by Parnell Hall
“Sure.”
“Did she have an opportunity to plant the gun?”
“Did she? Let me think. Sure. She backed her car out of the driveway so I could get out. While I was inside calling the office.”
“Could she have planted the gun then?”
“Sure. I don’t think my car was even locked.”
“There you are,” MacAullif said. “That’s ten times better than Belcher.”
“Why?”
“Because she can’t disprove it. Plus, she isn’t set up to come back at you. What about the other woman?”
“What about her?”
“Where was your car?”
“East 78th Street. Parked right in front of her building.”
“She have an opportunity to go near it?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I saw her leave.”
“How come?”
“She went to lunch with one of her husband’s business associates. I thought that was interesting, so I tailed along.”
“In the car?”
“No.”
“You left it there?”
“Yeah.”
“Where anyone could have got in, planted the gun?”
“Like who?”
“Like whoever killed those people. How do I know, like who? The point is, they could have.”
“I suppose.”
“There’s no supposing about it. How about after lunch. You tail the woman home?”
“Actually, no. I went off on a job.”
“In the car?”
“No, on foot. It was just down the block.”
“What about after?”
“After the job?”
“Yeah.”
“I went back to the restaurant, the woman was gone.”
“Well, there you are,” MacAullif said. “What was to stop her from going home and planting the gun?”
“She didn’t know it was my car.”
“No?”
“No.”
“She couldn’t have seen you out the window when you drove up?”
“Her apartment’s on the fourteenth floor.”
“Even so.”
“And she didn’t know I was coming.”
“How about when you left?”
“That’s very far-fetched.”
“How about the guy she went to lunch with?”
“What about him?”
“How’d you know she was going to lunch?”
“I saw him go in.”
“When?”
“When I went out.”
“Did he see you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Did he know you?”
“If he did, he knew me as someone else.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was up in Cranston Pritchert’s office once. He introduced me as a client.”
“Interesting,” MacAullif said. “Then seeing you would register.”
“Possibly.”
“So he sees you come out of the building and get into your car. So he goes up and calls on the widow, and says, Hey, what was that client of Cranston’s doing coming around? She says, Client, what client? A private detective he hired was just here. Well, this guy can put two and two together, figures out who you are, and knows where your car’s parked.”
“And plants the gun in it?”
“Or tells her so she can. Which flies very nicely,” MacAullif said. “A guy gets killed, nine times out of ten the wife did it. Here she is with a boyfriend on the side, say they’re in it together, no problem there. He tips her off to you and they say, Bingo, and plant the gun.”
“But that’s not what happened.”
“Doesn’t matter,” MacAullif said. “All you need is something your lawyer can argue. So you don’t go to jail.”
“You think it’s gonna come to that?”
“Who knows? But in case it does, you gotta prepare.”
I ran my hand over my head. “Jesus Christ,” I said. “What a fucked-up case. You got me trying to prove things that never happened.”
“Only as a worst-case scenario. But yeah, that’s exactly what you gotta do.”
I shook my head. “There’s gotta be a better way.”
“Actually, there is,” MacAullif said.
“Oh? What’s that?”
“Figure out who did it.”
33.
KEVIN DUNBAR DIDN’T SEEM PLEASED to see me. He scrunched down in his chair as if hiding behind his desk and said, “What is it you want?”
I leaned back in my chair, crossed my legs, and smiled. “Just thought we should have a little chat.”
Dunbar frowned. “This is most awkward.”
“I admit the circumstances are somewhat unfortunate.”
“That’s not what I mean. You were introduced to me as a prospective client.”
“Would it help you to continue to think of me in that way?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dunbar said irritably. “It was in the paper. Hell, it was on the evening news. You’re the one who did it.”
“Well, now,” I said, “fortunately our judicial system is somewhat more open-minded. But just for your own information, I didn’t do it. Cranston Pritchert hired me to do a job. I did my best to do it, and, believe it or not, I’m still trying to do it.”
“Oh, sure,” Dunbar said.
“Hey. You’re an executive vice-president and you think you’re pretty shrewd. So think on this—if I killed Cranston Pritchert, what the hell am I doing here?”
“Huh?”
“Why am I here? What do I want? Let’s face it, if I’m guilty there isn’t a whole hell of a lot. If I’m guilty, I know exactly what happened. If I’m innocent, I have no idea, and I’m trying to find out. See what I mean?”
“Yeah, sure,” Dunbar said. If he was convinced, you wouldn’t know it. “Why don’t you just tell me what it is you want, because, believe it or not, I have work to do.”
“I want some information, and I want your opinion.”
“My opinion?”
“Yes. Here’s the deal. Cranston Pritchert thought someone was trying to set him up. To embarrass him and make him look foolish before the stockholders meeting so there’d be no chance of him being voted in as chairman of the board.”
“There was no chance anyway,” Dunbar said.
“Oh? And why is that?”
Dunbar made a face. “Shit.”
“Hey, relax,” I said. “It’s not like you just gave away trade secrets. What you said is exactly the point. If there’s no chance of him becoming chairman of the board, then no one killed him to prevent that from happening. One motive that I can cross off. But I’d really like to know why.”
“Because who would vote for him?” Dunbar said. “Certainly not me or Marty. And the Greenberg girl—she’s a kook. Who knows how she’s gonna vote. Cranston couldn’t know either, unless he had her in his hip pocket. And, knowing Cranston, that’s not possible. So eventually it’ll all come down to the proxies. And, frankly, Cranston didn’t have that many friends.”
“And you did?”
“More than him. But, hey, nothing’s decided yet. The race is still on.”
“Uh-huh. And what happens to Cranston’s shares now?”
“What do you mean?”
“In the stockholders meeting. Who votes his shares?”
“Oh. His wife. I mean, his widow.”
“You happen to know her?”
“I’ve met her, yes.”
“How do you think she’ll vote?”
“That’s really up to her.”
“Have you spoken to her since it happened?”
“I called her, of course. Expressed my sympathy.”
“And who do you think she’s friendlier with, you or Marty Rothstein?”
“I would say me.”
“You would?”
“Yes.”
“Ever take her to lunch?”
“W
hat’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just curious as to how well you know her.”
“I find the question impertinent. This is a married woman. Why would I be taking her to lunch?”
“I don’t know. Just your statement that you were closer to her than Marty Rothstein.”
“I think I am, but not because of anything such as you imply.” Dunbar shifted in his seat. “I don’t think this interview is serving any practical purpose.”
I held up my hand. “I apologize for going off on a tangent. I didn’t mean to be talking about Miriam Pritchert. I meant to be talking about the proxy fight. My only interest in Miriam Pritchert was how she might vote. If she were to vote for you, would that put you over?”
“Oh, not at all,” Dunbar said. “As I say, there’s the Greenberg girl. Her holdings are bigger, and who knows how she’ll vote.”
“Could she put you over?”
“Again, no. The four of us—her, Cranston, me, and Marty—are larger holders than anyone else, but it’s still not a majority. In the end, it’s the proxies will decide.”
“So, Cranston was right.”
“What do you mean?”
“That it could make a difference. Say none of you vote for him. You, Marty, and Cranston all vote for yourself. Who knows how the Greenberg girl votes, but say it’s not him. If he had a chance of being elected—and I’m only saying if—someone could kill that by embarrassing him so the stockholders changed their proxies.”
“It’s conceivable, yes,” Dunbar said. “But, I tell you, there’s no way he had that many votes.”
“But he might have thought he had.”
“So what?” Dunbar said. “What difference would it make what he thought. If someone was trying to ace him out of the election, they must have thought he could win.”
“Good point,” I said. “And who might think that?”
“What?”
“Who might think Cranston had a chance to win?”
“No one,” Dunbar said. “That’s the whole point. I knew he didn’t, and so did Marty. The only one who might think that would be the Greenberg girl, and what’s she got to do with it?”
“Oh? Why might she think that?”
Dunbar held up his hand. “Please. Don’t put words in my mouth. I don’t think she’d think that. I only say she could think that because she doesn’t know any better. Me and Marty know better because we know. She knows nothing, so she could think anything she likes. But I gather she has little interest in the business at all.”
“Un-huh,” I said. “Are you married?”
Dunbar frowned. “What’s that got to do with it?”
“I’m not sure. Are you?”
“No, I’m not.”
“What about Marty Rothstein?”
“He’s not married either. Why?”
“Cranston Pritchert was set up with a girl in a bar. That works in his case because he’s married. But you and Marty Rothstein, same situation, no big deal. You’re single. You pick up a girl in a bar and no one bats an eye.”
“Yeah. So?”
“So, maybe Cranston Pritchert was set up because he was the one it works on. Not because he had more shares, or more backing, or was the most likely candidate to be elected, but simply because he’s married, so in his case, it works.”
Dunbar thought that over. Exhaled noisily. “Jesus Christ,” he said. He squinted at me sideways, cocked his head. “You know something?”
“What’s that?”
“You’ve almost got me convinced you didn’t do it.”
34.
MARTY ROTHSTEIN WASN’T PLEASED TO see me either. “I thought you were in jail,” he said.
“I rolled doubles.”
“What?”
“That’s how you do it. Roll doubles, or have a Get out of jail free card.”
Rothstein frowned. “It isn’t funny.”
“No, it isn’t,” I said. “It’s bad enough the guy’s dead. Getting framed for his murder is just the icing on the cake.”
“Oh, so now you were framed?”
“No, I’m guilty, Rothstein. I killed Pritchert, and I’m up here with an eye to wiping out the company.”
“Why are you so hostile?”
“Am I? I hadn’t noticed. I guess getting framed for murder doesn’t put me in a great mood.”
“Well, I didn’t do it.”
“Well, who did?”
“What?”
“Come on. Help me out, here. If you didn’t frame me, who did?”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“There’s nothing absurd about it. I have an edge on the cops in the fact I happen to know I didn’t do it. I’m lookin’ for who did. I figure whoever framed me is probably the killer. You have any ideas on that?”
Rothstein tipped back in his chair. “I could call security and have you thrown out.”
“You could, but it would make you look bad. It’s the type of thing my lawyer could ask you on the witness stand.”
“What?”
“If the case ever went to trial, it’s the type of thing my lawyer could bring out. To show bias, you know. The fact you wouldn’t answer my questions and had me thrown out.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about the murder of Cranston Pritchert, which is what I’m investigating. I didn’t happen to kill him, and I want to find out who did. I have some questions. If you don’t want to answer them, I have to assume my purpose does not please you. In light of which, I can draw my own conclusions.”
Rothstein took a breath. “I’m not calling security, but I don’t think I’m discussing this either.”
“Oh, yeah?” I said. “How do you think she’ll vote?”
“Who?”
“Miriam Pritchert. You get her vote lined up when you took her out to lunch?”
Rothstein’s eyes narrowed. “So that was you.”
“What?”
“Coming out of her building the other day. I thought that was you.”
“You saw me?”
“Sure, I did. I even asked her about it. In fact, I knew it was you because she said so. I just didn’t make the connection till now. Yeah, I knew it was you. But you were leaving. How did you know I took her out to lunch?”
“How’d you know I left?”
“I saw you get into your car.”
Aha. Score one for MacAullif. Except, if he thought I left, he must have thought the car was gone. And you can’t hide a gun in a car that isn’t there.
“So,” I said. “You didn’t see my car when the two of you came out.”
He frowned. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’m hoping you had a nice lunch, and did you happen to lock up the young widow’s vote?”
“I find your questions insolent.”
“Wait’ll you hear my lawyer’s.”
“What?”
“As I say, on the stand these things will come out.”
“On the stand? But I’m not going on the stand.”
“You are if we slap a subpoena on you. If I go to trial, my lawyer’s going to try to create reasonable doubt. I hate to tell you, but you’re it. For starters, the guy was killed in your office. Then you try to tie up the widow’s votes. How does that look to you?”
Rothstein blinked.
I put up both hands. “But, please. That is not why I’m here. Someone killed your business associate. I didn’t do it, and I want to know who did. If you didn’t do it, I would think you’d want to know who did too. I was hoping between the two of us we could come up with a lead.”
Rothstein frowned. “How do you mean?”
“It all seems to hinge on this proxy fight. Whether you’d locked up Miriam Pritchert’s votes or not is neither here nor there. According to what Kevin Dunbar said, it wouldn’t matter anyway, it’s not enough votes to swing the thing.”
“Kevin said that?”
“No, no. Not specifically. Not tho
se votes, and not that you’d locked them up. He said in general. That the holdings weren’t big enough to swing the thing, and that it would come down to the proxies.”
“Well, that’s true.”
“What about the girl—Amy Greenberg—what about her?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you approach her too?”
“What are you insinuating?”
“I’m asking you if you asked her about voting her stock. It’s a logical question—she’s gotta vote for someone, you’d like it to be you—I can’t imagine younot asking her.”
“All right. So I asked her.”
“What did she say?”
“Something noncommittal. Hell, practically incoherent.”
“I can imagine. You ask her in person?”
“Huh?”
“You take her out to lunch?”
“I tried, but she wasn’t buying.”
“So you only spoke to her on the phone?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What about the stockholders?”
“What about ’em?”
“You contact any of them personally?”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“I’d kind of like to know.”
“I called some of the larger ones, yes.”
“Get any commitments?”
“Some.”
“Some waffled?”
“Some wouldn’t commit. People are like that. It’s nothing to do with me, you know?” He frowned. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
“Maybe you believe me.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he said dubiously.
“Tell me something,” I said. “The bit about the girl in the bar—you’ve heard all about that, of course.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Had you heard anything before the murder?”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that. Did you know anything at all about Cranston Pritchert’s problem—the girl in the bar, the fact he thought he was set up—did you have any inkling any of that was going on before the murder took place?”
“Absolutely not. Why should I?”
“I wouldn’t know. I just wondered if you did.”
“Well, the answer is no.”
“What about the stockholders?”
“What do you mean?”
“The ones you called—to ask about their votes—did any of them mention to you about having heard anything about Cranston Pritchert?”
“Of course not.”