A Handy Death

“Your Honor knows,” Ross said evenly, “that bail may not be denied as a weapon of punishment before defendant has actually been convicted. The purpose of bail is to insure the presence of the defendant for trial. This defendant has been out on bail in the previous charges and has always appeared to fulfill his responsibilities to the court. Your Honor, this defendant has already spent many years in prison for a crime which the defense will prove he did not commit. Refusal of bail now would, in effect, constitute further punishment, and this punishment before conviction.”

Judge Waxler frowned for a moment, as if going over Ross’s words in his mind. He nodded slowly.

“Under the circumstances,” he said slowly, “I think I shall have to set a reasonably high bail—”

Varick was on his feet. “Your Honor, the People object!”

“Your objection will be duly noted,” the judge said drily. “I hereby set bail at one hundred thousand dollars.” The gavel descended. Judge Waxler looked from one table to the other and then, satisfied that there would be no more motions for the day, banged his gavel once again. “Court is adjourned until three days hence.”

He came to his feet, pulling his robes together with dignity, and descended from the bench. Billy Dupaul turned to Ross in utter amazement.

“You mean, I walk out of here? Just like that? Out into the street?”

“You walk out of here when bail has been made, which should be sometime this afternoon,” Ross said with a smile. “Now you know a part of what I was after all this time with that mumbo-jumbo.” He started to put his papers away. “What do you plan to do with yourself for the next three days?”

“I don’t know. I sure didn’t give it any thought; I never figured — I don’t know. Maybe I’ll take a bus up to Queensbury and see how the old place looks—”

“You stay in town,” Ross instructed sternly.

“But—”

“No ‘buts.’ You stay in town. And available. And I’d also suggest—”

He paused to face Gorman as the Chief Assistant District Attorney charged up. Behind him, at the prosecution table, Varick was finally managing to put his papers away in his briefcase. Gorman was seething. He pointedly disregarded the presence of Billy Dupaul.

“Ross, you should be disbarred! Why didn’t you make a further motion to strike off a medal for this man? It’s about all you failed to do! Using your profession to put a mad-dog killer back on the streets!”

Billy Dupaul, his face getting dangerously red, started to push himself to his feet. Ross pushed him down again, forcefully, turning to face the livid Gorman.

“Louie, you should know better than to make statements like that. How would a libel suit go down with your boss?”

Gorman stared at him a moment. “Bah! One day you’ll go too far, Ross, and I hope I’m around when it happens!”

It was on Ross’s mind to say that as long as his opponent was Louis G. Gorman, that day was probably far off, but he felt it would scarcely add to the moment. Gorman looked at him for a moment as if awaiting a reply, and then stamped off.

Billy Dupaul came to his feet slowly, rubbing his knuckles. Ross, understanding, grinned at him.

“Take it easy. Hitting him would probably have cost you a lot more than it would him. It would have cost him a sore jaw, but it could have cost you the rest of the years of your life. Don’t make his case for him.”

He turned away, closing his briefcase, and then remembered what he had been saying when Gorman interrupted.

“And Billy, for the next three days I’d suggest you stay out of bars. You and bars always seem to add up to trouble, and as far as trouble is concerned, you have enough right now...”

Chapter 10

Hank Ross returned from getting Billy Dupaul settled after making his bond. He came into the office to find Jerry Coughlin waiting for him in the reception room. The thin newspaperman appeared not to have changed clothes since their last meeting. He came to his feet easily, setting aside the magazine he had been leafing through.

“Mister Ross—”

“Yes?”

“We have a matter to discuss, I believe. A minute of your valuable time, if I might?”

There was a momentary silence, then Ross shrugged.

“All right,” he said quietly. “Come on in. As a matter of fact, I wanted to see you, too.”

“I’m sure,” Coughlin said softly, significantly, as he followed Hank Ross into the lawyer’s private office. Sharon was typing from the Tombs transcript tape; Billy Dupaul’s strong young voice could be heard above the whirr of the electric typewriter.

“...time in the hotel. Jim Marshall? I should have kicked his brains out!” Ross’s even tones came on almost immediately. “What did he say—”