Dead Man's Hand

by Otto Penzler

  I was surprised to find that Richard Rosenberg played in it. Though one of New York City's top negligence lawyers, he was still, in fact, a negligence lawyer, a profession only slightly better regarded than crack whore.

  I was even more surprised to find he had asked for me. Richard usually thrived on situations like this. Ordinarily, I would have expected him to have insinuated himself into the case, interrogated all the witnesses, and coerced confessions out of at least half of them. The fact he called for backup was a shock.

  The fact the police let me in was a bit of a surprise also. It turned out the cop in charge was Sergeant MacAullif. MacAullif likes my input. It gives him a chance to hone his sarcasm and irony. "Well, well, well, Stanley Hastings. The ace PI. What brings you here?"

  "Here" was the apartment of Adam Addington. The stockbroker was either a genius or an inside trader, or some combination of the two. His Park Avenue digs probably cost more than the average Pentagon budget. In wartime. It was in his game room, around his felt-covered octagonal oak poker table, that the crime had taken place. If it was indeed a crime, and Mr. Beckman had not picked that moment to just happen to go belly-up.

  What brought me there was a liveried elevator operator and a uniformed cop. The fact we'd stepped straight off the elevator into the apartment was a subtle hint that Mr. Addington had a floor-through.

  "Richard called me."

  "So I understand. Why do you suppose he did it?"

  "Have you considered asking him?"

  "Not without a Miranda warning. After all, the guy's a lawyer."

  "So read him his rights."

  "I'm afraid he'd cross-examine me on them."

  "Good point."

  We found Richard Rosenberg at a dining-room table that seated twelve. It currently sat six, the remaining poker players who had been in the game.

  Richard sprang to his feet when he saw me. A little man with an inexhaustible supply of nervous energy, Richard was always ready to bound up at a moment's notice. I was surprised to find he had the patience to sit still long enough to play poker.

  "Stanley. Thank God you're here. This is a hell of a situation. There's been a murder, and I'm a suspect."

  "Oh, don't take so much credit," said a middle-aged man with twinkling eyes and a face like the Pillsbury Doughboy. He wore a faded Grateful Dead T-shirt. A stain on the left sleeve and a rip in the collar seemed to attest to its genuine vintage. "We're all suspects. But I didn't do it, and I resent being held a prisoner in my own apartment."

  So, the Doughboy had dough. I wondered how much was required to get away with wearing a torn T-shirt. The rest of the poker players seemed fairly well dressed.

  MacAullif and I marched Richard out of earshot of the others. Amazingly, that left them still in sight. It was a very large apartment.

  "Okay," MacAullif demanded, "what's the deal?"

  Richard shrugged. "I have no idea. The guy just fell over dead."

  "I don't mean that." MacAullif jerked his thumb. "Why'd you call him?"

  "Well, I couldn't call a lawyer, I am a lawyer. But I do have a vested interest in the outcome of this case. Not to disparage your investigative abilities, but you are not my investigator. You are not reporting to me what you find. Stanley, on the other hand, would lose his job if he didn't."

  "Now there's a recommendation," I observed.

  "Besides, you know him and you won't throw him out."

  "Anytime you get done praising my abilities..."

  "Don't be dumb. Sergeant MacAullif won't let me sit in on the interviews because I'm a quote suspect unquote. I need to know what's said. So I'm counting on you to listen in."

  "Assuming anyone talks," I said. "They have the right to remain silent, as I'm sure you pointed out."

  "Are you kidding me? With my interests at stake? I advised them all to tell everything they know."

  MacAullif cocked his head. "You actually think I'd let him sit in on the interviews?"

  "Absolutely. You guys have helped each other in the past. There's no reason not to. And these are prominent people. You want this cleaned up as quickly as possible before the commissioner gets involved. If I were you, I would look on this as a godsend."

  MacAullif sized me up. If he considered me a godsend, I wouldn't have known it.

  "In return for doing me this huge favor, I'll continue to urge all my friends to spill their guts. Which can only help me, since one of them's a killer. Or you can reject this suggestion, and I'll advise all of them to clam up and hire their own lawyers."

  If it was a bluff, it was a good one. It occurred to me I wouldn't want to play poker against Richard.

  "All right." MacAullif said it with all the good grace of a tree slug.

  We walked Richard back to the table. His friends greeted him as if he was the waitress in a topless bar.

  "So, what's it gonna be?"

  "Did you ask him?"

  "Yeah, did you ask him?"

  "What did he say?"

  "Yes, or no?"

  Five men could not have looked more anxious. My god, did they all do it?

  "Actually, we were discussing the other matter," Richard said. "You know. About Mr. Beckman."

  Richard's friends didn't want to hear it.

  "What's to discuss?"

  "Guy has a heart attack and dies."

  "It's sad, but life goes on."

  "Yeah, life goes on."

  "So, did you ask him?"

  MacAullif frowned. "Ask me what?"

  "Well," Richard said. "We assume you're going to keep us here awhile?"

  "That's your question?"

  "No, I think that's a fairly safe assumption. And I know you don't want to disturb the crime scene."

  "Speaking of safe assumptions. So, whaddya want?"

  "Could we get a deck of cards?"

  We conducted our questioning in Adam Addington's study, which was bigger than a breadbox and smaller than your average basketball court. One wall had a floor-to-ceiling bookcase, which was quite something, when you considered the height of the ceiling—suffice it to say one of those sliding ladders on a track went along with it. There was a mahogany desk, a large-screen TV, a bar, a stereo system, and a small pool table for when Mr. Addington was too busy to walk down the hall to the billiard room.

  The conference table in the corner was large enough for the Green Bay Packers. It was covered with toys and knickknacks, just in case meetings got boring.

  Richard was first up. He sat on one side of the conference table. MacAullif and I sat on the other.

  "All right," Richard said. "I'd like to remind you that anything I say could be used against me in a court of law. And while this interrogation is not being taken down, it is in the presence of a witness."

  "Thank you," MacAullif said dryly. "I'm glad that's taken care of. Do you intend to ask the questions, too?"

  "If you like."

  "Why don't you just tell us what happened? We can fill in the blanks later."

  "What happened was Seth up and died right in the middle of a rather large pot."

  "Was Seth in the pot?"

  "Absolutely. He'd just raised. He threw his chips in the pot and fell flat on his face."

  "Could it have been the excitement of the hand?"

  Richard made a face. "Please."

  "You said it was a large pot."

  "That's relatively large. Not worth dying over."

  "I'll be the judge of that. What were the stakes?"

  "Gonna bust us for gambling?"

  "It's not a high priority."

  "That's not the answer I was looking for."

  "Cut it out. No one cares about gambling. You wanna speed this along?"

  "We were playing quarter-half."

  "That's all?"

  "With a dollar on the last card. Certainly not enough money to induce a heart attack."

  "What's the point?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Of the game?"

  "It's an old game. B
een going on for over fifty years. In one or another variation. Quarter-half is actually big time. It used to be nickel-dime. Back when there was a Rockefeller playing."

  "You're kidding."

  "You think they got rich throwing their money away in card games?"

  "How'd you get in the game?"

  "You remember a few years back when Danny Felson died?"

  "Who?"

  Richard looked pained at MacAullif's ignorance. "The musical-comedy director? Guy had three Tonys. Anyway, when he died, I got his seat. It was quite an honor to be asked."

  "But just an honor," I said.

  Richard frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "Well, no one's going to get rich playing quarter-half."

  "Of course. That's not the point. The thrill is playing with the big boys. The camaraderie. The connections. All financial considerations aside. Not that there aren't any. If our host threw a case my way, I could retire."

  I always have to restrain myself when Richard says things like that. The guy makes money hand over fist. He could retire tomorrow, if he wanted to.

  "Who got you in the game?" MacAullif asked.

  "Judge Granville put in a word for me. I appear before him a lot. He thinks I'm funny." Richard raised his finger. "If you quote me on that, I'll deny it. I'd hate for the old boy to have to recuse himself the next time I get a juicy malpractice case."

  "I wouldn't worry about it," MacAullif said. "You want to walk me through this? How long had you been playing before it happened?"

  "We started around eight. Seth bit the big one at eight forty-five."

  "Going around the table. Where was everyone sitting?"

  "Okay," Richard said. "Say I'm sitting here. Then Seth was sitting here."

  MacAullif raised his eyebrows. "Next to you?"

  "Yes," Richard said ironically. "I was sitting right next to him. Where I'd make sure to sit if I was going to do him in."

  "Where was everybody else?"

  Richard snagged an ornate crystal ashtray that probably cost more than my car and placed it on the table to his right. "Here's Seth. I'm me." He slid one of those silver-balls-on-strings-that-swing-into-each-other doohickeys to his left. "This annoying toy is Benny—that's Benjamin Driscoll to you. He's a banker. By that I mean he owns a bank. A chain of banks, actually. Can we avoid saying which one? I wouldn't want to affect the prime lending rate.

  "To his left is our host, Adam Addington. Horatio Alger story. Self-made man. Parlayed a small inheritance into a small fortune in the stock market." Richard slid a Magic 8-Ball into Addington's spot.

  "The hawk-faced gentleman next to him is Judge Granville." Richard marked his place with what was either a large letter opener or a small samurai sword. "I wish I had a gavel."

  Richard pointed to MacAullif. "In your seat is Dan Kingston. He's Addington's tax accountant. Like to be mine, if he could talk me into it. He's not a regular. He fills in when someone can't make it."

  MacAullif jerked his thumb at me. "Who's in his seat?"

  "No one. If's an octagonal table. We play with seven. Because there's so many games you can't play with eight. Draw, in particular, never works unless you shuffle discards. So we keep it to seven. Stanley's in the empty chair."

  "Why am I not surprised? So who's next to me?"

  "The rather smug gentleman is Harvey Poole. He's a pharmacologist. Has a patent on one of those Viagra knockoffs." Richard cocked his head at us. "Just in case you're interested. I think he also handles allergies and acid reflux."

  "And he was sitting next to the dead man?"

  "Yes."

  "And no one was sitting on the other side of him?"

  "Harvey's right-handed. likes his elbow room."

  "So, assuming you didn't do it, he's the most likely suspect?"

  "Don't be silly. There is no most likely suspect. The idea that any of us killed him is absurd. Despite all appearances, Seth probably died of natural causes."

  The doctor poked his head in right after Richard left. "I think I got the cause of death."

  "Really? What was it?"

  "This was in his throat." The doctor produced a plastic evidence bag. In it was something that looked like it could well have been lodged in a dead man's esophagus. A tiny, mushy, nondescript piece of god-knows-what.

  "What makes you think that's the murder weapon?"

  "I'm suspecting cyanide poisoning, and this was the last thing he ate. Unless I'm mistaken, it's one of these."

  The doctor held up something between his thumb and forefinger. It was a brown, cylindrically shaped object, about a half inch in diameter and twice as long.

  "What the hell is that?"

  "It's a pretzel. There was a basket of them on the table."

  "He was killed with a poisoned pretzel?"

  "You don't like the idea?"

  "Can you put poison in a pretzel?"

  "I could if I wanted to. I don't know whether it was done in this case. But it looks like cyanide, which is very fast acting. If he died from cyanide, it was something he ingested while sitting at the table. The choices are rather limited. The guy was eating pretzels and drinking Diet Coke. For my money, it wasn't in the Coke."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "The pretzel in his throat. If he drank the Coke first, it would kill him before he got to the pretzel. If he ate the pretzel first, I'd expect him to chew it some before taking a sip."

  "That's assuming it was in the Diet Coke."

  "Right. So, unlikely as it might seem, it looks like that guy was killed with a pretzel."

  "You don't look happy, MacAullif," I said as the medical examiner left.

  "No kidding. How do you poison someone with a pretzel? It's like a magician forcing a card. 'Pick a pretzel, any pretzel.' How do you make sure he picks the right pretzel?"

  "Maybe more than one was poisoned."

  "Then why aren't more people dead?"

  "You sound disappointed, MacAullif. These aren't your favorite people?"

  "Give me a break. They're out there playing cards while their friend's on his way to the morgue."

  "Evidently, he wasn't really their friend."

  "My point exactly. Say there's only one poisoned pretzel. Say you want this turkey to eat it. How do you get him to do that without someone seeing?"

  "Maybe someone did."

  Adam Addington sat down at the table, said, "My attorney has advised me to cooperate."

  "You consulted an attorney?" MacAullif asked.

  "Of course I did. Do you think I'm stupid?"

  "No, sir. I just wondered why you felt the need to do so."

  "This is my apartment."

  "That doesn't make you any more suspect."

  "Really? I would think it should. I had access to whatever it is that killed him. Unless it's something someone brought in. If you can show it's something someone brought in, I'd be very grateful."

  "So you think you'll be suspected of this crime?"

  "I certainly hope not. It would spoil the whole evening." When MacAullif didn't crack a smile, he added, "That was a joke."

  "Better work on your delivery," MacAullif said dryly. "I'd still like to know why you felt the need to call a lawyer."

  "Actually, Mr. Rosenberg convinced me."

  MacAullif frowned. "Really? I was under the impression he advised everyone to cooperate."

  "Oh, he did. It's nothing he said. It's who he is. A negligence lawyer. I have money. It doesn't matter who killed him if some shyster tries to prove I was negligent. What if Seth has greedy relatives who decide to take me to the cleaners? Frankly, I wouldn't put it past them."

  "That's very interesting. You think relatives of Mr. Beckman would tend to be greedy?"

  "I find people in general tend to be greedy. This is a fairly nice apartment. If pictures of the crime scene wind up in the daily press, someone's going to take a look and say, 'Whoa! I'd like a piece of that!'"

  "So you called your lawyer?"

  "I did."
<
br />   "What did he advise you?"

  "He said I should cooperate with the police in every way. He said as remote a possibility as a lawsuit was, the best defense against it would be to have someone found guilty of the crime. So, how can I help you?"

  "What was your relationship with the decedent?"

  "I saw him at the poker games."

  "And nowhere else?"

  "That's right."

  "Why not?"

  "We weren't friends."

  "You didn't like him?"

  "I didn't know him well." Addington put up his hand. "But let's not go around again. I had no wish to know him well. Seth had a rather arrogant personality, in my opinion."

  "What did he do?"

  "Not much. He never did anything for his money. His family hasn't as long as anyone can remember. They just have it. But whether it comes from steel, gold, or rooking the Indians is anybody's guess."

  "Can you think of anyone who had a reason to dislike him?"

  "Not in particular. But I can't think of anyone who had a reason to like him, either. Was there anything else?"

  "Could you tell me what people were eating and drinking?"

  "So, it was poison. Everyone's speculating poison."

  "We don't know yet. Can you help us out?"

  "People were eating pretzels and drinking seltzer and Diet Coke."

  "Who brought the pretzels?"

  "I did. Ever the gracious host."

  "And the drinks?"

  "That's right."

  "You provided everything?"

  "That I did."

  "And no one brought anything in from outside?"

  "If they did, I wasn't aware of it."

  "Nothing else was served at the table except pretzels and the drinks you mentioned?"