A Handy Death

Sharon looked up with a welcoming smile as the door opened, her fingers poised over the keyboard of the typewriter; the smile disappeared as she saw the man accompanying Ross. She leaned over, switching off the recorder, and looked up at Ross questioningly. He nodded and the girl rose, turned off the typewriter and left the room, closing the door firmly behind her. Coughlin grinned.

“I see you run a well-trained office here, Ross. They learn quick.” He tilted his head in the direction of the cassette recorder on Sharon’s desk. “Billy Dupaul, eh?”

“Yes,” Ross said shortly. “Now, what did you want to see me about?”

“It can wait,” Coughlin said. “You said you wanted to see me, too. I figure it’s about the same thing, anyway.” He dropped into a chair beside the desk with a proprietory manner, his loud sports jacket hunching itself about his narrow shoulders as he leaned back, looking up at Ross. “What’s on your mind, Counselor?”

“I doubt if it’s the same thing,” Ross said quietly, “so let’s not waste time. You first.”

“If you insist,” Coughlin said with a grin. “I see by the papers the preliminary proceedings in the People versus Dupaul got under way today. It’s also about the time of year the sparrows start south, if you know what I mean. The Governor’s Committee investigating that riot should be coming out with their findings in the next few days, and it would be better if I were away on that trip, don’t you think?”

“Trip?” Ross asked innocently.

Coughlin sat up, his grin disappearing, his eyes narrowed.

“Let’s not be cute, Ross. Maybe you really should use a tape recorder whenever you talk to people; it might help that memory of yours. That’s right — the operative word was ‘trip.’ And what I’m talking about is the money I wanted to — borrow — to make it.”

“Oh, that trip,” Ross said easily. He shook his head regretfully. “You know, I’ve been thinking about it and I’ve decided not to loan you the money. I’m not sure you’re a very good risk.” He smiled in friendly fashion. “I’m sorry. Maybe you could find a friend at Chase Manhattan. Or Household Finance might see their way clear to helping you out.”

Coughlin’s skeletal face turned ugly. He came to his feet, glowering.

“Why, you stupid bastard! You’ll live to regret that attitude! If I get up on that witness stand—”

“If you get up on that witness stand?” Ross snapped his fingers, suddenly remembering something. “Now I remember! That’s what I wanted to see you about!” He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, brought out a folded piece of paper, verified its identity, and handed it across the desk. “Allow me to play mailman. This is yours.”

Coughlin looked at him a bit stupidly for a moment and then took the stiff, legal-looking document from the outstretched fingers. He read the writing on the outside of the folded paper, opened it and read the first few lines on the inside, and then looked up, shaking his head in wonder.

“You’ve got to be kidding! A subpoena? For me?”

“For you,” Ross said. “Delivered legally. And saving the State a fee, I might add.”

“As a witness for the defense?”

“Correct,” Ross said, and nodded politely.

“You’ve got to be crazy!”

“Well, even hostile witnesses are sometimes better than none,” Ross said apologetically and shrugged his shoulders. His finger came up, pointing to the document, being helpful. “The Supreme Courts building; I’m sure you know where it is. October thirtieth, five days from now.”

Coughlin stared at him.

“And what do you think I’ll say on the stand?”

“We won’t find out sitting here, will we?” Ross said pleasantly. “Good-by. And on the matter of that — ah, loan — better luck next time.”

“There won’t be any next time,” Coughlin said harshly, his thin face hard. “Not for Billy Dupaul, that’s for sure.” He turned with his hand on the knob. “I’ll tell you one thing,” he said flatly. “That Dupaul kid sure has lousy luck with lawyers!”

The door closed behind him. Ross stared at the door panel with a frown on his face. It had been satisfying to give the blackmailing Mr. Coughlin a bit of comeuppance, but exactly where it could help Billy Dupaul was not precisely clear. In fact it was completely obscure.

He sighed. Oh, well, he thought, he had had a good day in court, and sufficient unto the day...

At eight o’clock that evening, Sharon and Hank Ross were sharing a table at the Sign of the Dove, awaiting Mike Gunnerson, who had been unavailable that afternoon, but who had arranged to meet them for dinner. Their drinks were before them and their dinner orders — including Mike’s usual two-pound steak — had been taken. Sharon started to raise her martini and then paused, smiling. Mike was pushing his way with difficulty through the tables. He came up, pulled back a chair, and sat down. He looked at the drink in Sharon’s hand, the glass of beer before Ross, and grinned.

“How many are you two up on me?”

“Don’t tell him,” Ross said to Sharon in a sotto voce. “Greediness should never be encouraged.”