by Parnell Hall
“Went out on the patio and had a drink. They had a bar set up on one end, you know. So I had a drink. I looked around for Russ, didn’t see him. So I stayed on the patio for a while, talking to people about the auction. Then I went to my room to freshen up and change for dinner. I was still there when I heard the commotion and the police cars arrived.”
“I see,” Steve said. “And you hadn’t seen Timberlaine or Potter since the end of the auction?”
“That’s right.”
“And Potter never tipped you off about the gun?”
“That’s right.”
“And last night, when you came by Timberlaine’s table, you told Potter you wanted to talk to him after dinner?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you?”
“Sure.”
“What about?”
“What do you think? I had him check out some guns.”
“Including the cavalry piece?”
“Of course.”
“Was that the only gun you had him check out?”
“No, I had him do a whole bunch.”
“But you did ask him about the cavalry piece?”
“Yes, of course.”
“You asked him specifically to check out that gun?”
“Yes, I did.”
“The lieutenant ask you that?”
“What?”
“About talking to Potter last night? Asking about the gun?”
“Yeah, he did. Why?”
“He bring it up, or you did?”
“He did, of course. I wasn’t volunteering anything. Why?”
“If he asked about it, it means he heard it from someone else.”
“Of course.” Burdett said, impatiently. “That’s obvious. All right, look. I’ve answered your questions. Now you answer mine. What are you going to do for Russ?”
Steve looked at Burdett, pursed his lips. “You want an honest answer?”
Burdett frowned. “What, are you nuts? Of course I do.”
Steve shook his head. “Then, frankly, Mr. Burdett, I haven’t the faintest idea.”
18.
MARK TAYLOR SLAMMED DOWN the phone and stood up. It rang again. He cursed, sat down, snatched it up.
“Yeah,” he growled. “Yeah, Frank, just a minute.” He covered the mouthpiece, looked up at Steve Winslow who was standing near the door. “Another operative. I’ll send him out.”
Steve nodded, walked into the next room where Tracy Garvin was also on the phone.
It was Sunday morning. They were in a small motel just off the Long Island Expressway. They’d been held in the dining room Saturday night until just after midnight when the cops had finished their interrogation and finally allowed everyone to leave. Of course, most of the guests were staying over anyway. Steve and Tracy had stuck around looking for Timberlaine. Mark Taylor, desperate for phones, had gone out and found the motel. Unable to get what he wanted, a unit with two phones, he had settled for two adjoining units, and spent the night running back and forth between the two phones. It had been quite a relief when Steve and Tracy had showed up the next morning with coffee and doughnuts.
Tracy hung up the phone, shook her head, and said, “Nothing.”
“Oh?” Steve said.
“That reporter again. Harold Coleman. He may be chummy with a cop, but the cop don’t know shit. He’s got nothing you can’t read in the morning papers.”
“And no sign of Timberlaine?”
“None.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. What a bummer.”
“This is the type of thing I thought they didn’t do anymore.”
“What?”
“Bury a suspect. No sign of Timberlaine, no sign of Sanders. They’re not at the mansion and they’re not at headquarters. They got lost somewhere along the way. The thing is, if they arrest him, even Timberlaine’s smart enough to shut up and stop cooperating. At which point he has the right to an attorney and I step in. But as long as he’s talking, they’re not going to do that. They’ll just hold him and let him keep talking and talking until he makes their case for them.”
“How do you know they’re doing that?”
“Because this reporter’s got an in with a cop and the cop doesn’t know where they are. Or says he doesn’t. Which means what’s going on is something extralegal the cops don’t want to have appear in the press.”
“What can you do about it?”
“Absolutely nothing. That’s what’s infuriating. Once he’s arrested and charged with murder I can make a stink about it, but by then the cops will have an airtight case. Meanwhile I sit here twiddling my thumbs and there isn’t a goddamn thing I can do.”
“Steve,” Mark Taylor yelled from the other room.
“Yeah,” Steve said, heading for the door.
“Got something,” Taylor yelled.
Tracy sprang up, followed Steve in.
“What you got?” Steve said.
Taylor, still on the phone, held up his hand. “O.K., good work,” he said. “See what else you can get and call me back.” He slammed down the phone. “Got the medical report.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s just preliminary, but my man swears it’s accurate. O.K. Cause of death—gunshot wound to head. Big deal. We knew that. Time of death—yesterday afternoon between the hours of four and six.”
Steve frowned. “Damn.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Can’t they do any better than that? The cops were there by six. We found the body before then, for Christ’s sake. And the medical examiner was there by at least six-thirty. He ought to be able to do better than that.”
“Maybe he can, but the fact is he’s not. Four to six is the best he’ll do.”
“Shit.”
“What’s so bad about that anyway?”
“The auction was over by four-thirty. Timberlaine slammed out of there around four o’clock. And no one’s sure Potter was at the auction. If he wasn’t, it sure makes a nice opportunity for Timberlaine to find him alone and kill him before the auction broke up.”
Taylor frowned. “I see what you mean.”
“What’s a pain in the ass is most likely he didn’t. What I mean is, if they put the time of death between four and six, it’s likely the guy was killed around five. After the auction. So why can’t the M.E. put the time of death after the auction broke up, so at that time anyone could be likely to do it? Instead of having a special time when everyone will testify only Timberlaine had left the room.”
Taylor frowned and shrugged. “Hey, it’s not so bad. This case must be really pissing you off. Because either way Timberlaine could have done it. It’s no big deal.”
Steve sighed. “I know. It’s just, what do you do when your client’s a big jerk who’s shooting off his mouth and there’s nothing you can do about it?”
“You tell him he’s free to find another attorney.”
“Which is exactly what I’d do if the son of a bitch hadn’t handed the gun you bought over to the cops.”
“I understand. Considering that, I’m very grateful you’re not dropping him as a client. And I understand why you’re pissed off. But the time of death’s the time of death. The M.E. putting it between four and six is not really a major kick in the ass.”
“It is in one respect. After Timberlaine stormed out of the auction, he fired the gun. A lot of people heard the shot, and can testify it was before the auction broke up.”
Taylor frowned. “That’s right.”
“The stupid thing is, that shot is virtually irrelevant.”
“Why?”
“Because they heard it. The way I understand it, the gun room is virtually soundproof, and there’s no way anyone sitting in the auction room could have heard the shot that killed Potter. Assuming that’s where it was fired.” Steve yawned and stretched. “Tell me, how did you get the report anyway? Tracy just got through telling me the reporter had nothing.”
“I’m sure he doesn�
�t,” Taylor said. “This came straight from the medical examiner’s office.”
“Oh?”
“Hey, sometimes you get lucky. I got a guy knows a girl got a boyfriend whose sister works for the medical examiner.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. So for once you get a break. You’re getting your information ahead of the press.”
The phone in the other room rang.
“I’ll get it,” Tracy said, and disappeared through the door.
Steve followed her into the next room. Taylor came and stood in the doorway.
“Hello,” Tracy said. “Yes, he’s here.” She looked up at Steve. “Carrie Timberlaine.”
Steve walked over, took the phone. “Yeah, Carrie?” He listened. “Where is he? ... O.K., I’ll be right there.”
Steve hung up the phone. “O.K., gang. Shit’s hit the fan. They just gave Timberlaine his one phone call.”
“You’re kidding,” Taylor said.
“No. Brought him in, charged him with murder. Tracy, hang out with Mark, wait for my call. I’m going over there.”
Steve turned and headed for the door.
The phone in the other unit rang.
“Shit,” Taylor said. “Wanna hang on in case it’s important?”
“Haven’t got time.”
Steve jerked the door open, went outside. He crossed the parking lot, got in the rental car and gunned the motor. He backed out of the space and was just pulling out of the lot when Tracy Garvin came flying out the door waving her arms.
Steve slammed the car to a stop, jerked open the door.
“What is it?” he yelled.
“I don’t know. Mark just yelled to stop you.”
“Shit,” Steve said. He switched off the motor, jumped out of the car, ran back to the motel.
Mark Taylor was still on the phone.
“What is it?” Steve said.
“Just a second,” Taylor said. “O.K., call me back.” He slammed down the phone, turned to look at Steve. “The reporter finally got the news. They arrested Timberlaine.”
“I know that,” Steve said impatiently. “Shit, I was on my way over there.”
“I know, but you don’t know the half of it. They got the ballistics report. That’s why they arrested him. They matched up the bullet with the gun.”
“So what? We knew they would.”
“Yeah, but it’s the wrong gun.”
“What?”
“It’s the wrong fucking gun,” Taylor said. “According to ballistics, the gun Potter was killed with was the gun Timberlaine gave them. The gun he was wearing at the auction.” Taylor looked up at Steve and cocked his head. “You know. The gun I bought you.”
19.
RUSS TIMBERLAINE RAN HIS hand over his face and looked at Steve Winslow through the wire-mesh screen in the lockup. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Hey,” Steve said. “No reason to be sorry. You’re the one charged with murder.”
“I can’t understand that.”
“It’s perfectly easy to understand,” Steve said. “You disregard your lawyer’s advice, shoot your mouth off to the cops. Of course they’re gonna ask you everything they want to know until they get enough on you to charge you with murder.”
“That’s not the point,” Timberlaine said irritably. “All right, in retrospect I shouldn’t have talked. But how the hell was I to know?”
“Know what?”
Timberlaine’s eyes blazed. “That that gun killed him. It’s absolutely impossible. It can’t have happened.”
“According to ballistics—”
“Fuck ballistics. I know what I know.”
“And what do you know?”
“What?”
“Tell me what you know,” Steve said. “Do me a big favor, since I’m your lawyer, and catch me up with the cops.”
“There’s no reason to be sarcastic.”
“No, of course not,” Steve said. “You fuck everything up, hand me a hopeless murder case and say defend it. What the hell am I supposed to do?”
“Now hang on,” Timberlaine said. “This is not my fault. Someone has framed me and framed me good. If that hadn’t happened, nothing I said would have mattered. Now let’s stop bellyaching and take a look at the facts.”
“Fair enough,” Steve said. “And what is your version of the facts?”
Timberlaine glared at him. “My version is the truth. If it doesn’t make any sense, I can’t help that. But that’s the way it is.”
“Fine,” Steve aid. “Let me in on this truth.”
Timberlaine took a breath. “All right,” he said. “First off, Burdett outfoxed me on the auction. Outbid Crumbly for the gun I wanted.”
“No shit,” Steve said. “That was obvious to everybody there. You were furious because Burdett got a tip.”
“Right,” Timberlaine said. “Exactly.”
“Did you tell that to the cops?”
“Of course I did.”
“Christ,” Steve said. “But there was no reason to think that. It was a gun you would have naturally wanted. Burdett could have come to that conclusion himself.”
“I know that,” Timberlaine said.
“So there was no reason to think he got a tip.”
“Maybe not, but I think he did.”
“He says he didn’t.”
“I don’t care what he says. I still think he got a tip.”
“Fine,” Steve said, without enthusiasm. “Let’s not argue about it. Anyway, what did you do?”
“I started out of the auction, I was angry. I went out the back door onto the patio. Of course, no one was there. Everyone was in the auction.”
“So what did you do?”
“I felt like letting off steam. I went out to the pistol range to shoot the gun.”
“Was that what you did?”
“No.”
Steve frowned. “What?”
“I never got there. Halfway there it occurred to me I didn’t give a shit about hitting the target, I just wanted to fire off the gun. So I did.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just took out the gun and shot it.”
“Where?”
“Right there. On the path.”
Steve’s eyes widened. “Jesus Christ.”
“Hey, what’s wrong with that?”
“Where were you aiming?”
“Nowhere in particular.”
“What?”
“Relax. I shot up in the air, away from the house.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure, I’m sure. I know guns, for Christ’s sakes.”
“Yeah, but—”
“So there’s no chance the shot I fired magically returned to the house, entered the gun room and killed Jack Potter.”
“O.K. Say it didn’t. After you shot, did you reload?”
“No. I just jammed the gun back in my holster.”
“What did you do then?”
“Kept on walking.”
“Where?”
“Actually, I went out past the pistol range.”
“Did you stop?”
“No. I’d already shot the gun. I kept on going.”
“Where?”
“I walked right on by it on the path. I actually made a big circle, wound up back at the house.”
“At what time?”
“I don’t know. But the auction wasn’t out yet.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. There was no one on the patio. And I could actually hear the auctioneer over the loudspeaker as I went inside. I went in the back door up the stairs to my room.”
“What did you do then?”
“Just like I told the cops. I changed my clothes.”
“And what did you do with the gun?”
“It was right there in the holster. Hell, you were there. You saw when I gave it to the cops.”
“Yeah. And that’s where you left it?”
“Absolutely.”
&nbs
p; “O.K. You took off the gun and you left it there next to the bed. What time was that?”
Timberlaine shrugged. “I can’t give it to you any better than I already have. Like I say, I went out, walked around and when I came back the auction wasn’t over yet.”
“The auction broke up at four-thirty.”
“Then it had to be before that.”
“How much before?”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t hear it break up?”
“No, I wouldn’t have. I was in the shower.”
“You took a shower?”
“Yeah.”
“Why’d you do that?”
“What do you mean, why’d I do that? I took a shower.”
“In the middle of the afternoon?”
“So what? I can’t take a shower in the middle of the afternoon?”
“Of course you can. But you need to say why.”
“That’s stupid.”
“Not when you’re charged with murder. Why’d you take a shower?”
“I don’t know why, actually. It’s not like I had to think about it. I was pissed off and I wanted to get out of the cowboy outfit. Because that was all associated with what I was pissed off about. So I wanted to change. And I was hot and sweaty from walking around and all. And getting all worked up. And I wasn’t about to put on clean clothes without taking a shower. So that’s what I did.”
“Your hair wasn’t wet.”
“What?”
“When I saw you with the cops—your hair wasn’t wet from the shower.”
Timberlaine’s eyes narrowed. “You saying you don’t believe me?”
“No. I’m just saying your hair wasn’t wet. I noticed it, so you can bet the cops noticed it. So when you say you took a shower the cops are going to want to know why your hair wasn’t wet.”
“I have long hair, it’s a pain in the ass to dry. I don’t always wash it. Particularly like that in the middle of the day. I took a shower from the neck down, kept my hair dry.” Timberlaine looked at Steve. “You got long hair. Don’t you ever do that?”
“Sure,” Steve said. “But this isn’t my alibi.”
Timberlaine grimaced. “Alibi. Jesus.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what we’re talking here. You finished the shower and you put on clean clothes, right?”
“Right. Except for the pants.”
“Why not the pants?”
“Well, the pants aren’t really dirty. They’re part of the costume, yeah, but they’re just jeans. I like jeans. Plus I got all my shit in the pockets—change, keys, wallet, what have you. It’s a pain in the ass to have to change it to another pair of pants. So I put on all clean clothes except for the jeans.”