SW05 - The Wrong Gun

by Parnell Hall

  He looked at Tracy and started laughing. So did she, and they were both laughing hysterically when Mark Taylor walked in the door.

  “What the hell is this?” he said.

  “Tracy found the silver lining,” Steve said.

  “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

  “The case is now so totally fucked up, there’s absolutely nothing we could do that could make it any worse.”

  “You could drag in the other gun,” Taylor said.

  Steve looked at him, sobered up, snapped his fingers. “Son of a bitch,” he said.

  Mark Taylor’s eyes widened in alarm. “Hey, hey, I was only kidding. You wouldn’t do that, would you?”

  “Right now, Mark, I don’t know what I might do.”

  “Steve. I mean, think what you’re doing.”

  Steve Winslow held up his hand. “Take it easy, Mark. I’m not doing anything right now. I’m just exploring possibilities. All we got left is possibilities.”

  “It seems to me, all we got left is impossibilities,” Taylor said.

  “Ain’t that the truth.”

  “And that bullet matchin’ up,” Taylor said. “I don’t know what gun you gave them—and I sure as hell don’t want to know—but think about it and the mind boggles. I mean, unless there’s another gun in this case I don’t know about—and there’re already way too many guns in this case—the gun you produced was either the gun Timberlaine kept locked in his safe-deposit box, or the gun you kept locked in the safe. In either case, neither gun could have done it. And yet one did.”

  “Thank you for your assessment of the situation,” Steve said.

  “Hey, I have to call ’em as I see ’em,” Taylor said. “Now, I know this makes problems for you, but doesn’t it make problems for Vaulding too?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, as far as he’s concerned, you gave him the gun from Timberlaine’s safe-deposit box. And Timberlaine’s been in jail since the murder. There’s no way he was out switching guns around. If you gave them the gun from Timberlaine’s safe-deposit box, how the hell can Vaulding claim that gun committed the murder? See what I’m saying?”

  “Yeah, I do, Mark. Unfortunately, it doesn’t wash.”

  “Why not?”

  “ ’Cause Vaulding only has my word for it that that’s where that gun came from.” Steve raised his hand. “And never mind maybe I substituted a gun. Think like Vaulding. Assume I didn’t. Assume I’m giving him the gun he asked for, the gun Timberlaine had. Now, Timberlaine and I can claim that gun’s been in a safe-deposit box since well before the murder and I just got it out, but he’s only got our word for that. For all he knows, I could have told Timberlaine we had to produce the gun, and he could have said, ‘Oh, all right. After the murder I hid it in the shrubbery out behind my mansion. Go get it.’”

  Mark Taylor’s eyes widened. “Son of a bitch.”

  “See, Mark. Even without any substitution, Timberlaine can’t prove he put a gun in that safe-deposit box and I can’t prove I took one out. Which is too bad, ’cause if we could, the gun would theoretically have an alibi for the murder.”

  “And the gun you gave him does,” Taylor said. “That’s the mind-fuck. We’re talking informally here, so I’m going to assume you gave him the gun from the safe. In fact, I know you gave him the gun from the safe, because Manning matched a bullet from it with the test bullet, RT-SUB. And that gun’s been in your safe since before the murder. You know and I know that gun wasn’t used for the murder. Unless someone got into your office and rifled the safe.”

  “It’s been done before,” Tracy pointed out.

  “Yeah, but not this time,” Steve said. “I mean, come on, give me a break. The murderer deduces that I have a gun in the safe. He breaks in and steals it, uses it to commit the murder. Now, never mind all the other duplicate guns he plants all over the place. The point is, after the murder, he breaks in again and replaces it in my safe.”

  “Farfetched, but not impossible,” Taylor said.

  “Oh, yeah? How does he know the gun’s there to begin with?*’

  “Timberlaine could know, if he figured out you switched guns. Suppose he noticed the difference?”

  “So he breaks in and steals it?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Yeah, but how does he get it back in the safe after the murder? He’s been in jail ever since.”

  “True,” Taylor said. “Well, he could have an accomplice.”

  “Who, his daughter? Like father, like daughter, and the Timberlaines actually come from a long line of murdering safecrackers?”

  Taylor frowned. “That does seem a bit much.”

  “No shit.”

  “So what’s the answer?” Taylor said. “What the hell did happen?”

  Steve exhaled. “We’re getting dangerously close to Sherlock Holmes territory here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “At least, I think it’s Holmes. You know the bit about once you’ve eliminated the impossible, what’s left, however improbable, has to be true? Or something to that effect.”

  Taylor frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means there has to be an explanation for People’s Exhibit Six being the murder gun. Or, more precisely, there has to be an explanation for the fact the fatal bullet came from that gun.”

  “Would it surprise you to hear I can’t come up with one?”

  “No, it wouldn’t, Mark. What about your expert?”

  “Who?”

  “The gun collector. The woman. Is she here yet?”

  “Yeah. As a matter of fact, she’s in my office. I was wondering if you’d want to see her.”

  “I sure do.”

  43.

  VERONICA DREISSON WAS A BIT of a surprise. A frail, emaciated, white-haired woman, she looked more like someone’s kindly but fragile great-grandmother than someone who dealt in guns, and try as he would, Steve Winslow could not imagine her holding one. When Mark Taylor had completed the introductions, Steve smiled and said, “So, you’re the gun expert?”

  Veronica Dreisson’s eyes twinkled and her smile was mischievous. “You sound as if you didn’t believe me.”

  “Oh, I believe you all right. I just want to make sure.”

  “I’m not surprised. People often have trouble relating to an old lady gun expert.”

  “Guilty as charged,” Steve said, “If I’m going to be hung for a sexist pig, it might as well be for just cause.”

  “That would be hardly just,” Veronica said. “Women have trouble relating to me too.”

  “I have trouble relating to anything right now,” Steve said. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to skimp on the amenities, but at the moment I have more problems than you could believe.”

  “So I understand. I only hope I haven’t done anything to add to them.”

  “So do I. I assume Mark Taylor has given you a rundown of the present situation?”

  “Oh, yes. He’s really been most helpful.” Veronica favored Mark Taylor with a smile, which he returned somewhat sheepishly.

  “That’s good,” Steve said. “I was wondering if we could come to some sort of understanding.”

  “I don’t see what there is to understand,” Veronica said. “I gather you are trying a murder case.” She shrugged and smiled. “But that’s your business. As far as I’m concerned, any guns Mr. Taylor may have purchased are entirely coincidental and not to be inferred.”

  Steve grinned. “Miss—I’m sorry. Tell me. Is it Mrs., Miss, or Ms.?”

  “It’s Veronica.”

  “Veronica, I think you and I are going to get along. At the moment I happen to have a little problem involving guns, and I’m hoping you can help me out.”

  “In what way?”

  “I’m confronted with a physical impossibility. The prosecution just matched up a gun with the fatal bullet. And there’s no way that gun fired that bullet.”

  Veronica opened her mouth to speak.

&nbs
p; Steve held up his hand. “I know, I know. Ballistics says it did. So let me rephrase that. There’s no way that gun was used to commit the crime. At the time of the murder, that gun was not available. It could not have been used.”

  Veronica frowned. “What are you saying?”

  “Exactly that. There’s no reason for you to know the circumstances—in fact it’s better if you don’t know—but take it as a given that that gun did not commit the crime. That we know for sure. So we have a series of seemingly contradictory statements here. We need to resolve them. This is where I need your expertise.”

  “In what way?”

  “Listen carefully. Here are certain things we know to be true. One, the gun fired the fatal bullet. We know that from the markings on it. We can identify it absolutely as coming from the gun. Two, the fatal bullet is the cause of death. We know that from the autopsy. It was removed from the head of the decedent and identified by the medical examiner as the sole cause of death. And three, the gun, People’s Exhibit Six, could not have fired that bullet into the head of the decedent, because it was not available at the time of the murder.”

  Veronica nodded. “An out-and-out contradiction.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So some of your data must be wrong.”

  “If so I would love to have it pointed out to me.”

  “The ballistics expert could be in error. The medical examiner could be in error. Or there could have been a substitution of bullet or gun at some point down the line.”

  Steve Winslow nodded. “True, and I’ve taken those things into consideration. Frankly, I don’t see how any of them could have happened.”

  “So?”

  “So, I’m eliminating the impossible and dealing with the improbable.”

  Veronica frowned. “You’ll pardon me if that’s not entirely clear.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’m saying, assume those things didn’t happen. Assume the following are true: the bullet came from the gun, the bullet killed the victim, the gun was not there at the time of the murder.” Steve shrugged. “That leaves us with an insoluble problem.”

  “It certainly does,” Veronica said. “So what do you expect me to do about it?”

  “Solve it.”

  44.

  THE PHONE BEGAN RINGING while Steve Winslow was still unlocking his apartment door. He cursed his deadbolt, a necessity in a New York City apartment, even in that relatively respectable section of Greenwich Village. Steve threw open the door, fumbled for the light switch on the wall, missed it, spotted the phone across the room in the faint street light coming through the window, and, spurred on by another insistent ring, decided to go for it. Predictably, he barked his shin on the coffee table, cursed loudly, lunged across the room, grabbed the phone and picked it up.

  “Finally,” Taylor said. “I’ve been callin’ you for hours.”

  “I took Tracy out to dinner. What’s up?”

  “We blew it.”

  “What?”

  “The whole assignment. We fucked it up somehow.”

  “How is that possible? Carrie Timberlaine set it up.”

  “Yeah, that part was fine. I took Veronica out there, Carrie let us in. She didn’t have the keys to the gun cases, but that guy Martin did, and he let us in and Veronica did her stuff.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Someone tipped the cops. Lieutenant Sanders showed up, mad as hell, wanting to know what the hell was going on.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  “Am I stupid? Carrie Timberlaine stepped in, told him she was having her father’s gun collection appraised, and what the hell business was it of his?”

  “That go over big?”

  “What do you think? At that time of night? The long and the short of it is he kept us tied up there until Vaulding could rush over a subpoena.”

  “He subpoenaed you?”

  “No, her. Veronica, I mean. She’s to appear in court tomorrow morning.”

  “You don’t sound happy, Mark.”

  “Happy, hell. The one person in the world I didn’t want involved in this case. The one person in the world I didn’t want the cops to find. And what’s the upshot? Tomorrow morning at ten o’clock she’s witness for the prosecution.”

  “There’s a saving grace.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Vaulding won’t know what to ask her.”

  “He’ll ask her everything. Jesus Christ, Steve. You think he’s not going to ask her about guns?”

  “That doesn’t mean he’ll ask her about your gun.”

  “I was there. He may ask her why.”

  “You’re getting worked up over nothing, Mark.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. I’ve been going slightly nuts. I’ve been trying to reach you for the last two hours.”

  “I told you. I took Tracy out to dinner. I just dropped her off.”

  “Good for you. I haven’t had dinner yet, and I don’t think I could eat a thing.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Back in the office. When I couldn’t reach you, I told the switchboard to keep trying and drove back to town. Good thing I did.”

  “Why?”

  “ ’Cause there’s a lot coming in. As you might expect, considering the bombshell Vaulding dropped today. That was just this morning. Now that he’s grabbed your expert off, you wouldn’t believe what they’re saying.”

  “Who?”

  “The cops. The press. There’s a lot of speculation going on, but the bottom line is plea-bargain.”

  “Is that on the level?”

  “Absolutely. Wanna hear how they figure?”

  “Not really, but I guess I better.”

  “O.K. Here’s the latest line. After Manning’s bombshell today you got an adjournment to see if you wanna cross-examine. Tomorrow morning he’s first up on the stand. The best the cops and the press can figure, the bit with Veronica was a last-ditch effort to come up with something you can use to cross-examine—your expert against theirs, see? That’s why you sent her out there to look at the guns.”

  “So, the way everyone sees it, Manning’s the barometer. You either take him on or else.”

  “Or else what?”

  “If you can’t shake Manning’s testimony, particularly if you decline to cross-examine, it’s all over. It means the case is hopeless and the next order of business is, you ask for a recess to confer with Vaulding over a possible plea-bargain.”

  “Sounds like they’ve written the whole scenario.”

  “They sure have. The next thing that happens is, Vaulding turns you down flat because he’s holding every ace in the deck. He’s got your expert, he’s got your client and he’s got you. Vaulding laughs in your face, goes back into court and puts Veronica Dreisson on the stand. At which point I’m diving for the nearest hurricane cellar.”

  Steve Winslow took a breath, then exhaled noisily. “Well,” he said, “thanks for calling.”

  45.

  JUDGE HENDRICK WAS EXPERIENCING a severe case of déjà vu. He had just held up and displayed yet another set of newspaper headlines, and discussed the serving of yet another subpoena on yet another surprise witness. Now, with the jury in place, he turned to the witness stand to see—who else?—ballistics expert, Philip Manning.

  Judge Hendrick raised his eyebrows, cocked his head, said dryly, “Well, well, Mr. Manning.”

  That remark broke the tension in the courtroom, and was greeted with a burst of laughter. It was brief, and for good reason. After the events of the day before, the expectation was high that this was the day the prosecution was going for the kill.

  “Mr. Manning,” Judge Hendrick said. “Once again I must remind you that you are still under oath. When we left off yesterday, Mr. Vaulding had just completed his direct examination. Mr. Winslow. Your witness.”

  Steve Winslow stood up. He looked at the witness, paused a moment, then looked up at the judge. “I have no questions, Your Honor.”

  That announc
ement produced a rumble in the courtroom, particularly among members of the press. This was confirming their expectations. As a result, anticipation was high.

  “Very well,” Judge Hendrick said. He turned to the witness. “Mr. Manning, this is a bit of an event. You are excused, sir.”

  Manning smiled. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  Judge Hendrick turned to Vaulding. “Call your next witness.”

  Steve Winslow was still on his feet. “Before he does, Your Honor,” Steve said, “I would like to ask for a brief recess.”

  This created another rumble in the courtroom, which Judge Hendrick stifled with his gavel.

  Judge Hendrick looked down at Steve Winslow and frowned. “Mr. Winslow,” he said. “I adjourned court yesterday to allow you to decide if you wished to cross-examine the witness. You elected not to do so. You must have known that when you came into court this morning. Therefore, it seems to me you have had adequate opportunity to confer with your client if you wished to do so.”

  “Granted, Your Honor,” Steve said. “But I do not need to confer with my client.”

  “Then why do you want a recess?”

  “I would like a recess, Your Honor,” Steve said, “in order to confer with Mr. Vaulding.”

  That opened the floodgates. Before the recess was even declared, the courtroom was abuzz with activity as reporters raced for the phones.

  46.

  DISTRICT ATTORNEY ROBERT VAULDING’S smile was ice-cold. “I appreciate your position,” he said. “And I hope you appreciate mine. At the present time, I see no reason not to let this case go to the jury.”

  “Perhaps I can change your mind,” Steve said.

  “Very unlikely,” Vaulding said. “The way things stand right now, the only plea I’d consider accepting would be guilty to the present charge.”

  “Who’s talking plea?” Steve said.

  “I thought you were.”

  “Well, think again. At the moment, I’m merely exploring possibilities.”

  “You may be exploring them,” Vaulding said, “but I can tell you they are not possibilities.”