A Handy Death

“This one customer — a man named Clarence Riess — apparently recognized Dupaul and started to give him the needle. He got pretty obnoxious, it seems. He wanted to know if Dupaul had turned queer in prison, and asked Dupaul what he had really been doing in Neeley’s apartment the night he shot him five years before. The bartender claimed he was too busy to see or hear what led up to the fight; when he got around to noticing it the two men were already hard at it. There are witnesses who claim Dupaul kept his cool until this man actually called him names; others claimed Dupaul practically started it. Naturally, the DA’s office stressed the witnesses who suited them. Louis Gorman hadn’t risen to Chief Assistant in those days, but he was already on the staff. He was one of the men at the prosecution table.”

Ross shook his head and sighed.

“What I don’t understand is how, if even a barfly could see the proper defense in that first case, Al Hogan couldn’t, drunk or sober. In fact, I don’t believe it. Al was sharper than that.”

Sharon said, “I don’t understand.”

“Which only means,” Ross said, more to himself than to the others, “that in all probability Billy Dupaul wouldn’t let him use that argument for his defense. God save all lawyers from noble clients!”

“I don’t understand,” Steve said. “What defense?”

Ross studied the other two. He sighed.

“Do you remember before, I said that Al Hogan had the perfect defense if he wanted to invent a story? Just suppose Al Hogan had rehearsed the boy, Dupaul. Now, remember, Neeley had testified first, since he was a prosecution witness; his story was on the record. Now, suppose after hearing that testimony, Hogan took Billy aside that night and told him what to say. Suppose the boy got up on the witness stand and agreed with almost everything Neeley claimed; that he’d been drinking alone, met Neeley in the street the way the other man claimed, that he’d been pretty drunk, that Neeley had, indeed, invited him up to his apartment under the guise of sobering him up with coffee—

“But!” Ross raised a hand. “Suppose when they got to the apartment, Neeley had made a pass at him; had made him an improper proposition. Here’s a young boy, a stranger in town, a known athlete — hell! The jury would have freed him in five minutes. The boy carried the gun — his own gun — because he’d heard there were places and people you couldn’t trust in this town, and here was a case in point!

“Look at it from the defense attorney’s viewpoint. A man is stopped in the street by a drunk who tries to bend his ear with a sad story of how tough it is to get a drink in New York. What does that man do? He shakes off the drunk and gets away from there; the last thing he does is invite the drunk up to his apartment to sober him up. In this town? Al Hogan could have made mincemeat of Neeley on the stand. Not only have gotten Billy off, but probably have given Neeley some grief with the law.”

Steve nodded slowly. “Then why didn’t he think of it?” He suddenly remembered something and looked a bit sheepish. “Although, to tell the truth, I didn’t see it myself.”

“Al Hogan would have seen it as quickly as I did,” Ross said. “Which simply means he didn’t use the defense because Billy Dupaul wouldn’t let him. Billy had fired one attorney, and was probably ready to fire another if he felt he had to. And poor Al Hogan needed the work. Which could also mean...” He paused, thinking.

Sharon said, “Which could mean what?”

“It could mean that Dupaul, quite possibly, was telling the truth — or at least the truth as he saw it. Which, unfortunately, isn’t always the same thing.” Ross nodded his head. “Well, it’s something to think about. Let’s get on. What finally happened in that bar?”

“The man Dupaul was fighting — this Riess — went down from a blow from Dupaul and struck his head on the edge of one of the kegs Dupaul had been lugging in when the argument started. The man fractured his skull. The prosecution dug up a witness who claimed he saw Dupaul pull out his bung-starter, which can be claimed to be a weapon. The prosecution pushed that point, of course, and also brought in Dupaul’s first conviction—”

Steve saw the expression on Ross’s face, and nodded.

“Yes, sir, I know it’s inadmissible, but Mr. Hogan was half asleep during the trial, as far as I could determine; he died the following month, if you recall. The judge warned the DA’s table several times, but in the long run the impression remained with the jury. Dupaul, after a very brief trial, was found guilty of second-degree assault. It made him a second-offender.”

Ross remembered the words of Jerry Coughlin regarding juries and the impressions they retained. The newspaperman’s words were, unfortunately, all too true. Still, Ross couldn’t think of a better system to protect the innocent than the jury system.

“What happened to this man Riess?”

“He recovered completely. He’s probably starting fights in other bars right this minute.”

“And Dupaul was sentenced to what?”