A Handy Death

“Dupaul came to trial in the New York County Supreme Court on November fourteenth of the same year, 1964. The delay was partially due to a crowded calendar, but also due to the time it took the victim, Neeley, to recover. The presiding judge was the Honorable Joseph Demerest. Dupaul pleaded not guilty. The jury found for the prosecution and Judge Demerest sentenced Dupaul to four to eight years at Attica Prison.”

Ross nodded. “All right. Details.”

“Right. On what, first? Dupaul, personally, or the case? I put the Gunnerson agency on Dupaul Friday night, and they worked over the weekend. I got the latest report just a few minutes ago.”

“Better give me Dupaul first.”

“Right.” The sheet was replaced on its proper pile and a second stack drawn closer. “William Dupaul was born in Queensbury, outside of Glens Falls in upstate New York, on June 5, 1945. His mother’s maiden name was Mary Emerich, of an old upstate family. His father was French Canadian, Pierre Dupaul, who Mary Emerich met on a visit to Montreal. People in Queensbury are still amazed at the marriage—”

Ross frowned. “Why?”

“Apparently the Emerichs were an old family, not much money but lots of pride, and Pierre Dupaul turned out to be a drunk who worked around old John Emerich’s orchards for a while, but generally loafed.” Steve looked a bit embarrassed. “I know it’s gossip, but I told Mike Gunnerson to have his man go into depth. Sharon said the sky was the limit on expenses...”

“Well, not the sky exactly, but maybe Shea Stadium,” Ross said with a smile. “Go ahead.”

“Right. At any rate, the problem of Mary Emerich and her drunken husband was resolved when they got hit by a train in 1947, when Billy was two years old. Their car stalled on the tracks and I gather Dupaul was drunk, and at any rate they were killed. Billy was raised by his maternal grandparents, John and Carrie Emerich, now both deceased.

“He apparently was raised in normal fashion; his grandparents weren’t rich, but Billy never went hungry. He went through school with average grades, no trouble of any kind on the record, no police record other than a few tickets for speeding. He was active in sports — four letters in high school — and was the captain and mainstay of the Queensbury High School team that won the national baseball championship in 1963 in Denver. The Mets always scout the championship and apparently they were quite impressed by Dupaul, and in 1964—as soon as he graduated around the end of May — they brought him down to New York as their number one bonus baby. They paid him two hundred thousand dollars to sign, and planned on putting him with one of the farms until spring training, and if he worked out the way they hoped and expected, he would be pitching regularly for the Mets the following season.”

Steve reached for another sheet of paper, pushing back his glasses.

“In New York he established residence at the Clairborne Hotel on East Eighty-sixth Street. On the night of—” Steve paused, eyeing his chief through his thick glasses. “Anything more on Dupaul personally? I have about everything here except his fingerprints.” He smiled suddenly. “As a matter of fact, I have those, too.”

“Just a few things,” Ross said, and nodded to Sharon. She noted the footage on the tape and prepared to put the question and answer in her book. Ross turned back to Steve. “Was he an only child?”

“Yes, he was.”

“Any girlfriends?”

“He was popular in high school, of course; the big hero, in fact. Lots of girlfriends at that period, but none that were mentioned during the trial as having been met after he came down to New York. Actually, he wasn’t here very long before he got into the jam. I can get Mike Gunnerson to put someone on it if you think it important.”

“Not at this stage of the game,” Ross said. “How about old friends? Did he come to New York alone?”

“No,” Steve said. “He drove down here with another boy from the same championship team. The two of them roomed together at the Clairborne. Dupaul used his influence to get this other boy — his name is Marshall — a tryout with the Mets. They gave him one of the morning tryouts they have during the season, but he didn’t make it.”

“His full name?”

“Jim — James, that is — Marshall.”

“And what happened to him?”

Steve shrugged. “He went home, I guess, when he missed out. His name came up in the pretrial depositions, but I imagine he was gone at the time Dupaul got into this trouble.”

“All right,” Ross said. “Let’s get into that trouble.”

“Right. Well, on the night of July 25, 1964, Billy Dupaul went out on a binge. Probably to celebrate signing the contract with the Mets for that much money. After all, two hundred thousand is a bit of change for a boy of nineteen to lay his hands on. He started off in his hotel room, apparently, and then went down—”

Ross interrupted. “When did he actually sign the contract?”

Steve dug into his papers and came up with a glossy photograph.