Eye Witness

by George Harmon Coxe

  ‘I have’, Dorrance pulled the automatic from his coat pocket and pointed it right at Murdock. ‘This is it.’

  Chapter Twenty-three

  FOR a long moment then the room was utterly still. There was no movement, no sound of any kind. Then, from somewhere close, there came a frightened gasp. Murdock wondered about it until he remembered Claire Emerson. He glanced at her and found her staring slack-jawed at the gun, her eyes still wide, but more startled now than fearful. He looked back at Dorrance, feeling no real concern but merely annoyance.

  The lawyer moved away from the table, his hand steady and his light-blue eyes cold and intent.

  ‘That was quite an act you put on in my room’, he said. ‘You really had me thinking that all you wanted was my help in questioning Miss Emerson. Instead of that you suspected me and wanted her to get a look at me.’

  ‘It was worth a try’, Murdock said, reaching for a cigarette to show he was not impressed, meanwhile being careful with his hands. ‘She said she saw an older man outside Room 617 after she had left Farnsley alive. There was a remote chance that the man could have been Jesse Thorpe because he was looking for Harry Usher; there was a chance that the man was someone else who had nothing whatever to do with Farnsley’s death.’

  He got his light and blew out the match. ‘There was also a good chance that the man Claire saw was you. I’ve had a lot of luck since I’ve been in town, most of it bad. I was overdue for some of the good. I couldn’t be sure about you, but I had to find out.’ He pointed the burnt match at Dorrance’s gun and said: ‘That’s sort of silly now, isn’t it?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘With Farnsley you had an excellent chance for acquittal. Your only hope now is to give yourself up and fight it out in court.’

  ‘I wish it were that simple.’ Dorrance shifted his weight and across his rugged face a greyness had begun to spread. ‘You’re wrong’, he said, and shook his head. ‘Even about Lee Farnsley. I grabbed that candlestick when he came for me, and I swung the first time to protect myself. After that I struck in a black fury, hardly knowing what I was doing. The trouble is, the motive was there all the time, and it was known to others. Self-defence, you say? I doubt it. The circumstances were dead against me once an investigation started. Manslaughter, yes. Though even if I had been sure of a self-defence plea I would not have confessed.’

  He cleared his throat and his voice was cold. ‘I think I told you how much my coming appointment to the State Supreme Court meant to me. Murray Leonard was right when he guessed that this was the real reason behind my effort to make up with Helen at this time. For ten years I’ve worked toward such an appointment. Do you think I’d throw all that away—and that’s exactly what I would have done had I confessed—when the only thing that stood in my way was a rat like Rigby?’

  He twisted his hips against the table and his eyes grew cloudy. ‘You mentioned luck. In my business you realize how important luck becomes. Criminals need a lot of it to succeed, the police could not operate without it. If you had not talked me into coming here this young lady’—he waved the gun at her—‘might not have seen me again. And yet in this case her evidence is unimportant; at least it can be made so. The real bad luck I had, and the only bad luck, came when Simon Rigby happened to see me come out of the Greene Hotel that night after he had called your room.’

  ‘You didn’t see him?’

  ‘No. I didn’t know he’d seen me until after I’d left Helen the next afternoon. By then Rigby knew what he had. There was a certain shifty shrewdness to his thinking and he was a venal man, his every instinct a petty one. His demands were not too unreasonable and it was easy enough to promise a down payment. He thought I went back to Boston to get the cash for him. Instead I went to get this.’ He gestured with the automatic. ‘You see, what Rigby didn’t know was: I never paid blackmail in my life.’

  No, Murdock thought, you never did. Aloud he said: ‘You forced him to telephone Leonard and me at the point of a gun—his gun.’

  ‘I made him stand away from the desk until I found it. I had already written down the numbers I wanted him to call and I watched him dial. He was too frightened to argue or protest.’

  ‘He called Leonard first, and then me. After he hung up——’

  ‘I shot him’, Dorrance said. ‘I felt no compunction whatever about that part. It was a fundamental issue, not just the blackmail threat, but that my career—perhaps my life—would be in danger so long as Rigby lived. Can you imagine a Supreme Court judge paying blackmail?’

  He said other things, elaborating on the subject, but Murdock was busy with his thoughts now and he paid no attention. He considered the gun and the man behind it. He believed all Dorrance had said about Rigby and it came to him with a sense of shock that having gone this far it was highly unlikely that Dorrance would sacrifice his freedom, regardless of the cost.

  To Dorrance only one thing mattered: his coming appointment. Every act, every thought had been motivated by this one consideration, and when Murdock understood this he realized that whatever Dorrance did was prompted not by reason or logic but by some queer fanaticism that had only one goal. Dorrance had mentioned Justice Holmes; he had suggested a parallel in his own case. Would a man with normal thoughts and ambitions, even a successful one, compare himself with the Chief Justice of the United States unless his mind had become sufficiently warped on the subject to consider the parallel valid?

  Murdock shifted his legs to ease the feeling of strain that had been growing there. A nerve tightened in his chest and an odd sense of coldness began to spread along his thighs though the room was warm. He looked directly into the man’s cold blue eyes and there was no madness in them. They were quite sane, mirroring somehow the calculations of the brain behind them; weighing odds perhaps, but considering murder like a courtroom problem. Then, because he could think of no way of getting close to the gun he began to talk again.

  ‘You took Farnsley’s wallet’, he said. ‘Why?’

  ‘Primarily to confuse the police. It was your room and I felt sure you would be suspected. I was sorry about that. You had done me a favour and I thought if I could divert suspicion elsewhere it might take the pressure off you.’

  Murdock believed that part too. Dorrance held no personal animosity towards him. He had come down from Boston to help him, had retained the best lawyer available. That much was clear, but it was equally clear now that the man would kill again, if he thought it necessary, not because of any personal hatred but simply as a job that had to be done.

  ‘I have a proposition, young lady.’ Dorrance addressed the girl, though he did not look at her for more than a moment at a time and the gun muzzle never wavered. ‘I know better than to proposition Mr. Murdock because I know it would do no good. I think he understands me well enough to know why I killed Rigby; I think he also realizes that I can never give him the opportunity to talk.’

  ‘Wait a minute’, Murdock said. ‘You haven’t got a chance.’

  ‘I think I have.’ Dorrance paused, his eyes busy behind half-closed lids. ‘The art of bluffing is part of any trial lawyer’s stock in trade’, he said. ‘According to you O’Brien is checking on my movements the night Lee Farnsley was killed. He’s making inquiries at the parking lot. I’m beginning to doubt that, Murdock. You say he is, but is he? Does he actually suspect me at all?’

  He paused again, his tone changing as he began to talk to the girl. ‘I’m a fairly wealthy man’, he said, as though his mind was made up. ‘I could arrange a generous monthly payment that would last as long as you lived, once I was sure of your loyalty. Would you like to travel? Perhaps settle in Hollywood?…’

  He went on evenly, and because he was articulate and skilled in the use of words he managed to convey a certain sincerity that seemed surprisingly convincing. Murdock glanced at the girl. Her young face was still pale, its expression rapt, but there was an odd bright gleam in her eyes that he had not seen before and the effect of this was to leave him bad
ly shaken.

  On the face of it the whole idea was ridiculous. The girl couldn’t possibly believe that Dorrance would keep his word. Or could she? On his first meeting with her he had thought her ingenuous. Rigby had said she was dumb.

  He listened again while Dorrance spoke of money and the things it would do for the girl, and in his own mind the answer was clear. He did not know the man’s plans; he did not know what came next, he only knew that the girl would surely die if she agreed to help.

  Right now Dorrance needed her. He did not want to do his killing here; he wanted assistance in getting Murdock safely away from the apartment and he would make whatever promises were needed to convince her. But of one thing Murdock was sure: whatever the plan, Dorrance would leave no witnesses behind, and the horrible part was that he had an excellent chance of getting away with it.

  He had properly called Murdock’s bluff in refusing to believe what had been said about O’Brien. The lieutenant knew nothing at all about Murdock’s inquiries because at the time the information he got had seemed inconclusive. At the moment the lawyer was under no suspicion, and if he was allowed to carry out his plan—whatever it was—he might continue unsuspected indefinitely.

  Murdock stood up, uncertain as to what he intended to do, but determined to answer Dorrance’s arguments and press for some decision here and now. He took a breath, his stomach tight and his throat dry. He could feel the perspiration leaking down his spine and the pounding of his heart seemed ridiculously loud.

  He knew why. He was scared. It required a tremendous mental effort to ready himself for what was to follow. He heard Dorrance say: ‘A thousand dollars a month’, and the girl, on her feet now, a breathlessness accenting her words: ‘How can I be sure? How do I know that maybe next week or next month you won’t kill me, too?’

  Murdock tried again, his voice sharp and urgent because he could tell she was close to a decision.

  ‘Don’t be a fool, Claire!’

  She did not even look at him. She watched Dorrance and he said: ‘I’ll prove it to you. I’ll put it in writing. Get a pencil, paper and an envelope.… Over by the wall, Murdock’, he said, ‘Stand against it!’

  Murdock had no choice but to obey. He backed up two steps and now the girl had found the paper and pencil and Dorrance, dividing his attention between Murdock and what he was writing, scribbled down some words.

  He let the girl read what he had written. ‘Fold it’, he said, ‘put it in the envelope. When we finish you can have it. Keep it in a safe deposit box so that if anything should happen to you it will be found. That’s your insurance that I will keep my word.’

  Murdock moved away from the wall, knowing that the envelope was no insurance at all because Dorrance had no intention of giving it to the girl once he had finished with her. He wanted to tell her so, but it seemed now that further argument was useless. Something about the bright intensity of her green eyes, the tightness of her red mouth, told him that her mind was made up and he stood mute, watching her.

  ‘Get your coat’, Dorrance ordered. ‘Hurry!’

  She obeyed instantly, her movements jerky and graceless as though from some inner tension she could not control. She walked swiftly to the hall, white shoulders stiffly held. Somewhere beyond a light flicked on. Murdock could hear her moving about and knew that time was running out.

  Then, before he could say anything, his glance went beyond Dorrance’s shiny face and fastened hard upon the closet door.

  A lot of things went through Murdock’s mind in that next second. He knew Dorrance was watching him. He remembered the heavy car outside—had it been Joe Apollo’s?—and his original impression that someone had been here. He tried desperately to recall the precise position of that closet door.

  A hairline crack? That was what he had thought.

  Now it seemed that the opening was an inch or more in width. Beyond there was nothing but blackness, no sign that anyone lurked there. Then, because it was a chance he had to take, he shifted his weight to relieve the stiffness in his shoulders. He slid one foot forward and forgot to breathe.

  Dorrance stood away from the table, his jaw rocky and eyes half-shut. ‘Stand still, Murdock!’

  Claire was moving out of the hall, a coat over her arm, and Murdock, his gaze still on the closet, said: ‘Was Joe Apollo here?’

  He heard the girl say yes, and now he said: ‘Heard enough, Joe? Then let’s get going.’

  Later, when he had a chance to think back and analyze the details of that next long moment, he still did not know just what he had expected. All he could think of in that first instant was that his only chance lay in distracting Dorrance’s attention long enough to give him the opportunity to move before he was shot.

  In this he was only partly successful. Dorrance’s glance flicked to the door. He jerked it back. But now for the first time there was indecision in his movements, his eyes saying he wanted to shoot, but his lawyer’s caution demanding that he be sure first.

  He retreated a step. Murdock followed, not daring yet to crowd too close, and it was at this very instant that the tension broke inside him. To his surprise he suddenly felt poised and ready, and thus fortified he watched Dorrance yank open the closet door.

  There was only emptiness beyond it but to Murdock it did not seem to matter now and he kept on, aware that this instant while Dorrance examined the darkened enclosure would be his only chance.

  He moved fast then, hearing the girl cry out. He saw Dorrance swing the gun back towards him, the trigger finger tightening. He heard the man’s last hoarse warning and tried to twist sideways.

  He heard the girl scream. ‘Drop that gun! Drop it!’

  And somehow, even as he tried to reach Dorrance with his outstretched hand, the shrill urgency of those words made him glance at her, and he saw the coat had fallen from her arm, that in her white-knuckled hand she held a small, compact automatic.

  After that he had no time for thought or even incredulity. He knew that Dorrance hesitated a split instant as though compelled to do so by the girl’s command. He saw her close her eyes as though to shut forever from her mind the thing she was about to do. Then the gun barked twice in quick succession.

  Dorrance staggered slightly, surprise masking his grey face, and then Murdock was upon him, finding the gun which had wavered, and twisting it free before it could be fired. His rush carried him past the lawyer so that he had to turn back, and now he heard the automatic fall from the girl’s hand and stood immobile to watch Dorrance pull himself toward the nearest chair, the table supporting him, until he sank limply backward and collapsed.

  For long seconds then Murdock could only stand where he was, his heart hammering and an odd weakness striking at his knees. He heard the girl sob. He thought he heard someone pounding on the door and when he turned he was surprised to find that this was true. Not understanding, not even thinking yet, he moved across the room on rubber knees and opened the door and Joe Apollo was there, shoving past.

  ‘I saw you come in’, he said. ‘I thought I’d wait and when you took so long I thought I’d have a look.’ And then he was cursing softly and moving up to Dorrance.

  ‘I didn’t want to shoot him’, Claire Emerson cried. ‘I had to. He would have killed you.’

  She buried her face in her hands, her bare white shoulders shaking, and Murdock went quickly to her and led her toward the daybed, speaking words of comfort that came partly from the shame he felt in misjudging her.

  ‘I never believed him’, she protested when the worst of her hysteria had passed. ‘I only pretended to so I could get the gun I had in the bedroom. I only wanted to——’

  ‘Sure, sure’, Murdock said and now, remembering the gun he had wrenched from Dorrance, he looked down and found it in his hand. He stepped back to the table, and when he put it down, still moist and shining from the dampness of his hand, he discovered that his fingers were trembling. He rubbed his palms hard against the surface of his coat and went over to Dorrance, seein
g a bloodstain high on the chest but not knowing how badly the man was wounded.

  ‘Is there a telephone?’ he asked.

  ‘In the hall’, Apollo said, and moved over to sit beside the girl.

  Murdock went slowly through the doorway. He found the telephone on a little table just short of the lighted bedroom, but before he picked it up he paused to swallow the dryness from the back of his throat and make sure his breathing was controlled. When he was ready he dialled the operator and asked for police headquarters.

  It took Lieutenant O’Brien quite a while before he was ready to have any private or personal words with Kent Murdock. The investigation at Claire Emerson’s apartment did not last long, once the ambulance had taken the still unconscious Walter Dorrance away. But because there was still much to be done, O’Brien shifted his base of operations to police headquarters when he had word from the hospital informing him that Dorrance’s condition was critical, and that it would be impossible to question him until morning, if then.

  To make sure that the report he would later write was complete and well-authenticated, O’Brien took statements from those involved—Claire Emerson, Murdock, and Joe Apollo. He had a huddle with the state’s attorney who then got in touch with John Gates and the coroner. At one-thirty Murray Leonard was released and had gone off with Helen Farnsley, and now at two o’clock O’Brien leaned back in his chair, yawned, stretched wearily, ran his fingers through his sandy hair and then proceeded to smooth it out again with his palm.

  Well?’ he said.

  Murdock sat slumped in his chair in the corner. He had been brooding during the past few minutes while the lieutenant had been trying to make some order out of the papers on his desk. Out of this brooding had come the firm resolve never to get involved again in the marital problems of his friends, and he could not quite get over the idea that he had come down here to Uniontown on some silly, unimportant assignment dreamed up by T. A. Wyman only to be caught without a camera when he needed one most. Now he stirred, pulling his legs in and eyeing O’Brien glumly.