A Handy Death

“No, sir, he didn’t say. At first I only spoke with his secretary, but Mr. Kuwoit himself finally came on the line. He seemed to think you should know him, but I don’t have any Mr. Kuwoit in my book. He said he wanted to talk with you about someone called William Dupaul.”

“Who?”

“William Dupaul. I think he’s the man who was in that riot up at Attica Prison yesterday. Should I call him back? I have the number.”

“Just a second.” Ross turned to Sharon. “What riot up at Attica Prison?”

Sharon was surprised. “Didn’t you hear it on the radio? Or see the papers?”

“I never do on a fishing vacation,” Ross said. He spoke into the intercom. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready to talk, Molly.” He flipped a switch and turned to Sharon. “Do you have the papers?”

“I’ll get this morning’s Times,” Sharon said. She disappeared to return in a moment. Ross sat down and studied the article. The headlines dealt with an attempted prison break at Attica; he skimmed it looking for the name Dupaul and found it halfway down the column. He then went back to read the article in its entirety.

“Attica, New York, October 16: In an abortive escape attempt yesterday at this State’s prison, John Miller, age 36, serving a ten-year sentence for assault with a deadly weapon, and Arnold Swift, age 24, serving a life sentence for murder, both armed, seized a prison garbage truck driven by Edward Lucas, 45, a trustee, and ordered Lucas to go through the gate. Lucas either purposely or accidentally swerved the truck and the vehicle crashed into a post. In the ensuing gun battle, Miller, Lucas and prison guard William Farrell, age 49, a veteran of fifteen years at Attica, were killed. Swift at present is in the prison hospital suffering bullet wounds in the head, arm, and chest.

“The attempted escape was made under cover of a disturbance during a baseball game at the prison, the first sports event permitted since the terrible events of September of last year. Authorities are investigating the possibility that the riot on the athletic field was prearranged among the inmate players to draw a majority of the guards to the field, which is located on the far side of the prison compound from where the escape attempt was made.

“Among those involved in the suspected baseball game where the disturbance began was William Dupaul, age 26, a second-offender who will be remembered for his brief but meteoric baseball career, and who is scheduled to be transferred to Tombs Prison in New York City this coming week to stand trial for the murder of Raymond Neeley, a murder which, oddly enough, took the record time of eight years to consummate—”

Ross paused a moment, surprised, but returned to the article.

“In 1964 Dupaul was convicted on an assault and battery charge after shooting Neeley during an altercation in the latter’s apartment. Neeley seemingly recovered from his wound, but an autopsy performed on his body following his death twelve days ago indicated that Neeley’s death was the result of the earlier shooting. According to the Medical Examiner’s office, one of the fragments from the shattered bullet worked its way to Neeley’s brain and after eight years caused his death.

“Louis Gorman, Chief Assistant District Attorney of Manhattan, in a press conference called at the time the autopsy results were made public, admitted that to his knowledge the case is without precedent, but Mr. Gorman indicated he feels confident of a conviction in the case.”

Ross laid the paper aside and frowned at Sharon.

“Did you read this?”

“Yes, Chief.”

“Was there anything more in yesterday’s papers? Or on the radio?”

Sharon thought. “Well, just that he was the youngest bonus baby when the Mets brought him down from his hometown somewhere in upstate New York when he was just turned nineteen.”

“Well,” Ross said, “any second-offender who’s involved in a prison riot where three men die — one of them a prison guard — has his hands full of grief. And the death of a man he shot before certainly doesn’t help him. Let’s see what this Kuwoit has on his mind.”

He flicked the intercom switch.

“Molly, would you get this Mr. Kuwoit back? And Sharon will be on, too.”

“Yes, sir.”

There was a brief wait and then the telephone rang, one short and one long, followed by two short rings. It was Molly’s signal that she would wait to hear two receivers lifted before putting the other party on the line. Ross picked up the instrument; Sharon sat down and raised her receiver, her other hand drawing her stenographic book to her and opening it swiftly. Her pencil appeared in her hand as if by magic, poised over the paper. Molly’s voice was quiet and efficient on the line.

“Ready with Mr. Kuwoit.” She plugged in lines and spoke into her headset. “Mr. Ross is on the line, sir.”

A deep voice came across the wire.