A Handy Death

“Well, I can understand Gorman being irked, to say the least. Though I can see Billy Dupaul’s point, too. Luckily, I’ve been able to take my slaps at Louie in court, rather than physically.”

Ross grinned.

“The one I really pity, though, is Mrs. Gorman. I can imagine what went on when Louie got home that day.” He became serious. “All right. We have a defense to handle. Steve, I want you to take over most of the other cases we have pending; dole them out to the boys in the office you think can handle them best. I worked over the weekend to bring them up to date, so as to be free for the Dupaul case. And I’ll be available for consultation, of course.”

Sharon was noting the footage on the recorder meter, making notes.

“And, Sharon, I’ll want Steve’s summary typed up from the tape by one of the girls, with the memoranda on the points I raised to be inserted as they came, noting the meter footage. You know what I want.”

“Right, H. R.”

Steve said, “Where do you plan to start, Hank?”

“Well,” Ross said, “they’re transferring Dupaul from Attica down to the Tombs either this afternoon or tonight, and by the time they finish booking him in and getting him settled, it’ll be too late to do much with him today, so I’ll see him tomorrow. I think I’ll work with Mike Gunnerson in the meantime.”

Sharon frowned. “In what direction, H. R.?”

“In a direction nobody bothered to turn before,” Ross said, and came to his feet. “I’m going to start with the assumption that that flimsy, ridiculous, and unprovable story that Dupaul gave the jury in his first trial was the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

Steve looked at him a moment and sighed.

“Good luck, Hank,” he said. “You’ll need it!”

Chapter 5

Hank Ross pushed past the old-fashioned, large PX telephone switchboard that took up a good part of the space in the outer office of “Michael Gunnerson, Private Investigations,” one flight down from his own more commodious space, receiving an admiring glance from the shapely brunette seated there with much leg showing, and opened the door to Mike’s private office. The large detective was just finishing a cup of coffee; he crumbled the cardboard cup and tossed it in the general direction of the wastebasket. The collar around his thick, corded neck was open, his necktie askew. He looked up at his visitor and nodded somberly.

“Hello, Hank.”

“Hello, Mike. You’re losing your aim.” Ross bent down, retrieved the crumpled cup, and put it in the wastebasket. He straightened up. “You also look busy. And tired.”

“I am. Both,” Gunnerson said, and stared morosely at the man facing him. “And it’s all your fault, you know.”

“My fault?” Ross raised his eyebrows and pulled a chair from its place against the wall. He dragged it beside the desk, seated himself on it by straddling it, and studied the man across from him. “How my fault?”

“You’re hooked into this Dupaul case, aren’t you?”

“You know I am.”

“And you certainly don’t expect to get the man off without a good deal of help, do you?”

“You mean, without your help?”

“That’s what I mean.”

“And you’re so right,” Ross said with a smile. “But what’s that got to do with your being so tired even before the case has started? So far, all you’ve done is put a man up in Queensbury checking on background.”

“Maybe it hasn’t started for you,” Gunnerson said, and gestured wearily toward the stacks of papers that covered both his desk and the reference table behind him. “It certainly has for me. These are copies of the transcripts of the two Dupaul trials. Homework.”

Ross’s smile broadened.

“I seem to be about the only one who hasn’t read those transcripts.”

“Then you’re either smart or just plain lucky,” Gunnerson said gloomily. “They certainly won’t prove encouraging.”

“Why?” Ross asked, honestly wondering. “Steve Sadler gave me a rough breakdown of their contents, and it seemed to me there were plenty of holes in the prosecution case. I’m speaking of the first case, the Neeley affair, which is the only one we’re interested in.”

“You think so? But then, you didn’t read the transcript,” Gunnerson said. He frowned across his desk and tented his thick, hairy fingers. “Hank, if on top of everything I read in those transcripts, this boy was also involved in any way with that attempted prison break up at Attica the other day, and it looks like he was, then he ought to be put away for life in my estimation. For sheer stupidity, if nothing else.”

Ross smiled at him, a cool, gentle smile.

“Let me ask you a question, Mike. And if he wasn’t involved in that prison riot? And if the story he told in court at the time of his first trial was the truth?”