this apartment searched for evidence.”
The judge glowered at Sergeant Holcomb and, angered by the surly look on Holcomb’s face, added, “And you may consider that a rebuke, Sergeant.”