Read Anatomy of a Murder Online
Authors: Robert Traver
Anatomy of a Murder (37 page)
I tried to keep the note of relieved jubilation out of my voice. “Did Barney knowâthat this Sonny really meant nothing to you?”
She replied slowly. “I don't know. The more Barney fussed and fumed about my going out with Sonny the more determined I was that I would.” She smiled up at me. “Someday, you see, there is always the chance that I might meet a man I really care for. I did not want either to delude Barney or let him feel that I was his prisoner. There is only the one thing that bothers meâthat gives me this small feeling of guilt.”
“What's that?”
“When this horrible thing happened I wasn't even here. Sonny and I had driven out to the beach to go swimming. There was a full moon. We had been there the night before, too.”
“Why should that bother you, Mary?” I barely whispered.
“Well, the night before Barney was killed, while I was changing from my wet swim suit, someone came along the beach and suddenly lit a flashlight. I can't get over the notion that this unknown person might have misunderstood the situation and gone and told Barney.” She paused. “In fact, knowing him, at times I've even thought it might have been Barney himself.”
“No, no,” I said dogmatically, and then hastily recovered. “No,” I went on, “I doubt that Barney ever knew of this incident on the
beach. It seems to me he would have let you know in some way, either by revoking his will or canceling the insurance or in
some
unmistakable way.”
beach. It seems to me he would have let you know in some way, either by revoking his will or canceling the insurance or in
some
unmistakable way.”
She searched my face in the moonlight. “I hope you're right, Paul,” she said. “But he was a devious and endlessly complicated man. Maybe he chose
this
awful way to tell me. Anyway, now you have my secret.” She touched my arm. “I hope I can trust you to keep it.”
this
awful way to tell me. Anyway, now you have my secret.” She touched my arm. “I hope I can trust you to keep it.”
“Honest cross my heart, Mary,” I said, setting down my glass and making the sign I had not made since I was a boy. Then I lied gallantly, my first big whopper of the night. “I'm sure Barney knew nothing about your being on the beach. Put it out of your mind, child. I've been digging in this case for weeks and I haven't heard a whisper that you've even known any soldier.”
She smiled up at me gratefully. “And then I guess I blinded myself to the truth, mostly for the sake of Barney's daughter. Having such a mother as the child has, I just could not bear the thought that she must now think her father ⦠. In fact that still oppresses me more than anything.”
“Mary,” I said, putting my hand on hers, “please do something for me. In the morning please phone the prosecutor the first thing about the lie-detector test. He'll tell you. Then go see the caretaker, Mr. Lemon, about the tourists who heard the screams. I want you to be sure.”
“I will, Paulâbut I really know now. I'm afraid it is the truth.” She smiled wanly. “You would not have told me if it weren't. I could
see
you were telling the truth. You looked far too desperate and unlawyer-like.” She looked down at my hand, still covering hers, and then back at me.
see
you were telling the truth. You looked far too desperate and unlawyer-like.” She looked down at my hand, still covering hers, and then back at me.
“Thank you, Mary,” I said, abruptly rising. “IâI really must be going. I've kept you up way too late. Forgive me for intruding at such an hour.”
“Thank you for coming, Paul,” Mary Pilant said. “I'm so relieved to be able to talk at last with someone I feel I can trust.” She brushed her forehead with the back of her hand. “IâI've been so confused.”
“There's only one thing that I must tell you, Mary,” I said. “I
must.
bring out this rape and the drinking and pistols. It all happened and I must bring it out. You understand that, I hope.”
must.
bring out this rape and the drinking and pistols. It all happened and I must bring it out. You understand that, I hope.”
“Yes, I understand,” she said ruefully, shaking her head.
“It will be tough on you and the child, I know,” I said. “But
wouldn't it be much worse for the child to think that her father, cold sober, could have done such a thing? Don't you see, Mary, the truth itself carries a kind of a human if not legal excuse. There was frailty here, tooâit was not all pure evil.”
wouldn't it be much worse for the child to think that her father, cold sober, could have done such a thing? Don't you see, Mary, the truth itself carries a kind of a human if not legal excuse. There was frailty here, tooâit was not all pure evil.”
She nodded and walked with me to the door. While standing there she looked so utterly alone and helpless that I longed to fold her in my arms and hold her until her troubles went away. Instead I did a most singular thing, at the same time feeling surely as old as George Bernard Shaw, if scarcely as wise: I raised my hand and gingerly patted the top of her head, muttering, “There, there,” or some such deathlessly comforting words.
We stood there awkwardly in a shaft of streaming moonlight. Mary Pilant took my hand and clung to it fiercely for a moment with both of hers, staring intently up at me. “You are a good man, Paul Biegler,” she whispered, and then
she
did a most singular thing: she grasped both my lapels and pulled me down and her lips barely grazed mineâcool, soft, and tremulous as the wings of a moth. “Good night, Paul,” she whispered, turning away and quickly closing the door. I stood alone blinking at the door for a moment and then lurched drunkenly, ecstatically down the silent hallway, restraining a wild impulse to shout and sing and whistle. I was drunk not on whisky but from fatigue and relief for my case andâwhat else could it be?âa throbbing hope for the future. Her words rang in my ears, over and over. “Someday,” she had said, “someday I might meet a man I really care for ⦠.” “You are a good man, Paul Biegler ⦠.” Surely in my moonlit delirium I must have dreamed the rest.
she
did a most singular thing: she grasped both my lapels and pulled me down and her lips barely grazed mineâcool, soft, and tremulous as the wings of a moth. “Good night, Paul,” she whispered, turning away and quickly closing the door. I stood alone blinking at the door for a moment and then lurched drunkenly, ecstatically down the silent hallway, restraining a wild impulse to shout and sing and whistle. I was drunk not on whisky but from fatigue and relief for my case andâwhat else could it be?âa throbbing hope for the future. Her words rang in my ears, over and over. “Someday,” she had said, “someday I might meet a man I really care for ⦠.” “You are a good man, Paul Biegler ⦠.” Surely in my moonlit delirium I must have dreamed the rest.
Sore tempted as I was to get a room and sleep at the Thunder Bay Inn, all things considered I thought I had better not, and instead I drove back to Iron Bay. The trip was a moonlit nightmare, I was so tired, and I snatched a few hours sleep at a hotel near the courthouse, leaving a call and rising in time to shave and change my shirt and snatch some breakfast and dash off to court. As I was taking the short cut through the clerk's office the deputy clerk, Mollie, was on the phone. “Here he is now,” she said, handing me the phone. Nine o'clock was just striking and I was tempted to ask Mollie to take the number. Then I changed my mind; one never knew ⦠.
“Hello,” I said. “This is Paul Biegler.”
“This is Mary,” a low voice said. She told me that she had confirmed my story of the screams and lie-detector test, and that she had also tried to mollify the bartender, who had evidently learned to love me as much as I him.
“Thank you, Mary. I'll try to handle our little bartender with kid gloves.”
“Please, Paul, let me know what happens,” she said, “and good luck.”
“I'll call you, Mary ⦠.” I said. “You know I'll call you.”
As I galloped on air up the steel-shod back stairs I could hear the muffled thud of the Sheriff's gavel and I arrived breathless in the courtroom just in time for the “Be seated, please.” Well, at last I had direct confirmation on the lie-detector test.
The Judge looked down at my table and then over at Mitch's. “Gentlemen,” he said, “normally I insist that counsel arise and remain standing when addressing the court or examining a witness. But in view of the expanding and uncertain length of this trial and”âhe paused and smiled faintlyâ“and its rather hectic pace, I am henceforth going to let you remain seated if you wish.” He smiled. “Do I hear any objections?”
Mitch and Claude Dancer sprang to their feet. “None, Your Honor,” they chimed.
“The defense is delighted and grateful, Your Honor,” I said, remaining seated to try out this merciful new dispensation. What a fine, thoughtful judge.
“Call your first witness,” the Judge said, nodding at Mitch's table.
“Detective Sergeant Julian Durgo,” Claude Dancer announced.
Dark, handsome, curly-haired Julian Durgo took the stand and
was sworn. He could have walked on to any movie set without make-up: assured, smart, and taciturn. Despite all this he was a fine officer, both efficient and honest, and I hoped he did not have too much bad news to unfold. I had worked with him my last four or five years as prosecutor and I had never once seen him take an unfair advantage of a criminal defendant, either in court or out. If Jule said a thing was thus or so the chances were pretty good that it was the solemn truth.
was sworn. He could have walked on to any movie set without make-up: assured, smart, and taciturn. Despite all this he was a fine officer, both efficient and honest, and I hoped he did not have too much bad news to unfold. I had worked with him my last four or five years as prosecutor and I had never once seen him take an unfair advantage of a criminal defendant, either in court or out. If Jule said a thing was thus or so the chances were pretty good that it was the solemn truth.
Questioned adroitly by Claude Dancer, Julian gave his name and address and briefly recounted his considerable experience as a plainclothes detective with the state police.
“Did you have occasion to investigate the fatal shooting of Barney Quill?” Claude Dancer asked crisply.
“I did. I headed the investigation,” Julian answered quietly.
“Will you tell us what you did?”
Julian Durgo related how he had got the call at the Iron Bay post around 1:15 and immediately proceeded to Thunder Bay with the coroner and Lieutenant Webley and a young state trooper. They had dropped the coroner and spare trooper at the bar to tend to the body and take the measurements and the rest and had gone immediately to the cottage of the caretaker-deputy. Mr. Lemon had pointed out the Manion trailer and the two officers had gone there and identified themselves and been admitted by the Lieutenant and placed him under arrest.
“Did you discuss the shooting then or later with Lieutenant Manion?” Claude Dancer asked.
“I did. Both then and later.”
“Will you tell us, Officer, what he said?”
The Judge glanced quickly at me and I shook my head. I could have objected on the grounds that it had not yet been shown that the police had first warned the Lieutenant of his constitutional rights, including his right not to talk. But I did not object because I was morally certain that Julian had indeed warned my man, he always did. Moreover I knew that the jury must be dying to hear the story anyway and if I objected I would betray on our part a lack of candor and an apparent effort to hide the truth. Claude Dancer knew all this, too, and had doubtless set out another of his clever little traps.
“I asked the Lieutenant where the gun was and he pointed at a table and said he would get it, but I said no and instead got it myself,”
Julian Durgo replied in his careful, thoughtful way, answering no more than he was asked.
Julian Durgo replied in his careful, thoughtful way, answering no more than he was asked.
“And is this the gun?” Claude Dancer said, handing the lüger to Julian, who identified it and the gun was quickly admitted in evidence. I wondered whether the dead German lieutenant, from whatever craggy Valhalla he now occupied, could see what was happening to his old gun.
“Were you present later at the bar when an effort was made to recover the bullets?” Claude Dancer asked.
“I was. I conducted the search.”
“Were any recovered?”
“Four bullets were found, along with five shell cases. We also discovered that the mirror had been broken along with a bottle of whisky.”
“Did you preserve and do you now have the bullets and shell cases?”
“I did and I have,” the witness answered, and he produced a tagged cloth sack upon which the court reporter proceeded to mark the People's latest exhibit number. Claude Dancer then reached in the cloth bag and retrieved the bullets.
“And are these the bullets that killed Barney Quill?”
“They are the lead pellets we found in the barroom, sir,” Julian Durgo replied evenly, carefully refusing to assume more than he actually knew.
Claude Dancer stood thoughtfully before the jury rolling the bullets lovingly in his fingers, much like Captain Queeg and his famous ball bearings. It was a nice tawdry little show: the lower Michigan criminal lawyer would at once demonstrate to the jury his vast experience in criminal trials and his bored familiarity with the handling of bullets that had snuffed out the lives of murdered men. I stared at him, half in admiration for his cleverness and half in scorn over this glutinous display of courtroom histrionics.
“Pardon me, Your Honor,” he said, and he trotted over to my table with his short rumpy canter and, holding his hand high, made as though to dump the bullets in my hand, at the same time saying: “The People now hand defense counsel for inspection the bullets that killed Barney Quill.”
“The little bastard,” I thought as I quickly folded my arms and leaned back in my chair. “No thanks, Mr. Dancer,” I said. “I once saw a bullet. It was removed from the body of a deer hunter”âI
squinted appraisinglyâ“just about your size.” I looked up at the Judge. “The defense has no objections, Your Honor.”
squinted appraisinglyâ“just about your size.” I looked up at the Judge. “The defense has no objections, Your Honor.”
The courtroom tittered and the Judge frowned and reached for his gavel and then said, when quiet was restored: “The exhibits will be received in evidence. Proceed, Mr. Dancer.”
Claude Dancer had glided back before the witness. “Getting back to the defendant at the trailer, what else if anything did he say?”
“He told us that his wife had had some trouble with Barney Quill and that he had gone and shot him. He also asked us whether the man was dead and we said that he was.”
“What then?”
“Then we drove him and his wife to the county jail.”
“Was there any further talk in the car on the drive down?”
“Yes, on the drive down the Lieutenant said he had thought the whole thing over before going to the bar and had decided that such a man should not live.”
Claude Dancer paused to let this sink in and steal a look at me. This was a massive body blow to our insanity defense and both he and I knew it. I glanced at the jury and to a man they were staring intently at the witness. I did not dare stop to ask my man now whether this had happened. Anyway, the dialogue of our drama had now changed sharply against us and I leaned forward as Dancer pressed relentlessly on.
“How did the defendant appear?”
“He was upset and emotional and appeared very angry.”
This was probably objectional as an unwarranted inference or conclusion of the witness, but I remained glued to my chair. There was no use underlining how important I considered all this by risking a losing objection. Anyway the jury had heard it nowâ
they
wouldn't forget ⦠.
they
wouldn't forget ⦠.
“What else?” Claude Dancer said, stalking softly.
“He said that he had no regrets over what he'd done, that he'd do it again. Several times more he asked us if the deceased was really dead.”
All this was more massive blows to our defense and I sat as still as a mouse. Good God, had the Lieutenant also signed a written confession I didn't know about? Was our defense going straight up the flue?
“âThen what?” the Dancer purred.
“Then we arrived at the county jail and I asked the defendant if he cared to make a formal statement and he said no. Then he was
booked on murder and locked up and we returned immediately to Thunder Bay to continue the investigation.”
booked on murder and locked up and we returned immediately to Thunder Bay to continue the investigation.”
Claude Dancer looked over at me with a nodding smile. “Your witness,” he said, almost purring.
I glanced over at a white-faced Parnell and then up at the skylight. I had myself a delicate problem. Here was a witness whom I admired and respected both as an officer and a man. I also admired and respected his state police organization. But there was no doubt in my mind that his testimony was being kept under wraps by someone, and that that someone was probably Claude Dancer and not the officer himself. Julian Durgo was the kind of careful and conscientious officer who did not answer more than he was asked, and it was apparent that Dancer had carefully confined his questions only to the parts that were bad. But whatever the reason, Julian's testimony had been sorely damaging to my clientâhow much I could not yet tellâand I hoped and felt that there must be something that might help. How could I drag all this out without appearing to put this fine officer or his outfit on the spot? Well, drag it out I must ⦠.
“Officer Durgo,” I said, remaining seated, “on direct examination I believe you testified that the Lieutenant told you that he had shot Barney Quill after he had learned from his wife that she had had âsome trouble' with the deceased, did you not?”
Quietly: “I did, sir.”
“Now, officer, were those words âsome trouble' the words Lieutenant Manion used to you or rather are they the words that you have used here in order to briefly describe what it was he actually told you?”
“They were my words, sir. I don't recall that the Lieutenant used that expression.”
“All right, Detective,” I said, “will you now please tell the court and the jury what the words were that the defendant himself used when he described this trouble his wife had had with the deceased?”
“Yes, sir. He saidâ”
“Objection!
Objection, Your Honor,” the Dancer boomed. “Court has ruled on all that. Would not be relevant to any issues properlyâ”
Objection, Your Honor,” the Dancer boomed. “Court has ruled on all that. Would not be relevant to any issues properlyâ”
I leapt to my feet. “Lissen, Dancer!” I shouted, suddenly goaded beyond all endurance. “Whaddya tryin' to doârailroad this poor guy to the clink? This is cross-examination in a murder case, not a highschool debate. You and your incessant chatter about relevant issues, issues, issues ⦠.” (I could hear the Judge calling my name and
pounding his gavel, but the only way he could have stopped me then was to have used it over my head.) “You want to unload all the bad news on my man but none of the good. Issues, issues, issues!” I imitated his voice. “âDear Judge, please let's not mention anything as horrid as rape until somebody gets raped! Let's not let Junior go near the water, mother, till he learns how to swim ⦠.' Listen, fellaâwho inâwho in the blazes do you think you're foolin'?”
pounding his gavel, but the only way he could have stopped me then was to have used it over my head.) “You want to unload all the bad news on my man but none of the good. Issues, issues, issues!” I imitated his voice. “âDear Judge, please let's not mention anything as horrid as rape until somebody gets raped! Let's not let Junior go near the water, mother, till he learns how to swim ⦠.' Listen, fellaâwho inâwho in the blazes do you think you're foolin'?”
“Mr. Biegler, Mr. Biegler,” the Judge kept calling, and I finally turned to him, hot and flushed. He too was deeply flushed with anger. “I must warn you against another such outburst,” he said sternly. “You are an experienced lawyer and know better, much better. Henceforth please address your comments on objections solely to the Court. I cannot tolerate another such intemperate displayâand I warn you I shall not. The only reason I am overlooking this one is that I realize you men are under such a strain.”
“I'm sorry, Your Honor,” I said. “I apologize to the court.” (In my burst of anger I had not entirely lost sight of the fact that my outburst might obliquely do him some good, too.) “Your Honor,” I went on, “I shall now address my remarks on the objections, if I may.” The Judge nodded grimly and I went on. “This witness is a key witness for the People. He has investigated this alleged murder. He has given testimony here today which, if unexplained or not further explored, could conceivably be most harmful to this defendant. I think and I insist that we have the right
now
, while the one-sided impact of that testimony is still fresh before the jury, to learn
all
that he knows, everything that the defendant and his wife told him. I think we should have this right in order to bring out the true climate and circumstances in which those admissions, if any, were made. Insanity is an issue in this case; it has been an issue in this case since the start of this trial; and we submit that whatever
trouble
this defendant's wife had had with the deceased must have triggered or at least contributed to that claimed insanity. We now seek to find out what that âtrouble' was.”
now
, while the one-sided impact of that testimony is still fresh before the jury, to learn
all
that he knows, everything that the defendant and his wife told him. I think we should have this right in order to bring out the true climate and circumstances in which those admissions, if any, were made. Insanity is an issue in this case; it has been an issue in this case since the start of this trial; and we submit that whatever
trouble
this defendant's wife had had with the deceased must have triggered or at least contributed to that claimed insanity. We now seek to find out what that âtrouble' was.”
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