How to Murder Your Wife Page #6

But even beyond this,

I ask you to consider the

arrogance of the man.

Not content with his crime,

he then proceeded to publish

in 463 newspapers

from Bangor, Maine, to Honolulu

each shocking detail of his murder plan.

Yeah, it doesn't look good.

He regretted his marriage

from the very beginning

and made every effort

to worm his way out of it.

I object, Your Honour...

Harold, I've told you not to interrupt me!

But, dear, this... you...

- Shut up! You know he killed her!

- But Dear...

Let me tell you something else,

Harold Lampson.

If you go on defending known murderers,

you'll wake up one morning

and find yourself disbarred!

And it is your opinion that this drug, uh...

Alphadeebenzotherapotazolamide,

as your doctor calls it.

In this case,

as I don't happen to be your doctor,

you can just call them goofballs.

Thank you.

Anyway, Doctor, it is your opinion

that these goofballs can,

under certain conditions,

be extremely dangerous?

Ooh, only if taken

in conjunction with alcohol.

Otherwise, absolutely harmless.

Oh, you get a little high,

you have a few laughs,

an occasional burst into song...

Would you please describe

the effect of these... things

when taken with alcohol?

Certainly.

Brrrrrrp! Right up the wall.

Then blaaaap! Right down again.

Brrrrrrp?

Blaaaap!

And you contend, Mr Firbank,

that Mr Ford

was simply conducting a dry run,

merely testing a murder plan

for his comic strip?

Precisely, sir.

You see,

Mr Ford would never ask Bash Brannigan

to do anything

that he hadn't already done himself.

Including murder his wife?

Well...

Has it occurred to you, Mr Firbank,

that Mr Ford perhaps wanted you

to think it was only a dry run?

The night was dark, was it not?

Yes, sir. But, uh...

By your own admission,

you photographed the operation

from a hotel window

no closer than a block away?

Quite, sir. But...

Then, for all you know,

it was Mrs Ford's body

he buried in the wet cement.

Impo...

Oh, I say,

you don't... actually mean...

But of course! You're absolutely right!

What a silly, silly ninny I was

not to have seen through it!

Of course he did it! Oh!

Congratulations, sir.

Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant!

Don't you know

you had me completely fooled?

I thought it was a dummy! Even I!

Oh, dear,

that makes me a bit of a dummy.

I can't tell you how happy I am!

I'll give Mr Rawlins my notice

and return early next week.

The prosecution rests.

No, I don't think

there's one chance in 10

that they'll actually

send you to the chair, Stan.

Well, maybe one.

But I think it'll be somewhere between

20 years and life,

which isn't so terribly bad,

when you come right down to it.

I mean, you always liked simple food

and a regulated, well-ordered life.

And looking at it from my point of view,

well, if I had gotten you off,

Edna would have been just furious.

She wouldn't have spoken to me for months.

When she gets into one of those things,

she makes my life a living hell.

No kidding, Stan.

Losing this case tomorrow

may be a little tough on you,

but it's one of the best things

that's happened to my home life in years.

Hearye, hearye, the Court

of General Sessions is now in session.

If it please the court, may I...

Your Honour,

I would like to dispense with counsel

and conduct my own defence.

What are you talking about...

For my first and only witness, I call my

friend and former attorney, Harold Lampson.

Will you please approach the bench,

gentlemen?

Wait a minute.

Wait a minute. Stan, you...

Let me understand this, Mr Ford.

You're serving as your own counsel

and calling Mr Lampson as a witness?

- Yes, Your Honour.

- I don't know what to say.

How about, "This is most irregular,

but he may take the stand"?

Oh, thank you.

This is most irregular,

but he may take the stand.

Now, wait a minute, Stan.

This is ridiculous!

You don't even know how to conduct...

I could have got you off

from 20 years to life,

but this way you're gonna

wind up in the electric chair!

Raise your right hand, please.

Do you swear to tell the truth,

the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?

- I do.

- Be seated.

- State your full name, please.

- Harold Lampson.

- Are you married, Harold?

- You know damn well I'm...

Yes, yes.

How many years have you been married?

Well, let's see, Hal Junior is ten.

We were living on

West 11th Street at the time,

so that would make it, uh... uh...

in the neighbourhood of...

11 years, you idiot!

Uh, 11 glorious, wonderful years.

Yeah, that's right.

11 glorious, wonderful years.

Your Honour, I fail to see...

- I'm merely trying to establish

the witness's qualifications. - As what?

As a typical example

of a happily married American male.

That's what you are, isn't it Harold,

a happily married American male?

Yes, I suppose so.

Stan, look, you're doing this all wrong.

- You have two lovely children?

- Yes.

House in Scarsdale,

a late-model station wagon, a Great Dane?

Yes.

I submit that the witness is

eminently qualified.

Harold, I'm going to ask you a question.

Think it over very carefully

and answer me

as honestly as you possibly can.

Yeah.

- Do you believe in marriage?

- What?

Marriage.

As an institution, do you believe in it?

Well, sure, of course I believe in it.

I mean, what kind of a question

is that anyway, Stan?

From where I sit, which as you pointed out

is quite likely to be an electric chair,

it's rather a central one, I'd say.

However, let me put it to you

a slightly different way.

Let us assume for a moment

that this dot I have just drawn...

is a button.

- A button?

- Mm-hm. A button.

All right, it's a button.

Let's further assume

that if you were to push that button,

your wife, Edna, to whom you have

been married for 11 glorious years,

would suddenly and magically disappear.

- Disappear?

- As in vanish.

Not be here. No longer exist.

- I object!

- Overruled.

That's right. Overruled.

And will you please shut up?

This is beginning to get interesting.

- Oh.

- Thank you, Your Honour.

Let me add two important things.

Her disappearance would be harmless.

But what's more important,

no-one - repeat, no-one -would ever know

that it was you who pushed that button.

- No-one would ever know?

- No-one would ever know.

No-one would ever know?

No-one would ever know.

- How old are you, hmm?

- 52.

I don't believe it.

You don't look a day over40.

You wouldn't look over 40 if you

lost a little weight, sat up straight.

Here you are, in the prime of life,

a handsome figure of a man,

successful in business,

adored by one and all.

In fact, it could be said that

you had it made except for the one thing!

- I'm a lousy lawyer.

- No, you're married.

Yeah, but being married

is the normal way to live, isn't it?

Who says so?

Edna.

Oh, Harold,

I think you've been brainwashed.

You're missing a very important point.

Marriage is not a basic fact of nature.

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