The Best American Mystery Stories Part 6

"I can't hear you, Mr. Defendant," Shanahan said. "You get that money out of your savings account?"

"Say "Yes, Your Honor,"' Duggan whispered to Morse.

"Yes, Your Honor," Morse said.

"That makes over fifteen thousand dollars you took out of that bank account to buy wheels last year," Shanahan said. "That's a pretty nice bank account. I wish I had one like it. Where is it?"

"I got the book home in my apartment," Morse said.

'Which bank?" Shanahan said.

"Oh," Morse said. "River Trust."

"How much you got in that account now?" Shanahan said.

"Your Honor," Morse said, "I worked hard for that money and I saved it up."

Shanahan held up his right hand. "Spare me, Mr. Morse," he said. "I'm sure you denied yourself many of life's pleasures in order to prepare for your future. You are asking me to confirm Mr. Duggan's worst fears that he will be forced to represent you for small change paid late by the Commonwealth. This will require Mr. Duggan to deny himself many of life's pleasures in order to represent you. How much money is left in that bank account?"

"I'm not sure," Morse said.

"Take a guess," Shanahan said.

"About nine thousand dollars," Morse said.

"OK," Shanahan said, "that saves us from going into the value of the furniture and stuff. Mr. Sherman: The court finds that the defendant, Maurice Morse, is not without resources with which to retain counsel, that he is not indigent. The case is continued for one week so that Mr. Morse may secure counsel. Bail is set at twenty-five thousand dollars, with surety. Case on trial."

"Your Honor," Morse said, as the court officer started toward him.

"Mr. Morse," Shanahan said, "you are remanded to the custody of the sheriff of Suffolk County. Your case is continued for one week so that you may secure counsel."

"I want Duggan here," Morse said.

"I'm sure Mr. Duggan will be happy to confer with you at the Charles Street Jail," Shanahan said. "You will want to discuss a fee with him, no doubt. Mr. Duggan is currently on trial. If you want to see him, make an appointment that will suit his convenience. For the time being, you have lots of convenience, at least until you make bail. Case on trial. Afternoon recess."

Morse was led away.

The judge stood up and marched off the bench. The spectators moved toward the doors. Edie approached Duggan. "Nice, huh?" she said.

"In my next life," Duggan said, "I am going to make my living doing something easy. Brain surgery, I think."

"Yeah." she said. "But in this one?"

"In this one," Duggan said, "I am going back to my office to see Fred Ellis, because thanks to your incompetence, he got out."

In the early evening, Duggan parked the Cadillac in front of the bait shop at Neponset Circle in Dorchester. The bait shop, which advertised its appointment by the Commonwealth as an official fish-weighing center, occupied the ground floor of a three-story wooden building. The building was covered with tarpaper that was supposed to resemble brick. The window frames and doors were painted cream. There were apartments for single old people on the third floor. Duggan, a bill collector named Mullins who called himself the Commonwealth Adjustment Agency, and the law firm of Kunkel and Concannon had offices on the second floor. Kunkel was over eighty. Concannon was Kunkel's daughter. They specialized in divorce law.

Duggan used his key to open the door in the center of the building. He shut it and locked it firmly behind him. The floor in the hall was linoleum. It had buckled badly and he was careful of his footing. It was lighted by one 6o-watt bulb. He reached the stairway, which had a curved banister with knurled supports on the right and a dowel banister on the left, and climbed it. The steel treads were loose and creaked under him. At the top of the stairs he turned right, into the corridor leading to the offices. The corridor was lighted badly. The door to his office was half-frosted gla.s.s. There was scroll painting on it: JOHN F. DUGGAN. ATTORNEY AND COUNSELOR AT LAW. He opened the door and went in.

There were two people in the reception area. Cynthia, Duggan's secretary, was at her desk, which was synthetic blond mahogany. Cynthia had an extremely good figure and an extremely slow brain. She chewed gum. Her husband made a halfway-decent living as the manager of a hamburger stand on Morrissey Boulevard, about seven hundred yards west of the bait shop. Cynthia was incapable of conceiving a child. She was twenty-six years old and she was restless. Cynthia's husband was agreeable to allowing her to do poor work for very little money, so long as it was close by and he thought her boss was harmless. This arrangement was agreeable to Duggan, especially the part about the small salary.

The second person in the reception area was Frederick Ellis. He was sitting on a sofa-bed slipcovered in beige. The sofa looked as though Duggan had slept on it. He had. Ellis had a two-day growth of beard and he did not look good in it. He had dark hair that stuck up and looked greasy, and he wore a denim jacket and jeans which also could have been improved by was.h.i.+ng. He looked disdainful. There were two cops seated next to him.

Duggan spoke to Ellis first. "You're sitting down already, and you haven't said anything yet. Therefore, keep up the good work." Then he said to the cops: "Whadda you guys want."

The two cops were in full uniform in Duggan's reception area, along with Frederick Ellis. One of the cops was Panther Ahearn, a stern man in his middle forties with heavy jowls and a permanent expression of exasperation. The other was Roderick Franklin, a man in his late thirties, who sat with his hands clasped in his lap and looked at the floor. Franklin's holster was empty, and the strap which secured the revolver which belonged in it hung loose. Roderick Franklin was black.

"Ahearn," Duggan said, "I needed you like a sore tooth this day.

Tell me what is on your mind and make it fast. I've got a living to make."

"Done and done," Ahearn said. He gestured with his head. "Franklin here has got a little problem." He nudged Franklin with his elbow. "This is correct, is it not, Roderick?"

Franklin nodded, miserably.

"Roderick," Ahearn said, standing up and hitching his pants higher, "Roderick shot a fellow last night."

"Shot a fellow," Duggan said.

"Exactly," Ahearn said.

"Where, precisely, did he shoot the fellow?" Duggan said.

"In the chest," Ahearn said. "Just like we are trained. Right below the heart. Three in a circle you could cover with a quarter. Roderick is a d.a.m.ned good shot." Ahearn looked at Franklin. Franklin did not look up.

"I presume there was some reason for all of this commotion," Duggan said.

"There was that," Ahearn said. "There was a silent alarm going off at the all-night grocery, and me and Roderick were dispatched thereto to see if perhaps there might be something going on. When wc got there in the blue-and-white, there was sure-G.o.d something going on. So we drew our service revolvers and we exited the official vehicle and we entered the establishment and there was quite a lot going on. There were two young gentlemen in there, who had entered posing as customers. One of them had a rather large knife. The other one had a revolver.

"The young gentleman with the knife," Ahearn said, "is a reasonable fellow, and that is why he is still breathing air. As soon as he saw my revolver, he saw the wisdom of obedience to my command to drop the stinking knife. The other gentleman, the one with the revolver, was not as agreeable. He brought it up and pointed it at me. Thereupon, Patrolman Franklin plugged him. Three times. I was very glad of it. Roderick blew him back to last Wednesday."

"Ahh," Duggan said. "I see that Patrolman Franklin does not have any revolver on his person."

"They took it away from me," Franklin said. He did not look up.

"He's up on charges," Ahearn said.

"Charges," Duggan said.

"Departmental hearing," Ahearn said.

"Indictment to follow," Duggan said.

"If the department says he shouldn't've plugged the kid," Ahearn said.

"And?" Duggan said.

"You are going to make d.a.m.ned sure that hearing comes out the right way," Ahearn said.

"Ahearn," Duggan said, "you must be losing your memory. You hate my guts, remember? You told me so. If there was one miserable piece of stuff floating in at low tide tomorrow, it'd be better'n I am. Remember that?"

"That was different," Ahearn said. "That was when you got a little s...o...b..g off on a case that he should've gone to jail."

"That's what I do," Duggan said.

"Right," Ahearn said, "and that is what you're gonna do for Roderick, here." He put his hand on Franklin's shoulder. "You got that, Counselor? You are gonna work your magic in behalf of Roderick, who saved my everlasting life. And you are gonna get his gun back for him. And you are gonna see that Roderick does not get indicted. That is what you are gonna do."

Franklin spoke. He did not look up, but he spoke. He said: "I don't want any favors from this honkey."

Ahearn lifted his hand and slapped it down hard on Franklin's shoulder. "You just shut your mouth, cotton-chopper. I got a wife and I got kids, and they go through groceries like they were lawn mowers. I'm on the earth this morning, not in it, and that is thanks to you. You did me one, I'll do you one."

"You're gonna pay me, I a.s.sume," Duggan said to Ahearn.

"Right," Ahearn said. "Cup of coffee? I'll go for a doughnut, even."

"Nifty," Duggan said.

Franklin looked up. There was misery all over his face. "He don't want this case, Terry," Franklin said. "I can't pay him. You told me already, long before this, what a rat he is."

Ahearn did not look at Franklin. He stared at Duggan instead. He spoke slowly and softly. "He is a rat, Roderick," Ahearn said. "He walked a guy on me the last time I brought in a guy that should've burned, and then he laughed in my face afterwards. You did that, Duggan."

"I did that, Ahearn," Duggan said.

"Roderick," Ahearn said, "this Duggan is the biggest rat in the Western world. He bites and he's probably got rabies too. You need a rat, my friend. You need something that will bite and get the other guys infected. Duggan is your rat."

Franklin looked up again. "I can't afford to pay you anything, Mr. Duggan," he said.

Duggan started to speak. Ahearn silenced both of them. "Nothin' to worry about, Roderick," he said. "Mr. Duggan isn't charging for this one."

"You're not charging?" Franklin said.

"He's not charging," Ahearn said.

"I didn't ask you," Franklin said.

"I'm not charging," Duggan said. "And the rest of what he said is also true."

Duggan then spoke to Cynthia. "What bad things have happened today that I do not wish to know about but people called me about?"

Cynthia snapped her gum. Duggan said: "Don't do that."

She paid no attention to him. She riffled through a stack of telephone messages. "Well," she said, "they're mostly all from people in the court, and I'm not sure.

Duggan interrupted her. "It's after six, for the luvva Mike, I'm at least three hours late, trying to get back to somebody in the courts."

"There was one," Cynthia said, reflectively, snapping the gum. "Said she'd wait for your call."

"There's a happy note," Duggan said. "Who the h.e.l.l was it?"

"Said her name," Cynthia said, frowning, "said her name was Edie and you'd know her."

"Edie," Duggan said.

"Edie," Cynthia said. "From the DA's office."

"Uh-huh," Duggan said. "OK, I'll call Edie from the DA's office." He turned to look at Ellis. "For your information, Mr. Ellis, Edie from the DA's office is a.s.sistant District Attorney Edith Washburn, and she has got a strong inclination to fit your very large tail into a very small crack. If it is all right with you, I will excuse myself for a moment and call her."

Ellis stared at him. Ellis did not look happy. "You already kept me waiting a long time," he said.

"Put it on my bill," Duggan said.

The district attorney was Harold Gould. He was a large and powerful man in a large and powerful office. He was in his early sixties, and he knew what his values were. He also knew that some other people did not share his values, and he resented it. His office in the New Courthouse at Pemberton Square was spare. There was one gla.s.s-fronted bookcase which contained a selection of lawbooks that he had not opened in years. His diplomas from Boston College and the Harvard Law School were on the walls, along with his members.h.i.+p certificates in nine organizations. There were two pictures of Harold Gould shaking hands with John F. Kennedy. Harold Gould wore a PT-109 tie clasp. There were two pictures of Harold Gould with Richard Cardinal Cus.h.i.+ng. There was one picture of Harold Gould with Francis Cardinal Spellman. There was a certificate attesting to the elevation of Harold Gould to the rank of Knight of Malta. There was a large oak desk that was covered with file folders. Harold Gould sat in an oak chair that creaked. His visitors sat in oak chairs that did not creak. Harold Gould, in the early evening, was not happy.

Edith Washburn was uneasy. She was in her early thirties and she had a lawyer's job in a town full of lawyers; she wished to keep it. She disliked Harold Gould, who had appointed her to the job she wished to keep. Once married and divorced, with custody of a son who had not yet seen his sixth birthday and an ex-husband who had managed to elude his child-support payments - there had never been any alimony payments, because she was too proud to accept those or even ask for them - she needed the job that Harold Gould could take away from her if she became too saucy.

"You booted it," Gould said. He had a voice with an edge like a pitted razor blade. "I told you I didn't want that Ellis punk on the street."

Edie controlled herself. "Boss," she said, "I did not boot it. I am not Judge Wilc.o.x. I did not release him on personal recognizance. I asked a hundred thou bail, and Judge Wilc.o.x let him loose. Judge Wilc.o.x is black. He thinks all defendants're the unfortunate victims of society. That's not my fault, either."

"That punk," Gould said, "is a murderer."

She sighed. "So I'm told," she said.

"He should be in jail," Gould said.

"So I'm told," she said.

"He isn't," Gould said.

"He hasn't been convicted yet," she said.

"Who's got the case for trial," Gould said.

"Judge Shanahan," she said.

Gould nodded. "Good," he said, "good. Shanahan's a standup guy. No continuances. Get that little sc.u.mbag in here and convict him and put him in the d.a.m.ned can. Right?"

Edie sighed again. "Boss," she said, "Duggan just got the case. He's gonna want time to get ready. He's gonna ask for it and Shanahan or any other judge's gonna give it to him. The guy's appointed, for G.o.d's sake. He's not making any money off this. He's got to eat. He'll be out on the street."

"Who'd Duggan kill?" Gould said.

"Far as I know," she said, "n.o.body."

"Right," Gould said. "So therefore I don't care if Duggan's onna street. I don't like him, but he ain't dangerous. Ellis is dangerous."