The Best American Mystery Stories Part 8

They headed up the hill on New Chardon toward Center Plaza. "Look, Walter," she said.

"I have been," he said.

"You're married," she said, "and I like Annie. This's business. I think we have got a little problem with this Ellis guy."

"He should faw down, go boom," Walter said.

"He ain't gonna," she said grimly. "There're two reasons why he won't. There is Harold Gould. The second one is Jack Duggan."

"He drew Duggan?" Walter said. "Son of a gun, I thought Duggan spent most of his time moaning and groaning about his life. He still alive?"

"Very much so," she said. "Not only alive, but very well, thank you. "

"He hasn't had a murder case in two, three years," Walter said. "The heaviest thing he's had, I heard about, was a couple smalltime hoods robbed a gas station, and that was about six months ago."

"How'd it come out?" she said.

"Not guilty," Walter said.

"You're a detective," she said. "That a clue to something, maybe? "

"h.e.l.l, Edie," Walter said, "it wasn't an ironclad case."

"Is Ellis ironclad?" she said, pulling Nolan to a halt.

"No, Edie, for cryin' out loud," Walter said. "No case's ironclad. You've been at this long enough to know that."

"Right," she said. "And so's Duggan. And now let me tell you another thing: Gould won't take a plea."

"Oh, oh," Walter said.

"I am going to have to try this case," she said.

"Sounds like it," he said.

"I have read the file again," she said. "I do not feel cheerful."

Mrs. Ellis was waiting in Duggan's office when he arrived in the morning. She was wearing a nubby pale violet coat and a black pillbox hat and black sensible shoes. She had curled her hair. She sat clutching her black vinyl purse on her lap. As Duggan entered the office, she was glancing surrept.i.tiously and disapprovingly at Cynthia.

Cynthia was drinking coffee from a paper cup. She slurped it. She was chewing gum at the same time and reading the paper.

Duggan looked dreadful. He had not shaved. He was wearing the same clothes he had been wearing the night before. He had not gotten much sleep and his eyes showed it. So did his expression. He closed the door. He stared blearily at Mrs. Ellis. "Mrs. Ellis," he said.

She pursed her lips. She looked him up and down. Cynthia paid no attention to either of them. Mrs. Ellis said, "I came to see you."

"So I see," Duggan said. "I don't recall inviting you, but I see you're here."

"I'm surprised you can," she said sternly.

"Oh, Mrs. Ellis," Duggan said, "there are many things I cannot see this morning. One, for example, is the money to defend Frederick on a murder charge. You will recall, we had some discussion about that. You weren't interested. Another thing I cannot see is your appointment at this unG.o.dly hour."

"You didn't have an appointment to see me," she said. "You came anyway, at your convenience."

"You are not defending my son on a murder charge," Duggan said. "And losing your s.h.i.+rt on it."

Mrs. Ellis surveyed him again. "Your son might do better if I did," she said.

"Would you like to talk about sons, Mrs. Ellis?" Duggan said. "Do you really want to do that? I'm willing if you are. I ain't perfect, but until one of my kids gets hauled up on a murder charge, I'm way ahead of you. And if one of my kids does, I'll pay for his defense. No welfare for Duggan, no sir."

She paused and looked down at her handbag. Then she looked up at Duggan. "I want to talk to you," she said.

"So I gathered," Duggan said. He looked at his watch. "It is nine-oh-five, Mrs. Ellis. I am due in court at eleven. I can get there in twenty minutes if I'm lucky. That gives us almost two hours. You must've left home early. Go get something to eat and come back at ten."

"I don't know this area," she said with a whine in her voice.

"Walk around and get acquainted with it," Duggan said. "You won't like it. No cows. Now beat it."

Her lower lip trembled.

"I mean it," Duggan said.

She stood up and straightened her coat. She headed for the open door.

"Cynthia," Duggan said. Cynthia looked up. "Did I wake you?" Duggan said. She gazed at him as though she had just noticed that he was in the office. "Of course I did," Duggan said. "Go and get me a fried egg sandwich with two strips of bacon inside, and two large coffees."

"You want toast?" she said, chewing the gum.

"I would like the sandwich on toast," Duggan said. "I do not want the sandwich and the toast on the side."

"I haven't got any money," she said.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled five, which he threw on her desk. He stalked to his office.

"What about the phones, Mr. Duggan," Cynthia said.

"They'll be here when you get back, Cynthia," he said.

He was taking off his jacket, loosening his tie ancl pulling it down, and unb.u.t.toning his s.h.i.+rt as he walked.

Duggan entered the Fifth Criminal Session of the Suffolk Superior Court through the swinging oak doors. The benches were empty and the high windows spilled sunlight into the courtroom. There was one court officer on duty, a heavyset man about fifty. The officer was smoking a Salem.

"Not supposed to smoke in court, Bailey," Duggan said. He was clean-shaven. He wore a clean yellow s.h.i.+rt. He wore a gray hopsack suit and a blue-and-gold tie.

Bailey looked at Duggan. "My, my," he said, "and what a fine figure of a fellow we're cutting this morning."

"Clean living," Duggan said, "that's what does it."

"Got a shower in your office, huh?" Bailey said.

"Nope," Duggan said. "Complete wardrobe, though, and a men's room with running water, sometimes hot."

Bailey shook his head. "I wished I was a lawyer," he said. "Way it is, I got to work for a living."

"Lemme know when you start," Duggan said. "Judge in?"

"Judge Shanahan?" Bailey said. "Oh, Judge Shanahan is in all right. He's been in since eleven, when you were supposed to be here. So's Edie." He got up from his chair and started toward the judge's chambers. Over his shoulder he said: "Hope your shaving lotion's nice."

Judge Shanahan had a rosy, pudgy face, a roly-poly body, spa.r.s.e graying hair and an unfiltered Lucky Strike. He was short and he had an executioner's sense of humor. He was seated behind the scarred desk in chambers and regaling Edie and defense counsel Sam Waldstein when Duggan entered. He gave Duggan a perfunctory greeting and continued.

"So," Shanahan said, "this jerk Cangelosi gets up on his hind legs and asks the cop when he first wrote down someplace that the defendant was suspected of being a drug dealer. Now there is a beauty. You can see the cop c.o.c.king his bat already. He looks like Ted Williams, up against a slow pitcher. And the cop says he wrote it down a long time ago.

"Now," Shanahan said, "even I know this. I read the d.a.m.ned reports. They are full of the most scandalous gossip you can imagine. There is stuff in those reports that would be enough to hang the pope if you could prove it. The trouble is that Gould can't prove any of it. And if Edie, for example, offered all that hearsay, I would take her head off. But the DA isn't offering all that hearsay, and for some reason or other, the DA is not objecting to Cangelosi bringing it in. I think I know what the reason is, but that is beside the point. I leave him do it.

"Well," Shanahan said, leaning back in the chair and blowing smoke rings, "Cangelosi asks the cop when he wrote it down. And the cop says he wrote it down in the same d.a.m.ned report that Cangelosi's waving around like a d.a.m.ned flag. Which, of course, he did. And Cangelosi demands to have the cop show him where it is written down. And he throws the report at the cop and invites him to read from it.

"So," Shanahan said, "the cop does. He does it slowly. He considers every word like it was cole slaw and he had to chew it, so as to get all the flavor.

"It was in the report, all right," Shanahan said. He was grinning. "Everything was in the report. The report said the cop knew the defendant was a dirty, rotten, no-good, lousy, miserable dope pusher. It said the cops had good reason to believe he was a pimp who beat up on his ladies. It said there was no question that he carried a gun and used it to pistol-whip the people that he didn't find it necessary to shoot. It went on and on. The jury was eating it up. It was really good stuff.

"In the middle of this recital," Shanahan said, leaning forward, "Cangelosi objects. Now, that was a new one to me. I never had an objection before from a lawyer who was asking the question. "You're objecting to your own question Mr. Cangelosi,' I said. He tells me he is not objecting to his own question. He is objecting to the cop's answer to the question. I can see why he might. It is blowing his boat right out of the water. The trouble is, when you ask the question, you don't get to object to the answer."

'"He is putting in hearsay and undoc.u.mented evidence,' Cangelosi says. 'He certainly is,' I smartly reply. 'He is able to do that because you invited him to do it.' Well, there was a great tussle, and in the meantime the prosecutor is sitting there with a grin that the Ches.h.i.+re Cat would've envied. '

Shanahan rocked back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. "And that, ladies and gentlemen," he said, "is today's lesson in trial practice. Sam, you are excused."

As Waldstein arose, Shanahan stubbed out his Lucky and lit another one. He surveyed Duggan critically. "You look reasonably good today, Jackie boy," he said. "What did you do, go through the car wash on foot?"

"No," Duggan said, "I went to your embalmer and told him I wanted the same discount special you bought."

Shanahan began to laugh. "No respect for the court as usual, I see." Waldstein pursed his lips and gazed disapprovingly at Duggan.

"Hiya, Sam," Duggan said. "Didn't notice you before. Course, you're easy to overlook."

Shanahan guffawed.

"I don't think ..." Waldstein said.

"I know it," Duggan said. "You should try it some time. Whyncha beat it now, so I can talk to the judge. OK?"

Waldstein glanced toward Shanahan, who only smiled. Waldstein left chambers. Duggan took his chair.

"Tell me about this twerp Ellis," Shanahan said. "We gonna belt this out or what?"

"Or what," Edie said. "Gould wants a murder one."

'Wonderful," Shanahan said. "Duggan?"

"Ellis says he's innocent," Duggan said.

"Trial, then," Shanahan said. "Confound it. Blasted nuisance." He pulled his calendar over and studied it. "This's a pain in the neck, you know."

"Life's full of hards.h.i.+ps, Your Honor," Duggan said.

Duggan was at his desk. He was speaking urgently into the phone and the door to his office was closed. He said: "Look, honey, I'll be there by five-thirty. I will really be there. You can count on it. I am not going to let you down."

Frederick Ellis emerged in the darkness from the Sheraton Boston Hotel. He was wearing a leather car-coat and an anxious expression. He stood in the doorway and gazed at the street. The maroon Cougar came into view. It pulled up at the entrance. Ellis opened the pa.s.senger door and climbed in. "Francesco," he said.

"Frederick," the driver said. He was smoking a cigar. The car was filled with the smoke.

"Francesco," Ellis said, "where the h.e.l.l're we going?"

"Frederick," the driver said, "the Man is concerned. He is worried. Just like you wanted. He is just as worried as you are."

"Now I am even more worried," Ellis said.

"You must stop worrying," Francesco said, putting the car in gear. "In the position you're in, when you get worried, everybody else gets worried."

The Cadillac slowed to a halt in the driveway of the yellow colonial garrison house in a western suburb of Boston. The side door, leading to the breezeway, immediately opened. A girl about nine years old came out. She was prancing. She wore a blue melton coat with red embroidery around the b.u.t.tonholes and sleeves. She wore white knee socks and black Mary Janes. She had long blond hair and she wore barrettes. She began to run toward the car, but she had breath enough to scream. She screamed: "Daddy."

Behind the girl there was a boy, about three years older. He came out more slowly, ushered by a woman who remained inside the jalousied breezeway, and shut the door behind him. He put his hands in his pockets and studied the sky for a while. He wore a tweed overcoat and L.L. Bean boots.

The girl embraced Duggan exuberantly. He was only halfway out of the car and he was off-balance, but he recovered himself and picked her off the ground. He hugged her and swung her. He carefully concealed from her the tears that came up in his eyes. He made his voice gruff and said: "Mark."

The girl said: "I'm so glad to see you, Daddy."

Duggan said: "Right. Get Mark." He turned away from her. The boy came down the walk very slowly. The girl ran up to him and took him by the left hand. She skipped. He lagged. She brought him up to the car.

Duggan said: "Hi, Mark. Hungry?"

Mark stared at him for what seemed like several minutes. Then he said: "Can I have steak?"

"Sure," Duggan said. He was forcing heartiness. "Gino'll make braciole for you, we ask. Politely."

The boy pondered that. He nodded. "I would like that," he said.