by Lionel White
“She checked out about half an hour ago,” Giddeon said. “That’s what the telephone call was about. One of my men went over there to see her and she had checked out. She didn’t return home.”
“In that case, I am sure that she will be in touch with me sooner or later,” I said. “But believe me, Lieutenant, Mrs. Merriweather has absolutely nothing to do with his case. She never saw the dead man before in her life. Why-”
“Somebody had to have seen him,” the lieutenant said, standing up. “Somebody had to know him. Well, anyway, if she gets in touch with you, you might tell her we would like to talk with her. Might help her husband out, you know.”
He shrugged. “You can come along with me if you’d like to see him, I guess.”
I stood up and followed the lieutenant out of the place.
P7
I was secretly congratulating myself on arranging for Ann to hide out. I didn’t want her subjected to questioning— not just yet, in any case. Not until I was quite sure that she would know what to say and what not to say. Not until I had had a chance to talk a lot more with Charles Merriweather.
I had never seen such a complete change in a man within the space of twenty-four hours. When I walked into the small visitor’s room and looked up to find Charles Merriweather standing there next to a small table, I hardly recognized him. He needed a shave, his eyes were heavy-lidded and he looked dead tired. But the change went deeper than mere physical appearances. Suddenly this man whom I thought I knew so well had lost all his boisterous good humor, all of his peculiarly virile charm. He was old and tired and there was something frightened and defeated about him. All of the cocksureness of the previous day had disappeared and when he attempted a smile, as he indicated the seat at the side of the table, there was a pathetic quality about his manner.
We shook hands and sat down and for a moment he stared at me without speaking, slowly shaking his head.
“It’s insane,” he said, finally. “Utterly and completely crazy. My God, the whole thing seems like some fantastic dream. Why, Howard, do you know what the police believe?”
I nodded.
“I tried to warn you yesterday, Charles,” I said. “I told you that this was serious. That you are really in a spot.”
He slowly shook his head.
“There’s only one way out,” I continued. “Only one way—that is, assuming you didn’t kill him.”
He looked up at me then and when he spoke his voice was strong and sure.
“As God is my witness,” he said, “I didn’t kill that man. That you must believe. I didn’t kill him.”
There was something so completely and absolutely sincere about his declaration that it left no room for doubt.
“Before you say anything Charles, there is something I must tell you,” I said. “Something very important. The police know—or at least they are practically certain—that the man was killed sometime between midnight and six o’clock, in your home. Do you understand? In your home.”
Again he nodded.
“I know,” he said. He looked up at me then, a peculiar expression on his face. “But don’t you see? Don’t you understand? I told you yesterday, remember? I have an alibi, a perfect alibi for those hours. I can prove beyond any question of a doubt that I was not at home during those hours.”
Slowly I nodded my head.
“You realize what that means, I suppose?” I asked.
He looked baffled.
“It means that Ann was in the house during those hours. Do you realize that? Ann was there. So if the police accept your alibi, well then—”
His mouth fell open and he half rose in his chair.
“What are you trying to say?” he said thickly. “Ann— why Ann never saw the man in her life. And anyway, she
was asleep, out like a light. She’d taken those pills and I know—I had a hard time even getting her up in the morning before I left. Why—”
“And if by any chance the police are right and the man was killed in the house?” I interrupted. “ You mean Ann wouldn’t have been awakened by the sound of the shot?”
“Dynamite wouldn’t have awakened her,” he said. “Believe me, dynamite wouldn’t have—”
“Listen, Charles,” I interrupted him. “Please listen. Let’s for the sake of argument admit the police are right. The man was killed in the early hours of the morning, in your house. Now someone had to kill him. Someone had to stuff the body in that trunk. Let’s try it this way. Ann is home alone. Maybe she wasn’t sleeping as soundly as you believed. She hears a prowler and gets up and finds one of your guns and in her hysteria, shoots him.”
He looked at me as though I had suddenly taken leave of my senses. He shook his head.
“And then you mean to tell me she stuffed the body into the trunk of my car and just went back to bed? ”
I half closed my eyes and cocked my head.
“Perhaps,” I said softly, “she just went back to bed. And perhaps you came home and you found the body and you stuffed it in the trunk, figuring on ditching it somewhere up in New England.”
He merely stared at me for several minutes, slowly shaking his head.
“You’re as crazy as the police are,” he said at last.
“Well, if your alibi holds up,” I said, “that’s probably the way the police are going to figure it.”
Again he shook his head.
“It’s all wrong,” he said. “If Ann, by any weird chance, had come on a prowler and shot him, then why wouldn’t she call the police at once? Why wouldn’t she admit it? Why would she want me to get rid of the body? No, the whole thing is crazy. It just couldn’t have happened that way.”
“All right,” I said, “I agree with you. I agree with you completely. But the police won’t agree with you. Not by a long shot they won’t. They know someone had to have fired that shot. And if you have an alibi, Ann is the one who is left without one.”
“But it can’t be that simple,” he said. “They would have to make a connection. Have to prove that Ann knew that man or that there was some reason for her shooting him. Something besides his being a prowler, because, as you admit, she would report it if that were the case. And believe me, Howard, Ann didn’t know the man. Of that I am absolutely, dead positive.”
“How can you be positive?” I asked.
His face suddenly flushed and I could see the quick anger arising in him.
“What the hell are you suggesting?” he said. “Are you trying to tell me that Ann—”
I was quick to interrupt him.
“God knows, Charles,” I said, “I believe Ann, believe her completely. I am sure she never saw the man in her life. I’m just trying to tell you how the police are going to start figuring, once they have established your own alibi.”
But even as I spoke, there was a peculiar, elusive idea forming in the back of my mind. I was wondering why Charles was so absolutely dead sure that Ann couldn’t have known the man. His conviction was so great, so thoroughly sincere, that it went far beyond mere confidence in his wife’s integrity. I wondered—but I didn’t say anything.
“Well, right now, Charles,” I said, trying to change the subject, “the problem is you and not Ann. You are the one they found with the body and you are the one they are holding. And I would be misleading you if I didn’t tell you that there is every chance in the world they will continue to hold you. Now that they have identified the gun and you have admitted ownership, the D.A. has enough to bring an immediate indictment. Whether he will or not, I have no way of knowing. But I do know this, if I try to get you out on bail, it will force the issue and once there is a murder indictment, bail will be out of the question.”
He looked up, startled.
“You mean they can just go on holding me?”
“That’ s right. They can just go on holding you. That’s why, if I am to do you any good, at this stage of the game, I have to know a few things. I have to know the name of the girl with whom you spent Sunday nigh
t.”
He had the grace to blush. For a moment or so he hesitated and then he shrugged.
“And I suppose Ann will know? ”
“If the girl is to be your alibi, everyone is going to know.”
He shook his head, looking down at the floor.
“It isn’t going to be easy,” he said. “But all right, if that’s the way it is to be. I’ll give you her name. It’s Ginny Grant. She lives in Huntington. Here—” He took out a pencil and wrote down the name and address. “Here it is. But I want you to promise me one thing. See Ann as soon as you can and have her come here and talk with me. And I want you to promise you won’t reveal the girl’s name or anything about her until I have had a chance to see Ann. They will let me see her, won’t they? ”
“They’ll let you see her,” I said. “And maybe you had better give me a note to this girl. Otherwise she might be hesitant to talk.”
Once more he searched around in his inside coat pocket and found a blank envelope.
“I guess this will have to do,” he said and he jotted down several lines and gave it to me.
“I’ll try to see you again the first thing tomorrow morning,” I said. “In the meantime, is there anything else you would like to tell me?”
“Anything else?”
“Yes. Anything. You see, within a very short time the police will undoubtedly know who the dead man is. They’ll know a good many things. And so, if there is anything at all—”
He shook his head.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “See me in the morning. And try and have Ann come in as soon as possible. By the way, is she staying at the house? ”
“She stayed at the Garden City Hotel last night,” I said.
“That was a good idea. How about the dog? Who is taking care of him?”
/oj
I told him that I had arranged last evening to have a local kennel board the dog and that he had been picked up. I didn’t tell him about the arrangements I had made for Ann, but I did say that as soon as I saw her I would give her his message. And then I left.
Lieutenant Giddeon was lounging in the hallway when I left. He beckoned to me and I went over to him.
“Wish you would stop by my office for a second,” he said.
I followed him down a couple of flights of stairs and we entered a small, square, sparsely furnished room. Giddeon nodded at a uniformed officer who stood up from behind the desk at once and left, closing the door behind him.
The lieutenant nodded toward a chair and sat down in back of the desk. He opened a drawer and took out a large square piece of cardboard and wordlessly handed it to me.
It was a police wanted sheet and it showed a front and side view of a man. My eyes stopped at the photos. I didn’t have to read the type that accompanied them. I knew. I knew that I was looking at the pictures of the murdered man who had been found in the trunk of Charles Merri-weather’s sedan.
“Checked him through the fingerprints,” Giddeon said as I looked up. “Name mean anything to you?”
I read the legend under the pictures.
John Harbor, alias Jake Harbor alias James Gordon Carstairs, alias Jackie Hard. Thirty-three years old, bom in Brooklyn, New York. Five feet seven, weight a hundred and forty pounds. Wanted for assault with a deadly weapon with intent to murder.
A quick run-through of his record showed that he had served time for assault and battery, robbery, and breaking and entering. He had been held twice as a suspect in homicides and had been released each time. He was described as extremely dangerous and was believed to be armed at all times. He hung around New York, New Jersey and Long Island.
I handed back the circular.
“That’s our pigeon all right,” Lieutenant Giddeon said. “I can’t say that his demise is any great loss.”
I nodded.
“Do you suppose,” I asked, “do you suppose he was robbing the Merriweather place? How could a man like this be around—”
“Possible,” the lieutenant said. “Very possible. He has done time for robbery before. But someone still had to kill him. He’s dead.”
“I know.”
“Yes, someone had to kill him. And Merriweather had the body. But somehow, I can’t quite believe he was just simply killed while he was attempting a robbery. I don’t say that it didn’t happen that way, of course, but if it did, well then, why doesn’t the person who did it just come out and say so?”
“You mean why doesn’t Mr. Merriweather say so,” I said.
“No. I don’t necessarily mean that. It doesn’t have to be Mr. Merriweather, you know. It could be—”
He stopped and looked at me carefully.
“Are you trying to say it could be Mrs. Merriweather?”
/о;
I asked coldly. “If so, let me assure you—”
The lieutenant shrugged.
“Someone killed him, Counselor,” he said. “I want to talk with Mrs. Merriweather. You are representing her as well as her husband, aren’t you?”
“ I certainly am,” I said.
“In that case, I think it would be best that you produce her as soon as possible. We want to talk with her and we are going to talk with her.”
Suddenly the friendship was all gone. This Lieutenant Giddeon, whom I thought I knew, had become all policeman now. There was nothing left of our former pleasant, semifriendly relationship. He was the cop and I was the defense attorney.
“I have no intention of advising my client to do anything else,” I said, a little coldly, I am afraid. “I’m sure that she wants to cooperate with the police just as much as I do myself. As soon as she gets in touch with me, I shall advise her accordingly. But in the meantime, Lieutenant, I seriously suggest that the police seek other avenues of investigation in attempting to clear up this case. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Merriweather could possibly have had anything to do with the victim; neither one of them ever saw him before his body turned up in the Merriweather sedan’s trunk. And neither one—”
“But the body did turn up,” Lieutenant Giddeon said, suddenly smiling and standing up. “Oh, I understand your position, but please believe me, the police have to look into every angle. And let me reassure you—we aren’t seeking an easy solution or any quick and obvious victim. We want 106
to find out why this man was murdered and who murdered him.”
I stood up then myself.
“Lieutenant,” I said, “you haven’t said anything about last night. What about the attack made on Mrs. Merriweather when we went to the house to see about the dog? Am I to assume that the police attach no importance to the incident?”
Lieutenant Giddeon shook his head.
“The police attach importance to everything,” he said.
“Your Sergeant MacNulty seemed to be skeptical, seemed to doubt—”
“You are not quite right,” the lieutenant said. “The sergeant feels that an intruder could not have gotten past the dog. And after all, neither you nor Mrs. Merriweather actually saw anyone. It is quite possible she merely fell over that coffee table in the dark—”
I shrugged helplessly. “Have it your own way,” I said. “I must be getting on. I still have a law practice to look after.”
We shook hands and as I was turning to leave, Lieutenant Giddeon spoke again.
“Howard,” he said, “may I ask you something without offending you?”
I hesitated at the doorway and half turned back.
“Why of course.”
“You haven’t done much criminal work have you?”
I shook my head and smiled.
“My very first case, believe it or not,” I said.
He nodded.
“I mean this in complete honesty and friendship,” he said then. “I would advise you to bring in a thoroughly experienced criminal lawyer. The very best you can find. Because, from the way it looks now, one or both of your clients may need him. And I mean this with all due respect.”
I thanked him. And I meant it. He didn’
t have to tell me that it was good advice. I knew that it was.
I called my office from a telephone booth in the lobby of the building. Fortunately there was nothing that needed my immediate attention. Leaving Mineola, I drove over to Northern Boulevard and stopped at a bar and grill. From a second phone booth just inside of the place, I put in a call to the hotel where I had told Ann to register. I asked for Mrs. Laura Smith.
Ann answered almost at once.
I talked with her for only a minute or so. She had a hundred questions, but I told her I would see her later that afternoon and that I didn’t want to talk over the phone. I again advised her to stay in her room, and I managed to ask her if the name Jake or John Harbor meant anything to her. She said that it didn’t. ’
After I hung up, I deposited another dime in the slot and dialed information. She had a number for a Virginia Grant at the address Charles had written down in Huntington. I dialed the number.
I could hear the ring at the other end of the wire and I waited several minutes and was about to give up when the receiver was lifted from the hook and a very soft, guarded voice, said “Yes?”
108
“Miss Grant?”
“Who’s calling please?”
I could sense that at any moment the party was about to bang down the receiver.
“Charles has asked me to call,” I said quickly. “This is his attorney, Herbert Yates.”
There was a long silence and I was again about to say something when the voice spoke.
“Charles?”
“Charles,” I said. “Shall I mention his last name?”
“No. What do you want?”
“Charles wants me to see you,” I said. “I have a note to you from him.”
“Where are you?”
I told her I could be at her place within thirty or forty minutes and again there was a long hesitation.
“All right,” she said at last. She hung up then without a further word.
I went back to the car and started out east on the Island. I had no idea whether she would be there when I arrived or not.
It took a little longer than I had expected. Traffic was heavy and I had some difficulty in finding the street. The house, when I finally reached it, was a very small development house in a new section. The window shades were drawn and the place looked deserted. I got out of the car and walked up the path to the door. I pushed the button and I heard chimes from somewhere inside.