A Handy Death

“What’s the big secret you’re holding up your sleeve? To make you so sure Billy Dupaul should have been found guilty and rated the four to eight no matter whose story the jury believed? If Neeley was telling the truth, I admit the boy comes on as a rather nasty piece of goods. But if the boy’s story was the right one, he should have walked out free and clear. And without one witness on either side, you’d think he would have been given the benefit.”

“Except there was one witness. Of sorts,” Steve said, and grinned.

“There was? You didn’t mention him.”

“I mentioned it. The gun. The one Billy Dupaul swore the woman had shoved into his hand. There had been no attempt to obliterate numbers or hide identification. I have a photostat of the registration with me here—” He gestured toward his papers. “It. was registered in Glens Falls. In the name of John Emerich, Dupaul’s grandfather...”

Chapter 4

Sharon McCloud had managed to spread a tablecloth over a portion of the conference table without disturbing Steve Sadler’s many papers, and was busy putting down paper plates and spoons.

“Sandwiches will be right along,” she said.

Ross grinned. “No beer or martinis today?”

“You have your choice of coffee or soda today. And like it,” Sharon said with mock severity. She turned at the diffident tap on the door and opened it to admit a young fellow from the delicatessen down the block. He was carrying a cardboard box filled with hot, capped cups, cold bottles, wrapped sandwiches and pastry. Sharon tipped the boy, piled the sandwiches on one plate, the Danish on another, and placed the drinks on the center of the cloth. Ross picked up a sandwich, discovered it was roast beef, and opened it. He took a big bite, chewed, and swallowed.

“Certainly not the Sign of the Dove.”

“Vacation’s over,” Sharon said. “We’ve got an urgent case now. Remember?”

Ross smiled. “You mean, shut up and eat?” He became serious, turning to Steve. “And what was Dupaul’s explanation?”

Steve was searching the pile for a corned-beef sandwich. He finally managed to unearth one by scattering the other sandwiches over half the table. Sharon, sitting quietly to one side, put down her sandwich, straightened the pile, and went back to eating.

“About the gun? He didn’t have any,” Steve said, and unwrapped the sandwich. “No mustard? Oh, well...” He shrugged philosophically, took a bite and chewed. “Not the Sign of the Dove? It isn’t even Lindy’s. Lindy’s isn’t even Lindy’s!”

“But he must have said something.”

“He just swore it was impossible.”

“He denied the gun was his?”

“No, he couldn’t very well deny that, nor did he try to. He said when his grandfather died, he just took over the old man’s guns. I guess there’s nothing so rare about that. People are supposed to transfer registrations, but few do. The gun was one of a pair of twenty-two caliber target pistols, S&W brand. Billy Dupaul claimed he only brought the one to New York with him.”

“And the second gun of the pair?”

“It’s still up in Queensbury, I imagine.”

“I don’t suppose Ballistics were able to do much with the shattered bullet?”

“Nothing,” Steve said. “They weighed the fragments and came up with the idea it was a twenty-two but that was about all.”

“Even with a fragment missing? Hogan should have been able to tear them apart on that.”

“Except that Dupaul admitted shooting the man. And the gun was his.”

“But he claimed he didn’t have it with him that night?”

“He swore up and down he had left it at the hotel. He said — repeatedly — that he had gone out on the binge without the gun.”

“And no explanation on his part to explain how the gun could have gotten there?”

“None.”

“Any fingerprints on the gun?”

“The barrel had some unidentifiable smears; the grip was corregated and didn’t take prints. But, as I said, there was never a question as to Dupaul firing it.”

“He fired a gun, then dropped it. The police found a gun. In the meantime Dupaul had left the room...” Ross thought a moment and then shook his head. “No, maybe in court I would have pushed that a bit, but I doubt I’d have gotten very far. I’d have to admit here in the privacy of our office that in all probability Dupaul’s twenty-two was the gun used and that he used it. Still, did they do a nitrate test on him?”

“No. I imagine they didn’t feel it was necessary.”

“Probably not. Still, they should have. Hogan might have gotten him to change his story. However — What was his explanation for failing to recognize his own gun when it was given to him? After all, he must have used it many times. You’d think he would have recognized the feel.”

“He was in no shape to identify guns. I doubt he could feel much of anything at that stage.”

Ross finished his sandwich, wiped his fingers on a paper napkin and tossed it aside. He frowned.

“Did the boy ever admit to carrying the gun since coming to New York? Or was it always left in his room?”