A Handy Death

“What makes you say that?”

“Never mind, it’s a fact. So who’s paying you?” Dupaul held up a big hand, calloused from work in prison. “And no more lies, please. If you want to be believed you have to extend a little belief to others. A phrase I heard somewhere, I don’t remember.”

Ross smiled at him pleasantly.

“Well, if you don’t want any more lies, I suggest you stop asking that question. Anyway, as I said before, what difference does it make? You’re the one who has to hire me, and I have a paper here for you to sign to that effect. You’re the client, and nobody else. I’m only interested in your welfare. Now, if you believe that, anything else doesn’t count. Well?”

“Well,” Dupaul said slowly, “they talk about you up at Attica quite a bit, of course. And I never heard anything except you were a hundred percent square. So why in hell I’m making it so hard on myself, damned if I know.” He suddenly grinned; it took years from the prison-hardened expression. “Good enough. Where’s your paper?”

“Right here.” Ross reached into his jacket pocket, bringing out the retainer agreement. Dupaul took the extended pen and scrawled his signature on the proper line. He handed back the pen.

“Okay,” he said. “Nobody can grab you for unprofessional conduct now.” He smiled. “Where do we begin?”

“Before we start,” Ross said, “I have a cassette tape recorder in this attaché case. It has been recording since I arrived here.” He saw the frown on Dupaul’s face and smiled. “I want your permission to continue recording. Or, if it bothers you, I’ll erase what I’ve recorded so far. Which will it be?”

There were several moments of silence as Dupaul’s eyes went from the attaché case to the calm man patiently awaiting his answer. At last he sighed.

“In for a dime, in for a buck,” he said. “Where do we begin?”

“With that baseball game,” Ross said evenly as he folded the agreement and put it away. “Was the riot fixed?”

“If it was, I wasn’t part of the fix,” Dupaul said, and shrugged. “Anyway, if I had a hand in it, would I admit it, even to you? Three guys killed, what do you think? But the truth is, I wasn’t.” He frowned. “Anyway, like I asked before, what’s the ball game got to do with the Neeley charge?”

“It is probably going to have a lot to do with the attitude of the jury,” Ross said. “The public gets their attitudes from newspapers, radio and television, and a jury is chosen from the public. Besides, I like to have more, rather than less, information, whether I use it or not. What about the game?”

“What about it?” Dupaul shrugged. “The umpire was a blind screw. He calls four wide ones, they’re right down the alley.”

“And you didn’t complain?”

Dupaul smiled, a grim, humorless smile.

“Back in high school, on a call like that, I probably beat him to death with my resin bag. But you learn, up in Attica. That umpire carries a loaded cane when he’s tramping past your cell at night...”

“I see,” Ross said. “They were really right down the alley?”

“Well, maybe on the corners, but definitely over the plate. Ask Millard, he was catching me. He called for the pitches and I gave him what he wanted. I was hot that day; strong, real strong! And as far as being right down the alley, no pitcher in his right mind throws them that way unless he wants the ball back in his teeth.”

“Even if he’s throwing to a batter like Ryan?”

Dupaul suddenly tensed. Ross interpreted the gesture instantly.

“No, I’m still your lawyer and not part of an investigating committee, but obviously I have a few facts of the matter. Why don’t you relax and just answer the question?”

“You mean, I already signed the paper, so shut up and keep swimming, huh?” Dupaul grinned. “What about Ryan?”

“He’s pretty slow, isn’t he?”

“So what?”

“Look, Billy,” Ross said patiently, “I’m only asking questions a lot of other people have been asking and are going to be asking. They’re going to question the necessity of throwing fancy corner breaks, or pitches the umpire might consider doubtful, to a batter as slow as Ryan.”

“Why, for chrissakes?”

“Because those four pitches were the reason for a riot, that’s why. And during that riot three men including a guard were killed. You know why. Just answer the question.”

Dupaul leaned over, his face close to Ross’s, his voice earnest.

“Mr. Ross, first of all I only pitched what Millard called for, but don’t go laying anything off on Millard because he was dead right on his calls. I’d have argued every inch of the way if he’d have signaled for any fast, straight ball. Sure, some hitters are slower than others, but nobody is so slow you can shove three straight fast balls past him in a row. Not and play on that team!”

“What do you mean?”