Eye Witness

by George Harmon Coxe

  ‘Farnsley said he was in hock to someone and you think it was Joe Apollo.’ O’Brien hesitated, expecting no answer and getting none. ‘Apollo followed Farnsley to the Greene, or was tipped off that Farnsley had gone there, and he was waiting for Farnsley to come out. The Emerson girl tells him Farnsley is staying. That makes four who knew.… You didn’t waste much time this morning, did you?’ he said, a trace of admiration in his tone.

  ‘I didn’t have any to waste’, Murdock said. ‘I went from the Emerson girl’s place to Simon Rigby and asked him to telephone the Courier-Herald. I was on my way back to the hotel when I made the mistake of stopping for that shave and your boys put the arm on me.’

  O’Brien seemed about to speak and then checked himself as the door opened and a plain-clothes man said: ‘John Gates is downstairs, Lieutenant. Wants to see you.’

  ‘Tell him I’ll be down.’ O’Brien rose and dismissed the stenographer. He said nothing to Murdock when he went out but he left the door open and Murray Leonard, who apparently had been waiting outside for the termination of the interview, came over.

  ‘Did he say John Gates?’ the big man asked.

  Murdock said yes, and who was John Gates, noticing then the immediate change in Leonard’s attitude. The other had started to grin and it was clear that he was pleased at the new development.

  ‘A lawyer’, he said. ‘The best in town. I wonder how he got in on this.’

  Murdock said he did not know and waited with growing expectancy and anticipation until a trim-figured, dapper-looking man of fifty or so came into the outer room followed by O’Brien. Murdock, waiting in the office doorway with Leonard, saw the new comer glance about with quick bright eyes as he advanced and there was about him an air of confidence and vitality that was encouraging.

  The plain-clothes men lounging about watched in silence. O’Brien, two steps behind, had no chance to make introductions for the man walked directly to Murdock and offered his hand.

  ‘I’m John Gates’, he said. ‘Walter Dorrance called me from Boston. We went to law school together. He’s on his way down; should be here before too long. I’d have been here sooner but it took me a while to find out what was going on.’ He chuckled softly. ‘First you’re the victim and now you’re the chief suspect. Hell of a note, hunh?’

  Murdock offered up silent thanks for the impulse that had taken him to Simon Rigby’s office, and for Rigby’s apparent efficiency in getting the story over to T. A. Wyman at the Courier-Herald.

  ‘Thanks for coming’, he said, beginning to breathe easily for the first time in an hour. ‘It looks as if I’d need some help.’

  Leonard cleared his throat. ‘Will you represent Murdock, Mr. Gates?’

  ‘For the present.’

  Gates unbuttoned his coat and glanced at O’Brien. He said he’d like to have a talk with Murdock in private, and the lieutenant offered the use of his office. Leonard backed up when Gates said he might have a statement later. O’Brien closed the door.

  Gates motioned Murdock to a chair. He removed his coat, folded it neatly, and put it on one corner of the desk. He placed his black homburg on top of the coat and settled himself in the other chair. ‘Now’, he said, ‘let’s have it. And start at the beginning.’

  Chapter Nine

  KENT MURDOCK needed no urging. For the first time he had a listener who not only was sympathetic but one he could trust, and he was grateful for the opportunity to get the complete story off his chest. It took him quite a while, because once he had explained his reason for coming to Uniontown, and the background that had to do with Walter Dorrance, his niece, and her husband, he was interrupted by the lawyer from time to time so that certain details could be clarified. But in the end Gates seemed satisfied, though he had no chance to say so. For just then someone knocked, and O’Brien came in with the state’s attorney, a man named Jason.

  Jason shook hands with Gates. He said he’d like to talk things over if Gates was agreeable. He suggested they retire to a larger room and so they tramped down the hall to a conference room and took chairs around the oblong table. What followed then was a discussion, much of it technical, as to just what should be done with Murdock, the matter in contention—now that his identity was established—being whether he should be held, on what grounds, and how much, if any, bail was to be asked. Murdock said nothing, aware that Jason was softening under Gates’ persuasive arguments, and certain now that he was in good hands. Finally the little lawyer stood up.

  ‘All right, Mr. Jason’, he said. ‘You say you’re not ready to book Mr. Murdock for murder but do want him held in bail as a material witness. If you’re sure that is the way you want it let us go and argue the matter before Judge Link. I appreciate your position; all I’m saying is that considering the circumstances and the character witnesses that I can furnish, it is my opinion that Link will set bail at no more than a thousand dollars. In any case I will see that bail is furnished.’

  Jason chewed on that. Murdock could practically see his mind working. Finally he glanced up and said: ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘Any action you may want to take against Mr. Murdock to-day can just as well be taken forty-eight hours from now. He’ll be here when you want him. I suggest you release him in my custody.’

  Jason shrugged and gave in. ‘If you put it that way I guess I’ll go along. Is that agreeable to you, Lieutenant?… Then let’s let it ride.’

  Walter Dorrance drove up as they were coming down the steps, pulling into a ‘No Parking’ space right in front of the entrance. He got out, leaving the motor idling, a stocky, quick-moving man with an aggressive slant to his jaw and a hard-muscled face that looked anxious and disturbed.

  ‘I got down as fast as I could, Kent’, he said. ‘How are you, Mr. Gates?’

  They shook hands. They stood beside the car while Gates explained briefly what had happened and what he had done. Dorrance nodded approvingly. He said he knew he could count on Gates and appreciated his help.

  ‘I’m chiefly responsible for Murdock being in this mess’, he said. ‘It’s up to you and me to get him out.’

  Gates said Murdock was paroled in his custody and he thought everything would work out all right. ‘You understand you’re not to leave town?’ he said to Murdock. ‘Will you be staying at the Greene?’

  Murdock said he would if he could get a room and would let Mr. Gates know. With that the lawyer said they could find him at his office if they needed him, and started down the street.

  Dorrance took Murdock’s arm. ‘Get in’, he said, and motioned him towards the car. ‘The paper got a flash that you’d been murdered’, he said, slipping behind the wheel. ‘Wyman ’phoned me and I said I’d get right down here and then, before I could get going, he called back to say he’d heard from Simon Rigby.’

  He went on, giving details as he pulled away from the kerb and then he said: ‘I want you to do one more thing for me. I want you to go with me while I see Helen.’

  ‘Now?’ Murdock’s tone was dismayed. He rubbed his stubbled chin. He felt mussed and unclean, and he knew he must look worse than he felt. He wanted to get a room of his own; he wanted a bath and a shave and a chance to be alone.

  Dorrance sensed the dismay and spoke quickly. ‘You don’t have to stay. You’ve had a rough time and I know you won’t want to sit around and listen to me make my overtures. But—well, you know why Helen left and how I acted. It’s not going to be easy to go in there and say I’m sorry. I’m not sure it will be enough and I’m not even sure she’ll listen if I go up there alone. But with you along at the start she’ll at least have to be polite.’

  He said other things, all of which were logical, and Murdock, impressed now with the complete sincerity of the man’s purpose, gave in. A repentant Walter Dorrance would be a new role for the lawyer and, considering the hard, driving ruthlessness that had motivated his life and made him a success, a role which, Murdock knew, would not be easy to assume. This thing he was about to do was for Dorrance
a tremendous concession; he was ready to heal the breach if he could, and all he needed was a little help.

  ‘Sure’, Murdock said and then, wearily but without rancour, he added: ‘Why should I back out now?’

  ‘Good man!’ Dorrance pulled up to the kerb in front of the apartment house and gave Murdock the keys. ‘You take the car when you go’, he said. ‘Leave it in the parking lot down the street from the hotel and tell the fellow to keep his eye on it because my bag is still in it. I’ll get a cab back.’

  When Helen Farnsley opened the door to her apartment Murdock walked right in saying: ‘Hello, Helen. I brought a friend of yours.’

  Dorrance spoke quickly before there was any reaction from the girl. ‘I came to say I’m sorry’, he said. ‘I know Kent has done what he could to make it easier for me and it seems I’ve caused him a great deal of trouble. How are you, my dear?’

  He offered his hand in a simple unaffected gesture and the girl took it, nothing showing in her face. ‘Hello, Uncle Walter’, she said. ‘Won’t you come in?… What happened, Kent?’ she said, her tone concerned as she walked with him towards the davenport. ‘Murray ’phoned and said you’d been arrested.’

  ‘I told you this morning I was the lad you should worry about. They picked me up before I could get back to the hotel. Luckily I’d arranged to have someone call the Courier and Wyman ’phoned Walter and he called a lawyer here.’

  She remained standing while he told her these things, and in contrast to the simple black dress she now wore her face seemed pale and oddly weary. She did not look directly at her uncle but sat down, folding her hands in her lap and asking Murdock other questions.

  He answered as best he could and this gave Dorrance a chance to enter into the discussion from time to time. He talked easily and without embarrassment. He did not sit down as Murdock had done, but walked back and forth, his thick greying hair neatly combed, his light-blue eyes bright with interest as he told how the false report of Murdock’s death had come to him through the Courier-Herald and the press association wires. As a result of all this, much of the initial feeling of restraint which had pervaded the room was soon dissipated, and by the time Murdock had finished his story he knew that he had served his purpose, so he stood up and said he ought to get along.

  ‘You two have things to talk about’, he said, ‘and I have things to do.’ He smiled and ticked off the words on his fingers. ‘A bath, a shave, a change of clothing. Also’, he said, ‘I’ve been cold all day and I’d like to get a coat.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you like a drink first?’ Helen asked.

  Murdock thanked her and said the drink could wait. Dorrance nodded, his glance both approving and grateful. He said he intended to get a room at the Greene Hotel and would get in touch with Murdock later.

  The management at the Greene had already assigned Murdock another room, and when the bellboy had helped move his things, Murdock locked the door and took off his clothes. He took his time shaving, going over his chin twice, then stepped into the shower. When he had finished his brisk towelling, he walked naked into the room, slipped on a robe, and picked up the telephone to call Tom Larson.

  For there still remained deep down in Murdock the smouldering edges of a resentment that had as its focus T. A. Wyman. This resentment was not without elements of sardonic humour, and it was understandable, if not excusable, that Murdock considered Wyman basically responsible for all his troubles—Wyman with his tricky assignment which could have been handled just as well by a photo-service photographer and was in fact nothing more than a ruse to get him down here for a more important—to those involved—and more personal assignment. Now, as Larson’s voice came to him, he asked if it was still all right to get some pictures.

  ‘Sure’, Larson said, ‘if you still want them. I love publicity. When?’

  ‘Can you meet me at the field house in a half-hour?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘And bring some people with you.’

  Larson did as directed, appearing with the athletic director, the football captain for the coming fall, and two assistant coaches Larson planned to retain. And Murdock took his pictures, knowing their news value was negligible, but stubbornly intent on carrying out Wyman’s assignment beyond all reason. He took shots of various combinations and poses, and on subject matter that might have warranted three or four pictures under normal conditions, he took sixteen.

  When he finished he drove to the Ledger and borrowed the dark-room facilities while he made eight-by-ten prints. A staff man, a good-natured youngster with a lot of enthusiasm, helped him ferrotype the prints, and when he counted them and saw they were all on the same subject he exclaimed in wonderment.

  ‘Jesus’, he said, ‘is that guy Larson that important in Boston?’

  Murdock laughed and said it was an unusual case. He said his boss was a great fan of Larson and wanted plenty of pictures, and was there a large envelope around with a couple of stiffeners he could use.

  There was and Murdock used them. When he had addressed the envelope he took a taxi to the railway station. A Boston-bound express was due in twenty minutes and he was waiting on the platform when the train pulled in, a five-dollar bill clipped to the envelope. The pullman porter on car 156 readily agreed to act as messenger and Murdock went back to the station and sent off a telegram—at the Courier’s expense—and addressed to T. A. Wyman. In it he gave instructions so that an office boy could pick up the envelope when the train pulled into Back Bay, adding that while the pictures were no longer news they should make fine souvenirs of the trip and he hoped Wyman would be pleased with his thoroughness and initiative.

  He felt a lot better as he walked back towards the hotel, for he was secretly pleased at his little joke which had the effect not only of wiping out the last traces of any resentment he may have felt at Wyman but of replacing with a faint grin, the set, humourless expression he had worn since morning.

  It was still much too early to think about dinner so when he got back to his room he got rid of his coat and hat and then checked his equipment case and put it in order. This done he slipped off his shoes, loosened his tie, and stretched out on the bed, intending only to rest a bit while his mind caught up with the day’s events. Instead of that he promptly went to sleep and when he awakened the room was nearly dark and the telephone was ringing.

  He rolled over and sat up, snapping on the light. He scowled at the instrument when it rang again, but he did not answer it and presently it was silent. He nodded with approval, for he’d had enough of murder complications for a while and he was taking no chances that some other situation make further demands on his time. Sitting on the edge of the bed he stretched and yawned; he scratched his head absently, finally coming erect and padding into the bathroom to wash the sleep from his face. He put his shoes on and adjusted his tie; he gave his suit-coat a brush before donning it and was on his way to get his topcoat when someone knocked on the door.

  Joe Apollo still wore the form-fitting coat and light grey hat he had displayed the night before. His black eyes were intent under the brim and his swart face was impassive as he surveyed Murdock. He had both hands in his pockets, tightening the coat still more across his hips, and his voice was even and unhurried as he spoke, the small black moustache moving slightly with his words.

  ‘You’re Murdock, aren’t you? Okay to come in?’

  He strolled into the room as Murdock stepped aside, glanced quickly about, and perched on the edge of the bed, his hands still in his pockets.

  ‘I understand you’ve been telling Lieutenant O’Brien you saw me in the lobby here last night.’

  Murdock sat on the arm of the chair. He had known others like Apollo and he thought he recognized the opening gambit. Because he had an idea of what came next his dark eyes grew morose as his annoyance made itself felt.

  ‘You were there, weren’t you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I saw you’, Murdock said flatly, ‘and you saw me. Coming out of the elevat
or.’

  ‘The cops are starting to crowd me’, Apollo said, as though he had not heard. ‘The way I get it they’re having trouble hanging this rap on you and they’re looking for a fall guy. I don’t want to get elected. I’ve taken enough pushing around in this town.’

  ‘Claire Emerson saw you’, Murdock said. ‘She told you Lee Farnsley was in Room 617.’

  ‘Claire wasn’t even here.’

  ‘Who says so?’

  ‘I do. So does Claire.’

  ‘She works for you’, Murdock said, his voice edged. ‘How does the fix work? A raise in salary or do you just scare her off?’

  Apollo tipped his head slightly, squinting against the overhead light. Other than this nothing changed in his face and his voice remained the same.

  ‘It comes down to this’, he said. ‘You say you saw me and I say you didn’t. You know where that gets us? Nowhere. It don’t mean a thing, but it makes a lot of trouble. I don’t like trouble. I don’t like people who put me on the spot.’

  Murdock stood up, a growing impatience prodding him as he reached for his topcoat. Apollo watched him. His little eyes flashed a warning of some new hostility and his voice took on an ominous ring.

  ‘You think I’m kidding?’

  Murdock clapped on his hat and began to button his coat. ‘I wouldn’t know, Joe. I’ve got a date … I’m a little late’, he said, and moved towards the door where he reached for the light switch.

  Apollo rose and went out. Murdock followed him when he had closed the door. They went down the hall without a word, waited like two strangers for the elevator to answer its summons, rode down in a dead silence and parted in the lobby, Apollo swinging towards the entrance and Murdock detouring past the desk.

  Here he found out who had telephoned him to interrupt his nap, for there was a message from Walter Dorrance saying that he had a room at the hotel and that he was having dinner with Helen Farnsley. Included was an invitation to join them, but Murdock crumpled the note and went out into the gathering darkness, turning left along the row of street lights, still with no definite destination in mind.