SW05 - The Wrong Gun

by Parnell Hall

  At about that point an athletic-looking young man with wavy brown hair and a soap opera star’s plastic good looks arrived and proved to be Donald Walcott, Carrie’s boyfriend, and the whole round of introductions began again.

  “Steve Winslow’s the lawyer,” Carrie put in.

  “Oh,” Donald said. “Then you’re here about the gun.”

  Steve raised his eyes to Timberlaine. “This is public knowledge?”

  “Well, they know, of course,” Timberlaine said. He nodded at Nigouri, who was packing up his guns on the other side of the clearing. “But, no, there is no reason to tell everyone.”

  “My apologies, Russ,” Donald said. He put his hand to his mouth, made a twisting motion. “My lips are sealed. Still,” he said to Steve, “I think it’s a good idea you’re here. To find out what the hell is going on. But we’ll be discreet, we won’t tell anyone. Come on, Carrie. I don’t wanna miss the first inning.”

  “Oh, yeah? If you’re late, it’s your own damn fault,” she said, and turned and ran up the path.

  Donald smiled and ran off after her.

  As soon as he did there came a thump and a curse, like an offstage sound effect in a sitcom. Moments later, Melvin Burdett came into view. He was rubbing his head, and looked slightly peeved when he came around the corner, but when he saw Timberlaine his face brightened.

  “Ah, there you are,” Burdett said. “I might have known. Getting a jump on the competition. And Mr. Nigouri.”

  Burdett’s eyes went straight to the gun in Timberlaine’s hand. “And which one have you got there?”

  Timberlaine’s instinct was to hide the gun, but it was way too late. He took a breath, glowered in helpless frustration.

  “Ah, yes, of course, the derringer,” Burdett said. “Is that what you plan to bid on? Excellent. Excellent choice.” Burdett nodded with complete satisfaction. He rubbed his hands together. “All I can say is, may the best man win.”

  9.

  DINNER DID NOT, as Steve had feared, consist of all the guests seated around one huge, long, solid oak table. Instead, half a dozen small tables were scattered throughout the spacious dining room. As some of the guests were not due to arrive until Saturday, and as Timberlaine’s daughter and her fiancé had gone off to the Mets game, only four of the six tables were filled.

  Seating was not left to chance. Steve and Tracy were met at the dining room door by Martin, who guided them over to Timberlaine’s table.

  Timberlaine hesitated just a beat as they sat down. He had told them to dress for dinner. Tracy, in a floor-length gown with her hair up and earrings, looked quite stunning. Steve Winslow had exchanged a T-shirt for a white shirt with collar and had thrown on a tie. Otherwise, he was still wearing his corduroy jacket and jeans. It was what he wore in court, and as far as he was concerned, that was as formal as he was going to go. Timberlaine did not comment, but he did hesitate perceptibly before introducing him.

  The tables were round and seated eight. With Mr. Timberlaine was Mr. Nigouri, a middle-aged couple introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Crumbly, a trim, high-powered woman executive, introduced as Ms. Ebersol, and a white-haired gentleman with bifocals, introduced as Mr. Potter.

  The guests quickly sorted themselves out. The Crumblys and Ms. Ebersol were collectors. There the resemblance stopped. The Crumblys were in bubbling spirits and seemed to treat the whole thing as a lark, as if coming up for the weekend and bidding on guns was a form of amusement for them, delightful, whatever the outcome. Ms. Ebersol seemed to regard the whole thing as a business venture and find the Crumblys’ attitude irritating.

  Mr. Potter turned out to be the expert brought in by Timberlaine to authenticate the various items up for bid. Having ascertained that, Steve was amused to find that his occupation carried over into his social life as well, and he had a tendency to render judgment on everything, from the guests to the weather to the veal.

  Steve and Tracy’s introduction to the table caused a slight ripple of surprise, especially since Timberlaine introduced Steve as “my attorney.” Obviously Timberlaine had not discussed this before and no one knew they were coming. There were a few raised eyebrows and polite smiles of inquiry. The only actual comment was from Mr. Potter, who nodded judiciously and said, “Good idea.”

  Ms. Ebersol frowned and cocked her head. “Winslow?” she said. “The name is familiar, but I can’t quite place you.”

  She squinted across the table at him. Of course, in shoulder-length hair and corduroy jacket, he was not the sort of thing she would expect to find in a boardroom. Or in Timberlaine’s dining room for that matter.

  “It’s unlikely that we have met,” Steve said. “I have a limited practice, and there’s no reason why you should know me.”

  “What sort of lawyer are you?” She caught herself, smiled. “I’m sorry. That didn’t sound right. I mean, what sort of practice do you have?”

  “I have my own, small, private practice. For the most part, I handle only one client.”

  Mr. Crumbly, who had a booming laugh, said, “Whoa, that sounds like Robert Duvall in The Godfather, doesn’t it? I’d watch out you don’t find a horse’s head in your bed.”

  “And who is your client, Mr. Winslow?” Mrs. Crumbly asked.

  “Sheila Benton.”

  Ms. Ebersol frowned. “Sheila Benton?”

  Mrs. Crumbly’s eyes widened. “Sheila Benton?” she said. “Oh, of course. You’re the attorney for the Baxter Trust.” She turned and plucked her husband by the arm. “You know. Maxwell Baxter’s estate. Sheila Benton was his niece. Is his niece. Or however you say that. He’s dead, she’s not, if you know what I mean.”

  Ms. Ebersol got it. “That’s why I know the name,” she said. “Then ...” She looked at him. “... You’re a criminal attorney.”

  “Guilty as charged,” Steve said.

  She turned to Timberlaine. “You have a criminal attorney here, Russ?”

  Timberlaine smiled. “It would appear I do.”

  Potter nodded judiciously. “Good idea.”

  Burdett came bustling up, gave a perfunctory nod to the rest of the table and grabbed Potter around the shoulder. “Jack,” he said, “I got two guns I want you to look at after dinner.”

  “Oh?” Potter said. “Which two?”

  Burdett held up his finger and smiled. “Tut, tut. Tell you after dinner.” He pointed at Timberlaine. “But you don’t tell him.”

  Potter shrugged. “I’m his expert.”

  “Yes, but you know the rules.” Burdett grinned. “What, have I got to bring my own expert to these things? I get independent examinations and you don’t tell anyone, that’s the deal. Right?”

  Potter shrugged. “Right.”

  “Then why do you say, I’m his expert?”

  Potter shrugged again and his eyes twinkled slightly, “Because I’m his expert.”

  Everyone laughed, Burdett included. Everyone but Timberlaine, who couldn’t hide his annoyance.

  Burdett waggled a finger at Potter. “Now, now. You talk, I talk. I put it around gun circles you’re not to be trusted, how many of these cushy weekend assignments you gonna get?”

  Crumbly’s laugh boomed again. “Good move, Burdett. Threaten the man you’re counting on for confidential advice.”

  Burdett smiled. “Threat? What threat? I’m merely reminding him of the rules. The game isn’t fair if you don’t play by the rules, right?”

  “This is not a game,” Ms. Ebersol said.

  Burdett’s teeth flashed. “Of course it’s a game. That’s the whole point. If it weren’t, it wouldn’t be any fun. Right, Russ?”

  Timberlaine didn’t answer, just glowered at him.

  “See,” Burdett said. “The strong, silent type. That’s how he plays the game. Me, I don’t fit the image, I gotta play it my own way. But I certainly intend to play it.” He turned to Mr. Potter. “Jack? After dinner?”

  Potter shrugged and smiled. “At your service.”

  Burdett nodded, scuttled ba
ck to his own table and sat down.

  Ms. Ebersol watched him go. “Insufferable,” she said.

  “Now, now,” Mrs. Crumbly said. “If you don’t take him seriously, he’s sort of amusing.”

  Timberlaine nodded grimly. “Sure,” he said.

  When the meal ended, Burdett materialized at the table like an evil specter and grabbed Potter. “Come on, Jack,” he said. “You too, Nigouri. We want to look at a couple of your guns.”

  “Which ones?” Nigouri said.

  Burdett raised his finger. “Oh, no. I know you’re reporting back to Russ. We’ll see the whole batch.” Burdett shook his head. “Always trying. These guys. Always trying.”

  Burdett corralled Potter and Nigouri and herded them out of the room. When they were gone, Steve managed to draw Timberlaine aside. “Look, I have to tell you,” Steve said, “I feel like a damn fool about this whole thing. But if you got a few moments, why don’t you show me and Tracy where you keep the guns.”

  “Sure,” Timberlaine said. “Let me show you the layout.”

  They went from the dining room into the main hall.

  “My study’s in the west wing,” Timberlaine said. He grinned. “Bit of a jaunt, actually. One hell of a house, huh? Come on.”

  He led them off down the hall.

  “Are we apt to bump into Burdett and the gang?” Steve said.

  “No, the viewing rooms are in the east wing.”

  “Viewing rooms?”

  “Two rooms set aside for dealers and collectors to display and examine wares.”

  “What’s the big deal about secrecy?” Tracy asked.

  Timberlaine frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

  “At dinner. Burdett going on and on telling your expert not to tell you.”

  “Of course,” Timberlaine said.

  “But a gun’s a gun,” Tracy said. “I mean, your expert’s going to tell you the same thing he tells Burdett.”

  “Of course.”

  “So what’s the point?”

  “It makes a big difference to know what someone’s going to bid on in advance. We’re all relatively rich, but it’s not as if anyone had unlimited funds. We’re auctioning off close to two hundred guns tomorrow. No one is going to buy them all. You save your money and bid on what you really want.”

  “So?” Tracy said.

  “So,” Timberlaine said irritably, “if you know what a person’s going to bid on, and if you’re a pain in the ass who wants to make it tough on them, you save your money to bid against them on that item.

  “Well, here we are.”

  Timberlaine stood aside and ushered them through a wide double door to the left. Steve and Tracy stepped in and found themselves in a room nearly as large as the dining room. The walls were lined with bookshelves and display cases. The cases were glass-enclosed and held gun racks, filled with rifles and pistols. In addition to the cases on the walls, there were numerous glass-topped table display cases scattered throughout the room. It was hard to estimate at a single glance, but there were literally hundreds of guns in the room. The effect was overwhelming.

  “Good lord,” Steve said.

  Timberlaine grinned. “Yes. Pretty impressive, isn’t it?”

  “I’ll say,” Tracy said. “Are these guns all valuable?”

  “That depends what you mean by valuable. They’re all worth money, some more than others.” Timberlaine pointed to one of the cases on the wall. “Now this is what you might call valuable. Flintlock, supposedly once owned by Alexander Hamilton. I paid twenty thousand dollars for it. That was ten years ago. I couldn’t tell you what it’s worth now. But I’ve been offered fifty.”

  “Fifty thousand dollars?” Tracy said.

  “That’s right,” Timberlaine said. “Naturally, I wouldn’t touch it.”

  “Where’s our gun?” Steve asked. “The Pistol Pete imitation.”

  “Oh,” Timberlaine said. “That would be over here.”

  He led the way to one of the table-top display cases in the middle of the room. “There you are,” he said, pointing to it.

  Steve and Tracy looked. The gun was lying in a little rack in the display case. It was lying so the R in the handle was facing up. A small typed card in front of it identified it as Pistol Pete Robbins’s gun, just as if it had been an exhibit in a museum.

  “Is this where the gun was stolen from?” Steve said.

  Timberlaine nodded. “Far as I know. I mean, the substitution could have been made some time when I had it out and was showing it around and I simply didn’t notice and returned it to the case myself. That’s possible. But the odds are it was taken from this case.”

  “These cases locked?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Who has the key?”

  “I do, of course.”

  “Where are the keys kept?”

  “In my office.”

  “Your office?”

  “Yes, my office off the front hall.”

  “Who has access to your office?”

  “That, of course, is the problem. Practically anyone. The office is unlocked, most of the day no one’s there, anyone could go in and out as they pleased.”

  “What about at night?”

  “At night the office is locked. But anyone could have taken the keys during the day. And they’d have to have taken the gun during the day too.”

  “Why is that?”

  “ ’Cause there’s an electronic burglar alarm system activated at night.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. So the substitution must have been done during the day.”

  “Unless someone knew how to switch it off,” Steve said.

  “Yes, except the switch is in the office and the office is locked.”

  “Who would have a key?”

  “I do. Martin does. But what’s the big deal?” Timberlaine said. “Anyone who could have stolen the key to the cases, could have stolen the key to the office. So maybe the gun could have been stolen at night, but it would be a damn sight easier to have stolen it during the day. At any rate, the fact is it was. And I want to take every precaution to see somebody doesn’t use that fact to get me into trouble.”

  Steve took a breath. “By shooting someone with your gun,” he said dryly.

  Timberlaine looked at him sharply. “I get the feeling you’re not really taking this seriously.”

  “Of course we’re taking it seriously,” Tracy said quickly. “I assure you, Mr. Winslow will take every precaution to see that you are protected.”

  Timberlaine took a breath. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just this whole thing is getting on my nerves. And then that goddamn Burdett!” Timberlaine’s face reddened as he said the name. He took another breath, blew it out. “Well,” he said, “feel free to look around. I’ve got to join the other guests.”

  Timberlaine nodded and went out.

  Tracy turned on Steve. “See?” she said. “It’s not just me. He can tell you’re not taking this seriously too.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Steve said. “Isn’t it enough I’m here?”

  “No, it’s not enough you’re here. This man is counting on you. You’ve accepted a big retainer. You’re here, yes, but you think the whole thing’s a big joke. So you’re basically goofing off for the weekend and not acting on any of the things you should be acting on.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If there’s one thing you know for sure, it’s that this man is obsessed with Melvin Burdett. And having seen Burdett, it’s easy to tell why. Burdett’s going out of his way to be a pain in the ass and needle Timberlaine every chance he gets. Timberlaine hates him, and what’s more, everybody knows it. If Melvin Burdett were to die, I bet you couldn’t find a person here who wouldn’t think Timberlaine had done it.”

  Steve looked at Tracy. “Yeah? So?”

  “And,” Tracy said “Melvin Burdett and Timberlaine’s daughter’s fiancé have switched rooms. Well, not exactly switched rooms. But the fiancé is slee
ping in Burdett’s room. Burdett isn’t sleeping in the fiancé’s room. We don’t know where Burdett’s sleeping. We know he’s not sleeping where he usually sleeps, and we know he’s not sleeping where he was originally assigned.”

  Steve looked at her. “So?”

  “So, on the one hand, you haven’t found out where Burdett is sleeping, and on the other, you haven’t found out if Timberlaine knows.”

  “Good lord.”

  “Which you would do, if you were taking this thing seriously.”

  Steve thought that over. “All right, if those are your criteria, I’m guilty as charged.”

  “I rest my case,” Tracy said.

  Steve sighed. “All right. Come on.”

  They found Martin still in the dining room, supervising the dinner cleanup. He seemed somewhat surprised by the request, but stated that Mr. Timberlaine had instructed him to give them whatever help was needed, and proceeded to check his chart.

  “That’s right,” Martin said. “Burdett was originally assigned Room Thirty-four, a third floor front. He was switched to Room Seventeen, a second floor rear. What he wanted, of course, was Room Twelve, the second floor corner, occupied by Donald Walcott, Miss Timberlaine’s friend.”

  “And who was originally assigned the room where Burdett is now?”

  Martin consulted the chart again. “That would be Mr. Potter.”

  “Jack Potter? The expert?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Where is Potter now? In the room you originally assigned for Burdett?”

  Martin nodded. “Yes, sir. Room Thirty-four, third floor front. I simply switched rooms.” Martin cocked his head, looked at Steve somewhat quizzically. “Was there anything else?”

  Steve shook his head grimly. “No, that will do it. Have you seen Mr. Timberlaine?”

  “I believe he’s on the patio.”

  “Great,” Steve said. “Come on, Tracy.”

  He grabbed her by the shoulders and piloted her outside.

  There were about a dozen people on the patio talking in small groups. Steve looked around, spotted Timberlaine in one corner talking to Potter.