Eureka (38 page)

“If that means I'm in over my head, you're probably right. Well, the hell with them all. Damn it, it's my day off.”

She moved the tray over and crawled up over me, one leg on each side, and sat down. She reached over and took the phone off the hook and put the receiver under a pillow and looked down at me.

“We don't have to get dressed today, do we?” she purred.

“Not unless the joint catches fire,” I answered.

CHAPTER 34

The attorney general's hearing was held in an assembly room on the third floor of the city courthouse usually reserved for public meetings of the council. There was a large table at one end of the room with six chairs behind it, the seats of the mighty. There were two smaller tables facing the inquisitors, one on each side of the center aisle, a railing behind the tables, and six rows of pews on each side of the aisle for the common people.

The room had fewer than twenty people in it.

The inquiry was closed to the public and the press since it was an advisory hearing, a rare tribunal called by the governor. A gag order concerning evidence was in effect. The attorney general and two men, nominated by the A.G. and appointed by the governor, presided over the hearing. They would listen to the evidence and vote on the issue. The attorney general would then report the findings and recommendations directly to the governor, who would make the final decision. Then the record of the hearing would be made public.

Moriarity, Art Cannon—the city D.A.—Bones, and Dr. Tyler were seated at the table to the right, inside the rail. I was sitting behind them in the first pew when, about ten minutes before ten on Wednesday morning, Sidney Schyler entered with Arnold Riker, who was handcuffed to Harvey Craddock, the Wesco guard captain. Riker was dressed in a dark blue suit, white shirt, and a silk tie, probably courtesy of Schyler. If the objective was to make Riker socially acceptable, it didn't work. There was a feral aura about the man that a new suit and white shirt couldn't camouflage. Once a killer, always a killer.

When he saw me, Riker's lip curled into a mean smile. Then he winked at me and mouthed the words “Hi, partner.”

He was enjoying his hour.

It did not go unnoticed by Cannon, a short, trim man with black hair parted down the middle and a wire mustache. He was fifty-two. He motioned to me and I leaned over the railing. “Don't let him rile you, Bannon,” he said. “Everybody knows what he is, no matter what happens here today,”

“If he refers to me as his ‘partner' one more time,” I said, “I'm going to throw the son of a bitch out the window.” I leaned back in my seat.

Sidney Schyler was a dandy. His thin blond hair was carefully distributed over his scalp in an attempt to cover a growing bald spot. He wore pince-nez, a yellow linen suit with a wide red check, and a vest with a watch chain that arced from one side of a growing paunch to the other. He spoke in a soft, unctuous voice, with a smile that was more of a smirk. But from everything I knew about him, he was scrupulously honest and one tough lawyer. He had been true to his promise. First thing Monday morning, while Bones and Tyler were working on the case, Schyler had called a press conference and announced that he had undeniable proof that Arnold Riker did not murder Wilma Thompson. He had requested an immediate governor's hearing, at which he would demand that Riker be exonerated of the crime and released on the spot. He got his request for the hearing, and a gag order pertaining to all evidence in the case was issued by a state judge. Par for the course.

Pennington, of course, jumped all over me for not tipping him off.

Schyler and Riker sat at the table on the opposite side of the aisle from our side. Craddock took the cuffs off Riker and sat him down in the chair with a firm shove on the shoulder. He went behind the railing and sat directly behind Riker, with a .38 revolver in his lap, covered by his fedora. I liked Craddock. He was all business.

At exactly 10:00, the governor's representatives arrived. They entered the room single file. These were the power boys. First was Alan Templeton, a pretty-boy, six-two, steel gray hair, a three-hundred- dollar tailor-made suit, a jaw squarer than Dick Tracy's, and the morals of an alley cat. The ladies loved him. Three times attorney general, he could run forever and never lose. Behind him was Mike Butcher, a lean man with leathery skin and small, hooded eyes—state director of correctional facilities, former San Francisco chief of police, and onetime warden of San Quentin, who had weathered two investigations into brutality and inhumane conditions in the state prison system. The last one in was State Supreme Court Judge Thomas Levy, a little man with puffy hands, thick lips, and a face blotched with liver spots. Levy had been one of California's most feared hanging judges until appointed to the high court when he was two years past retirement age.

They sat at the table facing the room, with Templeton in the middle.

“Gentlemen,” Templeton began, rapping his gavel for order, “this is a hearing to determine whether the woman known as Verna Hicks Wilensky, recently deceased, and the late Wilma Thompson, are, in fact, one and the same person. We are not concerned with facts regarding Mr. Riker's trial. If there were crimes committed against Mr. Riker or violations of the law, they will be brought before a grand jury and handled in the prescribed manner.

“We are aware that Mr. Riker was convicted of the felony murder of Miss Wilma Thompson. We are not interested in Mr. Riker's background prior to his arrest. We are not interested in any facts involving that trial. We are not interested in how Mrs. Wilensky died. We are only interested in the writ presented to this body by attorney Sidney Schyler, to wit: “That Mr. Riker has been wrongfully confined in state prisons for the past nineteen years for the murder of Wilma Thompson; that Miss Thompson was not the victim of a homicide in 1922, but instead she changed her name to Verna Hicks, moved to L.A. in 1924, married Frank Wilensky, and has lived here ever since, until her death ten days ago; that you, Mr. Schyler, will present physical evidence proving that the late Mrs. Wilensky was, in fact, Miss Thompson; that therefore Mr. Riker should be released forthwith from confinement in Wesco State Prison; and that the findings of the court in 1922 be vacated. Are these conditions true and acceptable to you, Mr. Schyler?”

“Yes, sir, they are,” Schyler said.

“And do you intend to make an opening argument on Mr. Riker's behalf?” Templeton asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Keep it brief, and don't stray from the limited scope of this tribunal or I will cut you off. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is there opposing counsel present?” Templeton asked.

Cannon stood up. “Sir, I'm Arthur Cannon, the city district attorney. I am simply here to represent the city's interest in this matter, since one of our detectives is involved in the case. Actually, most of these events happened outside the city's jurisdiction.”

“Then you have no objection to the proceeding itself?”

“No, sir.”

“Alright, Mr. Schyler, get on with it,” Templeton said tersely.

Schyler stood up, took off his glasses, and walked slowly back and forth in front of the three men, tapping his spectacles in the palm of his hand as he spoke.

“We are prepared to produce witnesses and evidence that will prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that my client, Arnold Riker, was convicted and has been incarcerated for nineteen years for the murder of Miss Wilma Thompson, a murder which we contend never occurred. A non-murder. We are not interested at this time in pursuing what really happened in 1922. Obviously, my client was framed, but it is up to the attorney general and the governor to instigate an investigation into that matter. Our purpose here today is to clear my client's name and to secure his immediate release from prison. If you find the evidence concurs with that conclusion, then I am presenting a writ demanding that the governor order Mr. Riker's immediate and unconditional release from Wesco State Prison, where he is presently incarcerated. For Mr. Riker to spend one more day in prison would be an outrageous miscarriage of justice. Thank you.”

“How many witnesses do you plan to introduce, Mr. Schyler?” Judge Levy asked.

“Three, your honor. Possibly four.”

“Any other questions?” Templeton asked, looking at Butcher, who shook his head.

“Alright, Mr. Schyler, you may proceed.”

Schyler was a crafty attorney. He first set up an easel in front of the tribunal. His agenda was simple. First, he called Dr. Tyler and, after the dentist was sworn in, established his credentials as a dentist and oral surgeon. Tyler then described in detail the oral surgery he had performed on Wilma Thompson in 1921. Tyler's charts and diagrams showing the extent of the injuries had been blown up and placed on the easel. As Tyler described in detail the procedures he had performed on Thompson, Schyler used a pointer to illustrate the work on the charts and diagrams. Tyler also had taken two photographs of Thompson, a full-face close-up and a shot of her right profile showing the bruises on her jaw.

“Now, Dr. Tyler,” Schyler said, “did you also examine the corpse of the woman who called herself Verna Hicks Wilensky?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And did you make this examination in concert with Dr. Jerome Wietz, the county coroner?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And did you recognize the corpse?”

“It was difficult. Mrs. Wilensky was bloated as a result of being submerged in bathwater for about twenty-four hours prior to being discovered. She also had had some cosmetic surgery performed on her nose. Her hair was natural. It was bleached blond when I knew her. And she had put on thirty, forty pounds. But my conclusion is that Mrs. Wilensky and Miss Thompson are and were the same person.”

“This was a visual determination?” Butcher asked.

“Yes and no. I studied the diagrams and charts that Dr. Wietz prepared, and we made an overlay of Dr. Wietz's work and mine. They were identical, allowing for some gum shrinkage, which is normal over that period of time. I also saw comparative photographs of Thompson and Wilensky, and the drawing of Mrs. Wilensky with her nose reshaped. Considering that I had not seen Thompson in roughly twenty years, and allowing for the cosmetic surgery to her nose, it is my opinion that Thompson and Wilensky are one and the same.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Schyler said. “Does the tribunal have any questions?”

“I am curious about something,” Judge Levy said. “Were you able to recognize the bridgework as your own work, when you examined Mrs. Wilensky?”

“Not in an aesthetic sense,” Tyler said. “By that, I mean a dentist does not do anything in constructing bridgework that would identify it as his own work. The procedure is common, sir. However, I will say that the bridgework in both women was identical, allowing for some degree of wear.”

Templeton asked, “Was it possible to ascertain the extent of the surgery on Wilensky's nose?”

“I'd prefer you direct that question to Dr. Wietz,” Tyler answered. “My expertise is limited to the field of dentistry. He did, however, make copies of my photos of Thompson to make a drawing showing her nose before and after the surgery, and it was a significant visual aid.”

There were no other questions.

Schyler called Bones and he was sworn in. Schyler had the diagrams and charts that Bones had prepared and several grisly photographs of the corpse. There was also a tracing Bones had made using the full-face photograph Tyler had taken of Thompson. On the drawing, Wietz had reshaped the nose to show how it looked after the cosmetic surgery.

Bones described the autopsy in general terms, then zeroed in on the dental work and cosmetic surgery in detail.

Bones said, “I think it's significant that my description of the bridgework and filling was precisely the same as Dr. Tyler's description at the time he did the work.”

“Well, sir,” Schyler said, “since the bridgework is a common procedure, wouldn't that always hold true?”

“I am referring specifically to the cause of the injury. We both had concluded that the injuries Miss Thompson had suffered were the result of a blow to the right side of her jaw.”

“Why is that significant?”

Bones walked over to the exhibits.

“The nature of the injuries indicated that there was a sharp blow here.” He made a fist and placed it against his own jaw. “The blow was made by a fist, which shattered the first molar and second bicuspid on the lower jaw. They were literally jammed against the upper jaw, which resulted in the chipping of the first molar on top and also a hairline fracture to the jaw. The photos of Miss Thompson also indicate this is true.”

He picked up the photo of Thompson's right profile. “Notice the bruise on the jawline. You can see impressions of two knuckles here and here.”

Then he picked up the diagram drawn by Tyler in 1921 and placed a sheet of tracing paper with his own sketch of the injuries over it. The match was virtually identical.

“Making allowances for gum shrinkage due to aging, it is my opinion that they are identical and were caused by a blow to the side of the jaw. What that means is both women had the identical jaw profile. Both women were the same size. Both injuries were caused by a blow with a fist to the same spot. And the injuries in both cases were identical.”

He picked up the full-face photo of Thompson shot by Tyler and the overlay showing how Thompson's nose had been altered.

“Miss Thompson's nose was thick in the bridge between her eyes and it was too long. The cosmetic surgery narrowed her nose and shortened it.”

“What is your conclusion?” Judge Levy asked.

Bones said, “It is my opinion, based on the evidence presented to me and my investigation, that Wilma Thompson and Verna Hicks Wilensky are and were one and the same person.”

“And do you concur with that opinion, Dr. Tyler?” Levy said.

“Yes, I do, Your Honor,” Tyler said, nodding vigorously.

Bones and Tyler were excused.

“I have one more witness to question,” Schyler said.

“Call your witness,” Templeton said.

“Sergeant Zeke Bannon, L.A.P.D.”

It was a shock to me. Although my presence had been requested, I had not been subpoenaed. I walked through the gate and was sworn in.

“Good morning, Sergeant,” Schyler said with a grin. “I have just a few questions. You are the investigating officer in the death of Verna Hicks Wilensky, are you not?”