by Parnell Hall
“You’re saying the prosecution will try to break down the alibi?”
“But of course.”
“Then tell me something.”
“What’s that?”
“Why aren’t I tripping over policemen?”
“Huh?”
“I talked to three of the poker players. None of them mentioned being questioned by the cops.”
“Because they haven’t been.”
“Why not?”
“Because Anson was a good boy.”
“Huh?”
“I told him to shut up and he did. Which is remarkable. Most clients don’t. But I know Anson and he knows me. And he knows that if I tell him something there’s a reason. So he did it and more power to us.”
I looked at Richard. “You’re saying the cops don’t know Anson was in a poker game?”
“That’s right.”
“Then they don’t know he’s got an alibi?”
“Right again.”
“Wait a minute. You’re telling me he’s made no explanation whatsoever?”
“On the advice of his attorney, he’s refused to comment.”
“So, for all the cops know, he did it?”
“Of course.”
“And he’s out walking around?”
Richard bowed. “Thank you very much. I wish I could have videotaped that last exchange. What a great advertisement for a criminal attorney. And he’s out walking around? Perfect. Priceless. And a great line-reading on your part. You couldn’t stage it any better.”
“Richard.”
“Yes? What was your question? What do the cops know? Nothing, except Anson Carbinder called in and reported that his wife had been stabbed. By the time they got there he had also called me and I told him to shut up. Which he did, so they took him to jail. I got him out. And that’s the whole story.”
“You got him out without telling his story?”
“Absolutely. He’s innocent until proven guilty. He has the right to remain silent.”
“He has those rights, yes.”
“True,” Richard said. “We all have those rights. It’s only when we start exercising them it gets sticky. But that’s a fact. Anson hasn’t talked, and he’s out walking around.”
“Why isn’t he here?”
“Huh?”
“When you called me in, I thought it was because you wanted me to talk to him.”
“No, no. I don’t. For a lot of reasons.”
“Oh?”
“For one thing, I don’t want him to talk. Once you start talking, it gets to be a habit. He tells the story to you, it gets easier to tell it to somebody else. You see?”
I suppose.
“And he doesn’t need to talk to you. I’m his attorney, I’m perfectly capable of passing on anything you need to know.”
“Are we on a need-to-know basis?”
“You joke,” Richard said, “but there’s some truth to that. Suppose he said he did it—would you want to know that?”
“What?”
“Say Anson confessed—would you like the responsibility of knowing he killed his wife?”
“Good god, are you saying he did?”
“Are you asking me to give you that responsibility?”
“No, I—”
“Then how can you ask me if he killed his wife?”
“Is that what you’re saying?”
“Do you want to know?”
I blinked. Took a breath, blew it out again. “Richard, what are you doing to me?”
“I’m showing you the position you put yourself in. You’re not an attorney. If you cover up a crime, you’re guilty of criminal conspiracy.”
“And you aren’t?”
“I have professional privilege. A guy tells me he cut his wife up in little pieces and he kind of liked doing it, and I don’t have to tell anyone at all. In fact, I could be disbarred if I did.”
“Jesus, Richard.”
“Now, you’re such a schmuck I don’t want to worry you, so I hasten to add that such is not the case. Anson Carbinder happens to be innocent. Which is a bit of a nuisance, because it makes it that much harder to get him off.” He put up his hand. “Yes, I’m speaking flippantly. But I’m also speaking truth. If the guy came in and said, You gotta help me, I killed my wife, his story would doubtless be so simple and straightforward it would be no problem to get around. But in this case, we don’t know what happened.”
“Do we have a time of death?”
Richard shrugged and grimaced. “That’s the other thing. I got you out there running around, nailing down the alibi, we don’t even know if it’s going to do any good.”
“You can’t find out the time of death?”
“Communication is a two-way street. Which isn’t really fair. My client has a constitutional right not to talk. Is that any reason for the cops to clam up on me?”
“Are you saying there’s no point in me checking these alibis till we know if they’re going to do any good?”
Richard shook his head. “No, no. They need to be checked. There’s no question about that. There’s just the question of priorities. Of what’s important at the present time.”
“What is important?”
“That’s the hell of it. I don’t know. I can’t get the information. Which is why I pulled you in.”
“Oh?”
“There’s certain things we need to concentrate on. The biggie is the time of death.”
“Isn’t there such a thing as discovery?”
“Sure there is, if we go to trial. I can’t wait for that. My client hasn’t even been charged yet. Not that I want him charged. But until he is, what’s my official status in the case? You see the problem?”
I did, but I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do about it. I exhaled. “Richard, what do you want me to do?”
“Like I said. The time of death, that’s the main priority. I want you to work on that.”
“Work on it? What the hell do you mean, work on it?”
“I need you to find out the time of death.”
“How? I mean, pardon me, Richard, but how the hell am I supposed to do that?”
His eyes faltered.
It was momentary, but it was enough.
Suddenly, I knew.
“Who is it?” I said.
“Who is what?”
“Don’t give me that, damn it. Who’s the cop in charge?”
“Stanley—”
“Son of a bitch! I can’t believe it didn’t occur to me before.”
“Stanley—”
“Don’t Stanley me. Jesus Christ, I should have known the minute you gave me the goddamn raise.”
“That wasn’t why.”
“Oh, no? Then tell me, who’s the cop? Who’s in charge of the Anson Carbinder case?”
Richard exhaled. He shrugged, and his smile was a shit-eating grin.
“Sergeant MacAullif.”
11
“WHAT’S THE BIG DEAL?”
Predictably, Alice’s reaction was the exact opposite of what I’d expected. After years of marriage, she still keeps me off my guard. You’d think I’d learn. But, no, each time she does it, there I am, asleep at the switch, shocked as hell to discover she’s crossed me up again.
I blinked. “What’s the big deal? Weren’t you listening? Didn’t you hear what I just said?”
“Yes, of course. So?”
“Richard lied to me.”
“How did he lie to you?”
“He didn’t tell me MacAullif was on the case.”
“That’s not a lie.”
“It was deliberate.”
“It’s still not a lie.”
“I don’t care if it was a lie, Alice. The fact is, he deceived me.”
“And how is that a fact?”
“I told you. He lied about MacAullif.”
“Lied?”
“Don’t start that. I don’t mean lied. I mean withheld the information.”
“Withheld? What do you mean,
withheld?”
“Exactly that. He withheld the fact.”
“Did you ask him if MacAullif was on the case?”
“What?”
“Did you ask him?”
“Alice—”
“Come on. Did you ask him?”
“Of course not.”
“What’s of-course-not about it? Seems a perfectly logical question.”
“You’re missing the point.”
“What’s the point?”
“Why should I have to ask him? He should tell me.”
“Why should he tell you that?”
I had her. Logic, right, and justice were all on my side. Richard should have told me MacAullif was on the case because he knew damn well it would matter to me. And he deceived me in not telling me MacAullif was on the case, because he knew it would make a difference in my decision whether or not to handle it. And he deceived me deliberately and for a purpose. Knowing I was a friend of MacAullif, he wanted me on the case so I would use that friendship to try to get information from MacAullif. So Richard’s actions were devious, deceitful, and manipulative. Even Alice couldn’t argue with that.
Could she?
“Okay,” I said. “Richard should have told me because it would have made a difference to me.”
“How?”
“What do you mean, how? In how I felt about it.”
“You’re making a fuss about your feelings?”
“Making a fuss?”
“Sorry. But isn’t that the case? You may have feelings about MacAullif being involved, but how does that affect your decision?”
“I told you.”
“No, you didn’t. You just said you didn’t like it. But suppose you knew that MacAullif was involved—would you have rejected the case?”
“That’s not the point.”
“Sure it is. You said Richard sucked you in by not telling you MacAullif was involved. So, what if he told you—would you have said, Oh, MacAullif’s involved, sorry, I won’t handle this?”
“No, but—”
There you are.
“Alice, there’s more to it than that.”
“Like what?”
“Richard sucked me in. Got me hooked. Even gave me a raise, for Christ’s sake.”
“You don’t want the raise?”
“Of course I do. It’s just, the reason I got the raise was so he could ask me to do this.”
“You think Richard’s paying you extra because you’re friends with MacAullif?”
“I know he is.”
“So what’s your gripe? You say trading on your friendship with MacAullif’s distasteful. You say Richard knows you’ll find trading on your friendship with MacAullif distasteful. Therefore, he’s willing to compensate you by paying you extra to do it. Now, what is wrong with that?”
“He didn’t tell me.”
“Ah, a sin of omission. I’m not clear on where that ranks with a sin of commission.”
“Alice—”
“How many years you been working for Richard? How many times you ask him for a raise? You finally got it. Any other man would be jumping up and down, taking his wife out to dinner to celebrate.”
“Dinner?”
“You got a hundred-percent raise. Way overdue, but you got it. I would say that’s damn fine work.”
“Is that it? Is that why you don’t care? Take the money and run?”
“Don’t be silly,” Alice said. “Look, if it was really bad, if it was something you couldn’t do, you’d say, Sorry, and you’d turn it down. But this?” She shrugged. “How bad is this?”
“Are you kidding? I got Richard and MacAullif on opposite sides of a murder case.”
“So what? Are you the defendant? No, you’re employed by his attorney.”
“I was employed without full knowledge of the facts. I was deliberately kept in the dark as to certain aspects of the case in order to manipulate me into a position where I’d be forced to abuse a friendship in order to gain an advantage for the attorney’s client.”
“Well said.”
“What?”
“That was practically a tongue twister and you came right out with it.”
“Alice—”
“How did you leave things with Richard?”
“Huh?”
“Did you quit?”
“No.”
“Did you tell him you wouldn’t do it?”
“No.”
“Did you tell him you would do it?”
“I didn’t tell him anything.”
“You just walked out?”
“Yeah.”
“Angry? Stormed out?”
I took a breath. A light glimmered. “Did he call you?”
“Huh?”
“Did Richard call you? Tell you what happened? Is that why you’re so well prepared?”
“Of course not.”
“He didn’t call you and tell you to work on me?”
Alice put up her hands. “Stanley, you are really paranoid.”
“Oh. Thanks a lot.”
“Come back to earth. Richard’s deceiving you. I’m deceiving you. It’s a conspiracy.”
“Alice, don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Lump yourself together with Richard. I know he set me up. I don’t think you had anything to do with it. Let’s not equate the two propositions.”
“Fine. But can we look at the situation rationally for a moment?”
“Rationally. Good lord.”
“No, that’s what I mean. Putting all feelings aside, of who did what to whom, take the simple situation.”
“What simple situation?”
“The case. The what’s-his-name murder case.”
“Anson Carbinder.”
“Right. The Anson Carbinder murder case. Richard Rosenberg employs you to investigate. Never mind the money, the tricks, the inducements, or anything else. Just the simple fact that you’re going to investigate. And the cop on the other side is Sergeant MacAullif. He’s got information that you need. Now, are you going to ask him for it?”
“He wouldn’t give me the time of day.”
“That’s not necessarily true. But it’s neither here nor there. The point is, without all that emotional baggage, just the simple proposition, would you ask him, yes or no?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, that would seem to be the question that needs an answer. Once you resolve that, the rest should take care of itself.”
“You don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t. Which is probably better. I have no preconceived ideas. Which lets me look at this thing rationally. Just like you could, if you let go of everything else.”
I exhaled. Rubbed my head. “Great. And if I looked at this rationally, what would I see?”
“It seems to me there’s one basic question.”
“What?”
“You’ve been asked to talk to MacAullif.”
“So?”
“Suppose you did?”
“Yeah?”
Alice shrugged.
“How bad could it be?”
12
“GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!”
Not exactly the greeting I was hoping for. But pretty much what I’d expected.
I had worked with MacAullif before. Though worked with doesn’t really describe it. I’m not sure what does. But MacAullif and I had been involved in various cases. Usually, on the same side. At least, I’d assumed we were on the same side. What he assumed was anybody’s guess.
But it was more than that. I’d done a favor for MacAullif once. And he’d done favors for me. Hell, last year, when I’d got a screenplay produced, he’d worked on the movie as a technical advisor and even wound up playing a small part in it.
So there was a relationship there.
Surely that should count for something.
“MacAullif—”
“Don’t MacAullif me. Shut the fuck up and get out of my office.”
>
“You’re making this very hard.”
“I’m making this very hard? Am I in your office? Am I interfering with your work?”
“I’m not interfering with your work.”
“Damn right, you’re not. You’re not doing shit. You’re getting the fuck out of here and I’m pretending you never came.”
I sat down.
MacAullif’s mouth dropped open. He’d stood up when I’d come in. Now he lunged around the end of his desk, towered over me. His eyes blazed, his jaw muscles moved. I could tell he was restraining himself with a great effort.
“All right, listen, you son of a bitch. You’re gambling. You’re gambling I’m not gonna risk making the front page of the New York Post by picking you up and throwing you out. So you win. I’m not gonna do that. But I’m not talkin’ to you, either. So what did you win? You can sit there till your fuckin’ ass falls off, you’re not gonna get anything.”
I shook my head. “That’s a bad attitude.”
“Oh, yeah? A bad attitude? I got a bad attitude? Let me tell you about a bad attitude.” MacAullif leveled his finger at me. “You work for Richard Rosenberg. Richard Rosenberg is Anson Carbinder’s attorney. I’m investigating his wife’s murder, and guess who’s chief suspect number one? I know it, you know it, the whole fucking force knows it. And here you are in my office, and you know what that makes me look like?”
I opened my mouth. Stopped. “I can’t. It’s too easy.”
“Very funny, asshole. Let me spell it out for you. There’s an ADA assigned to this one. Had a real nice talk with Mr. Carbinder. When the gentleman couldn’t find his fuckin’ tongue. When he sat there like a dummy with Rosenberg sayin’ No comment. Name is Wellington. That ring a bell?”
“As in Beef Wellington?”
“Great. That’s just the image to throw at a working-stiff cop who’s not on the take.”
“I didn’t know there were any.”
“Fuck you. You ever heard of the ADA?”
“No.”
“Well, he ain’t heard of you, either, and that’s just how I like it. The guy is young, tough, and eager, and he don’t take no shit. Richard Rosenberg did not make his day.”
“I can imagine.”
“You would imagine right. Richard Rosenberg does not get on with cops. There’s a personality clash. That goes double for an ADA.”
“So?”
“So all I need is for Wellington to see you in here.”
“He doesn’t know me.”