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I had known Martin Sullivan for 30 years.

I saw him every day around the town or around the police station,

and never knew him to be anything but a quiet fellow. So I didn't handcuff him when I was taking him from Alderman King's office on West Grant Street to the jail he was held for court without bail.

I went for him about seven o'clock at his home on Irwin Street with a

warrant to take him to the hearing. He acted natural enough. I saw his gun on the kitchen table,

along with his police stick and his flashlight, but I didn't think anything about it. I waited outside

at the hearing because the alderman's office, back of a jewelry store,

is so small and there was a doctor and three women in there testifying, so it was crowded. After the

hearing, we started for the jail. When we passed a saloon on 2nd Street, Martin said he wanted to go

in for a minute to the restroom, so I went in

along. I was surprised to see Martin take a drink of whiskey. I had a five-cent beer. Then we started

out, and Martin said he wanted to go home first to give his keys to his son. He said he had left

all the lights burning in the house.

I waited outside the house where I could see both sides of the building.

I guess I waited about half an hour altogether when I saw him coming out of the house.

He acted natural and we started down the street side by side.

When we got to a house on second street, he stopped.

I was three steps ahead of him before I realized he stopped,

and before I knew it, he was ringing the doorbell.

I guess he rang the bell. It was pretty dark.

A young man came to the door, and Martin said,

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