A Handy Death

“The truth? That weak yarn? Come on, Hank!” Gunnerson shook his head. “When, after he tells this heartrending story about how the pretty lady wanted him so bad but, before he could figure out if he’d had too much fruit juice to hack it, along comes the big bad husband, and then the gun the lady fobs off on him just happens to be his own? Man! He ought to be writing for television serials!”

Ross studied his friend’s disgusted expression a moment and then leaned over the back of the chair. His voice was calm but deadly earnest.

“Mike, listen to me. If we’re going to work together on this, then we have to have a basis of understanding. If we’re not going to be at each other’s throats arguing all the time. And, of course, if we hope to win the case.”

He paused. Gunnerson was watching him closely. Ross nodded.

“And that basis of understanding must be to assume — completely, blindly, if you will — that the boy is innocent. Not of shooting Neeley, but of any intent to do more than save his life and that of the woman with him. In other words, that the story he told in court that day was the truth. Now,” Ross said, leaning back again, “starting from that assumption, where are we?”

“Out in left field without a glove,” Gunnerson said sadly. Suddenly he grinned, a wide-mouthed, big-toothed grin. He sat up in his chair. “All right, Hank, I’ll go along with you. We’ll assume that Dupaul’s story was the true one, and that all the others — mainly Neeley’s — are lies. It might be worthwhile at that. At least investigating it from that angle should clear some of the air, because, right or wrong, at least you’ll know where you stand on the case. If you know what you also stand to lose.”

“I’ll take the chance,” Ross said. “Do I have much choice?”

“Not a great deal,” Mike said, and rubbed his crew-cut, grizzled head. “And you have one expert on your side, too. Good old Sherlock. He said, ‘When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’” He grinned. “What he failed to say, of course, is that whatever remains may also be garbage.”

“Bite your tongue!”

“Consider it bitten. Now,” Gunnerson said, “let’s start all over. If Dupaul was telling the truth—”

Ross raised an admonishing finger.

“You’re forgetting our basic precept, Mike. Dupaul was telling the truth.”

“Pardon me. I meant since Dupaul was telling the truth, Neeley really walked into that apartment carrying a suitcase. He put it down and went to a dresser where he fumbled around and finally came up with a gun. Now, where did the gun and the suitcase disappear to?”

“Obviously they left the apartment with the woman.”

“And why would she take them?”

“Equally obviously, to discount the story she knew Dupaul would tell — the true story of what happened.”

“But, continuing to play Devil’s Advocate—” It was clear Gunnerson was enjoying himself “—why would she want to discount Dupaul’s story? Remember,” Gunnerson said, raising a finger for emphasis, “Dupaul was telling the truth. Neeley was there with a gun and he was going to kill the two of them. Dupaul was honestly convinced of that. Dupaul, therefore, saved the woman’s life. Now, why would she be so ungrateful as to remove the only evidence that would — or could — get her benefactor off the hook?”

Ross shook his head stubbornly.

“Let’s make a small modification in our basic premise that we believe Dupaul was telling the truth. We now believe Dupaul was telling the truth as he saw it! It will probably make a difference.”

“Fair enough,” Gunnerson agreed equably. “Still, why would the woman walk out with anything except herself? I can certainly understand her taking a powder from a murder scene to save herself a bucketful of grief, but why bother to load herself down with a lot of useless garbage like a suitcase and a gun? For ballast—?”

“Mike—”

“Let me go on. All right, maybe she’d take the gun. They come in handy sometimes. But even then, as the prosecutor said, why not the gun she gave the kid? At least she knew that one was loaded. And why the suitcase? She could have been seen with it. After all, a dame traipsing around lugging a suitcase in the middle of the night makes for easy identification. Not to mention guys offering lifts in cars, among other offers. Why didn’t she leave the thing where it was? Plus giving Dupaul a chance to save his neck?”

Ross stared at him a moment. He wrinkled his forehead in thought.

“When you put it that way, Mike, there can only be one reason, can’t there? Think about it.”

Gunnerson stared back. “A reason to walk out with somebody else’s suitcase? I don’t get it.”

“Think it over carefully, Mike.”

Gunnerson’s frown deepened. “I’ve thought it over carefully, and I still don’t get it.”