A Handy Death (15 page)

Gorman had had all he could take. He shot to his feet. “No, God damn it!”

The gavel came down, loud and clear. Judge Waxler leaned over the bench.

“Mr. Gorman, one more outbreak like that and I shall be forced to ask you to leave the courtroom. Do you understand? Good. All right, Mr. Ross.”

“Your Honor,” Ross said, “the accused now moves that Your Honor make an order admitting the defendant to bail upon reasonable conditions. It clearly appears upon the record that there is grave doubt that the crime of murder was even committed. The defendant, under the eighth Amendment of the Constitution, is entitled to reasonable bail and we respectfully ask that this bail be fixed.”

Judge Waxler turned to the prosecution table.

“What say you, Mr. District Attorney?”

This time Varick was not at all hesitant. He came to his feet prepared to argue this one right down the line.

“The People, Your Honor,
vigorously
oppose the fixing of bail in this case! This is an indictment for murder in the first degree, and while the Defense may not feel that the crime of murder was committed, the prosecution is prepared to prove it. And bail, as Your Honor knows, is normally not set in a murder case.”

His voice strengthened.

“Furthermore, this defendant was involved in a riot at Attica State's Prison where three people, including a prison guard, lost their lives. We wish we had the evidence to prosecute him for the murder of that guard. We may, in fact, very well have that evidence to hand before this trial is ended. However, at present the only evidence we have supports the present indictment for murder. The People firmly believe, in view of this man's terrible record, and under the circumstances, that bail should definitely be denied!”

Judge Waxler looked at Varick coldly.

“When the prosecution has evidence of other crimes, I suggest they bring in proper indictments. In the meantime we shall strike any mention of the prison riots from the record.” He swung about to Ross, leaving Varick red-faced. “What bail did you have in mind, Mr. Ross? And what other reasons do you have to convince me why I should set bail at all?”

“Your Honor knows,” Ross said evenly, “that bail may not be denied as a weapon of punishment before defendant has actually been convicted. The purpose of bail is to insure the presence of the defendant for trial. This defendant has been out on bail in the previous charges and has always appeared to fulfill his responsibilities to the court. Your Honor, this defendant has already spent many years in prison for a crime which the defense will prove he did not commit. Refusal of bail now would, in effect, constitute further punishment, and this punishment before conviction.”

Judge Waxler frowned for a moment, as if going over Ross's words in his mind. He nodded slowly.

“Under the circumstances,” he said slowly, “I think I shall have to set a reasonably high bail—”

Varick was on his feet. “Your Honor, the People object!”

“Your objection will be duly noted,” the judge said drily. “I hereby set bail at one hundred thousand dollars.” The gavel descended. Judge Waxler looked from one table to the other and then, satisfied that there would be no more motions for the day, banged his gavel once again. “Court is adjourned until three days hence.”

He came to his feet, pulling his robes together with dignity, and descended from the bench. Billy Dupaul turned to Ross in utter amazement.

“You mean, I walk out of here? Just like that? Out into the street?”

“You walk out of here when bail has been made, which should be sometime this afternoon,” Ross said with a smile. “Now you know a part of what I was after all this time with that mumbo-jumbo.” He started to put his papers away. “What do you plan to do with yourself for the next three days?”

“I don't know. I sure didn't give it any thought; I never figured—I don't know. Maybe I'll take a bus up to Queensbury and see how the old place looks—”

“You stay in town,” Ross instructed sternly.

“But—”

“No ‘buts.' You stay in town. And available. And I'd also suggest—”

He paused to face Gorman as the Chief Assistant District Attorney charged up. Behind him, at the prosecution table, Varick was finally managing to put his papers away in his briefcase. Gorman was seething. He pointedly disregarded the presence of Billy Dupaul.

“Ross, you should be disbarred! Why didn't you make a further motion to strike off a medal for this man? It's about all you failed to do! Using your profession to put a mad-dog killer back on the streets!”

Billy Dupaul, his face getting dangerously red, started to push himself to his feet. Ross pushed him down again, forcefully, turning to face the livid Gorman.

“Louie, you should know better than to make statements like that. How would a libel suit go down with your boss?”

Gorman stared at him a moment. “Bah! One day you'll go too far, Ross, and I hope I'm around when it happens!”

It was on Ross's mind to say that as long as his opponent was Louis G. Gorman, that day was probably far off, but he felt it would scarcely add to the moment. Gorman looked at him for a moment as if awaiting a reply, and then stamped off.

Billy Dupaul came to his feet slowly, rubbing his knuckles. Ross, understanding, grinned at him.

“Take it easy. Hitting him would probably have cost you a lot more than it would him. It would have cost him a sore jaw, but it could have cost you the rest of the years of your life. Don't make his case for him.”

He turned away, closing his briefcase, and then remembered what he had been saying when Gorman interrupted.

“And Billy, for the next three days I'd suggest you stay out of bars. You and bars always seem to add up to trouble, and as far as trouble is concerned, you have enough right now …”

CHAPTER

10

Hank Ross returned from getting Billy Dupaul settled after making his bond. He came into the office to find Jerry Coughlin waiting for him in the reception room. The thin newspaperman appeared not to have changed clothes since their last meeting. He came to his feet easily, setting aside the magazine he had been leafing through.

“
Mister
Ross—”

“Yes?”

“We have a matter to discuss, I believe. A minute of your valuable time, if I might?”

There was a momentary silence, then Ross shrugged.

“All right,” he said quietly. “Come on in. As a matter of fact, I wanted to see you, too.”

“I'm sure,” Coughlin said softly, significantly, as he followed Hank Ross into the lawyer's private office. Sharon was typing from the Tombs transcript tape; Billy Dupaul's strong young voice could be heard above the whirr of the electric typewriter.

“…
time in the hotel. Jim Marshall? I should have kicked his brains out!
” Ross's even tones came on almost immediately. “
What did he say
—”

Sharon looked up with a welcoming smile as the door opened, her fingers poised over the keyboard of the typewriter; the smile disappeared as she saw the man accompanying Ross. She leaned over, switching off the recorder, and looked up at Ross questioningly. He nodded and the girl rose, turned off the typewriter and left the room, closing the door firmly behind her. Coughlin grinned.

“I see you run a well-trained office here, Ross. They learn quick.” He tilted his head in the direction of the cassette recorder on Sharon's desk. “Billy Dupaul, eh?”

“Yes,” Ross said shortly. “Now, what did you want to see me about?”

“It can wait,” Coughlin said. “You said you wanted to see me, too. I figure it's about the same thing, anyway.” He dropped into a chair beside the desk with a proprietory manner, his loud sports jacket hunching itself about his narrow shoulders as he leaned back, looking up at Ross. “What's on
your
mind, Counselor?”

“I doubt if it's the same thing,” Ross said quietly, “so let's not waste time. You first.”

“If you insist,” Coughlin said with a grin. “I see by the papers the preliminary proceedings in the People versus Dupaul got under way today. It's also about the time of year the sparrows start south, if you know what I mean. The Governor's Committee investigating that riot should be coming out with their findings in the next few days, and it would be better if I were away on that trip, don't you think?”

“Trip?” Ross asked innocently.

Coughlin sat up, his grin disappearing, his eyes narrowed.

“Let's not be cute, Ross. Maybe you really should use a tape recorder whenever you talk to people; it might help that memory of yours. That's right—the operative word was ‘trip.' And what I'm talking about is the money I wanted to—borrow—to make it.”

“Oh,
that
trip,” Ross said easily. He shook his head regretfully. “You know, I've been thinking about it and I've decided not to loan you the money. I'm not sure you're a very good risk.” He smiled in friendly fashion. “I'm sorry. Maybe you could find a friend at Chase Manhattan. Or Household Finance might see their way clear to helping you out.”

Coughlin's skeletal face turned ugly. He came to his feet, glowering.

“Why, you stupid bastard! You'll live to regret that attitude! If I get up on that witness stand—”

“
If
you get up on that witness stand?” Ross snapped his fingers, suddenly remembering something. “Now I remember! That's what I wanted to see you about!” He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, brought out a folded piece of paper, verified its identity, and handed it across the desk. “Allow me to play mailman. This is yours.”

Coughlin looked at him a bit stupidly for a moment and then took the stiff, legal-looking document from the outstretched fingers. He read the writing on the outside of the folded paper, opened it and read the first few lines on the inside, and then looked up, shaking his head in wonder.

“You've got to be kidding! A subpoena? For me?”

“For you,” Ross said. “Delivered legally. And saving the State a fee, I might add.”

“As a witness for the
defense
?”

“Correct,” Ross said, and nodded politely.

“You've got to be crazy!”

“Well, even hostile witnesses are sometimes better than none,” Ross said apologetically and shrugged his shoulders. His finger came up, pointing to the document, being helpful. “The Supreme Courts building; I'm sure you know where it is. October thirtieth, five days from now.”

Coughlin stared at him.

“And what do you think I'll say on the stand?”

“We won't find out sitting here, will we?” Ross said pleasantly. “Good-by. And on the matter of that—ah, loan—better luck next time.”

“There won't be any next time,” Coughlin said harshly, his thin face hard. “Not for Billy Dupaul, that's for sure.” He turned with his hand on the knob. “I'll tell you one thing,” he said flatly. “That Dupaul kid sure has lousy luck with lawyers!”

The door closed behind him. Ross stared at the door panel with a frown on his face. It had been satisfying to give the blackmailing Mr. Coughlin a bit of comeuppance, but exactly where it could help Billy Dupaul was not precisely clear. In fact it was completely obscure.

He sighed. Oh, well, he thought, he had had a good day in court, and sufficient unto the day …

At eight o'clock that evening, Sharon and Hank Ross were sharing a table at the Sign of the Dove, awaiting Mike Gunnerson, who had been unavailable that afternoon, but who had arranged to meet them for dinner. Their drinks were before them and their dinner orders—including Mike's usual two-pound steak—had been taken. Sharon started to raise her martini and then paused, smiling. Mike was pushing his way with difficulty through the tables. He came up, pulled back a chair, and sat down. He looked at the drink in Sharon's hand, the glass of beer before Ross, and grinned.

“How many are you two up on me?”

“Don't tell him,” Ross said to Sharon in a
sotto voce
. “Greediness should never be encouraged.”

“I'll catch up, anyway,” Gunnerson said, and turned to call a waiter. To his amazement a hand reached over his shoulder and Jeannot, personally, was handing him his Scotch on the rocks. It was a double. Mike grinned.

“My apologies.” He raised his glass in a small salute, took a long drink, and set it down. “That's better. We may even survive. Say, Hank, I hear you pulled a real Ross in court today.”

Ross smiled. Praise from Gunnerson was praise indeed.

“We did all right. Gorman raised a fuss, but he wasn't really all that surprised. He's quite an actor.” He grinned. “He'll be more surprised when he discovers that getting Billy out is going to play merry hell with some of his prosecuting tactics in the next trial.”

“Good,” Mike said. “Anything that upsets Louie Gorman can't be all bad.” He glanced around. “Where's Billy?”

“We got him released from the Tombs about three this afternoon, and I checked him into the Marlborough on Lexington. I suggested he go out and get some decent clothes, or at least enough to last him through the trial, but he said that could wait; he wanted to go to the movies.” He grinned. “My guess is he picked a double feaure and will probably sit through it twice. I called the hotel before and left a message for him to join us here if he got back in time.”

“Well,” Mike said understandingly, “the last year or so there haven't been too many privileges granted up at Attica. At least the movies are a better place for him to be than in a bar.” He smiled and raised his drink. “Which is where I'd be if I'd been in prison for the past four years.”

“Which is where you are even though you
haven't
been in prison for the last four years,” Ross reminded him with a smile, and then moved aside to allow the waiter to bring their food. The dishes were carefully placed under the eagle eye of Jeannot; Ross picked up his knife and fork, tested the steak, and smiled his appreciation. Jeannot beamed and moved away.