A Handy Death

“The one in the Mirror. It just hit the street and I picked it up on the way back from a job I was on. It says you are convinced that William Dupaul is completely innocent of all charges, accusations, allegations, insinuations — did I forget any? — oh, yes; criminations, a nice old English word — against him, and that you intend to take on his defense and prove it,” Mike said, and added, “Not a bad spread. The article was by-lined by some character named Jerry Coughlin.”

There were several moments of pregnant silence. Suddenly Mike Gunnerson brayed with laughter.

“Want to make a bet, Hank?”

“No, thank you.”

“Ten to one that was the stringer you wanted checked out. Right?”

“Too right,” Ross said and sighed. “Well, forget it.”

“Forget it? You wanted him checked out before you knew anything about that article, and certainly not merely because he said he worked for the paper. He must have done something to irk you. What?”

Ross said calmly, “He tried to blackmail me.”

There was a moment’s silence. Then Gunnerson said quietly, “Is he going to get away with it?”

“I don’t know,” Ross said. “It isn’t my money — which he obviously must have known — but I doubt it.”

“Let me do a complete rundown on the guy,” Mike said. “Blackmail’s a two-way street, you know.”

“Save your time and my money. I’ll let him hang himself.”

“How?”

“I haven’t a clue,” Ross said. “But I’ll manage.”

“If you say so.” Gunnerson didn’t sound too sure. “By the way, any truth in the article?”

“I’m defending Billy Dupaul against the first-degree murder charge, if that’s what you mean. Charley Quirt of the Mets called this morning and asked me to handle the case.” Ross’s voice was expressionless. “And apparently held a press conference as soon as I said I would.”

Knowing Charley, Ross thought he could well have held his press conference even before he called. Charley never lacked confidence. Of course he could be doing Quirt an injustice; maybe he had a secretary who — He became aware that Mike Gunnerson had been speaking to him.

“I’m sorry, Mike. What did you say?”

“I was just saying that tomorrow’s papers should be interesting, too,” Mike said, and laughed.

“Oh? Why?”

“Because it’s a certainty that Louis G. Gorman of the DA’s office will accuse you of attempting to try the case in the newspapers.”

“After that interview he gave to the papers that was in this morning’s Times? I wish he’d try.” Ross grinned at the telephone. “If he does, I have just the man to write the article. Our friendly neighborhood newspaper man — Jerry Coughlin.”

Gunnerson laughed. “It ought to be interesting to see the DA’s reaction to blackmail.”

“No more than my reaction,” Ross said, suddenly sober. He added his goodbys and hung up.

Chapter 3

“About this Billy Dupaul—”

Steve Sadler paused and decided to wait until he had all his ammunition at hand before continuing. He shoved his thick glasses back on his nose, opened his stuffed briefcase, and began to stack the contents in neat piles before him on the conference table.

Steve was a tall, thin, studious-looking young man in his early thirties, whose thick glasses failed to hide the sharp intelligence in his gray eyes. He had come to Ross’s law firm directly from Brooklyn Law School, had more than proven his ability and worth in the first year of his association with Ross, and had turned down many offers to change locations since. Nor had he ever mentioned these offers to Ross, who nonetheless heard of them from other colleagues in the profession. It was one more of the facts that bound them — along with the other members of Ross’s professional family — together in mutual respect.

Steve continued placing his papers to suit his planned presentation; he made Ross think of his old artillery captain arranging his firing gear for most effective loading prior to a barrage. Ross waited patiently; he knew Steve never needlessly wasted time. When at last the young lawyer had everything to his satisfaction, he drew the first pile of papers toward him, pushed his glasses back into place — a habit of long standing — and looked up.

“How do you want this, Hank?”

“Give me the general picture first.”

“All right. William Emerich Dupaul was arrested on July 25, 1964, and charged with assault and battery in connection with the nonfatal shooting of a certain Raymond Neeley. He was released on ten thousand dollars bail and came to trial—”

“Who put up the money? The Mets?”

“He put it up himself; he still had his bonus money then. He got it back when he appeared for trial, and it was part of the package that went back to the Mets.”

Ross nodded and leaned back. Sharon noted the question-and-answer location on the casette tape that was rolling as they talked. Steve shoved his glasses back on his nose and continued.