A Handy Death

“In New York City,” the lieutenant replied, “there are between two hundred and two hundred and fifty automobiles stolen each day. One thing I’m sure they issue at Attica State Prison is instructions on how to jump an ignition.”

Ross sighed. This was a hard man! Unfortunately, he was also right.

“Are you saying, Lieutenant, that anyone in New York City who was out of his or her lodgings for fourteen hours last night is a suspect in the murder of Jim Marshall?”

Lieutenant Lamport’s smile this time was genuine. He seemed to enjoy the verbal contest, as one would a game of chess.

“Mr. Ross, your very presence here leads me to suspect Billy might have been involved. Otherwise, why are you here?”

“I happen to have other reasons for being here,” Ross said. “Also in connection with the case.”

“Such as?”

“I’m afraid those are confidential.”

“Ah!”

“It happens to be the truth.” Ross studied the lieutenant’s benign face. “It bothers me a bit, Lieutenant, to see the police build a case against a person on such flimsy evidence. The fact that Billy could have gotten here; the fact that between two hundred and two hundred and fifty cars are stolen each day in the city and Billy could have stolen one; the fact that the two men had an argument eight years ago, as if Marshall couldn’t have made other enemies in the intervening years!”

“We don’t railroad people, if that’s what you’re talking about,” Lamport said quietly. “We do look at possibilities.” His voice became gently sardonic. “Tell me, Mr. Ross, how much do you believe in coincidence? Marshall lives quietly and unobtrusively in a small town like Lake George Village, without any trouble that has come to our attention, for many years — and then the day a man is released from prison, a man who has threatened his life, he is shot. Don’t you believe we should consider the possibility of Dupaul being involved?”

Ross sighed.

“Yes,” he said honestly. “Of course you should.”

“Thank you.” It was a sincere statement. “We haven’t any intention of hounding Billy Dupaul. We know he’s in trouble and we don’t believe in adding to the clamor. On the other hand, we intend to continue our investigation, naturally, and it would be foolish not to realize that Dupaul is a suspect.”

“But, I hope, not the only suspect.”

“Nobody is ever the only suspect until someone is arrested, charged, tried, and found guilty.” Lieutenant Lamport looked at his watch. “I’ve got things to do, as I imagine you do.”

The two men got down from the car, their breaths steaming in the cold air. They closed the doors behind them. Lieutenant Lamport rolled his window down and put his hand out. Ross took it and shook it.

“I knew Billy Dupaul as a kid,” Lamport said. “I coached him in Little League. I liked him. Still—” the steady eyes came up “—if, by any chance, you get him off that murder charge, Counselor, I wouldn’t want him leaving the state without notice.”

He rolled the window back up, gave a small wave from behind it, and drove off in a spurt of dust. Gunnerson and Ross walked back to their car and climbed in. Don Evans, Gunner-son’s operative on the spot, had the engine running and the heater on. Ross sighed.

“Quite a guy, that Lieutenant.”

“Too true,” Gunnerson said a bit glumly. “Now, add that to the murder charge in New York, plus the riot, and what do you have?”

“A lot of work to do,” Ross said. He straightened up in his seat. “I think you should keep Evans up here, checking out Marshall. Maybe he told somebody what the fight with Billy was all about; a relative, or a friend.”

“Good enough,” Gunnerson said. “Don, if you need more people, bring in some of the Quigley Agency men from Albany. I know the cops are going to check the airport and the bus depot to see if maybe Dupaul came in here last night, but it wouldn’t hurt to double check. Keep next to Lamport, if he doesn’t throw you out of his office, you know what we need.”

“Sure,” Evans said. He was young, blond, and brash. He was also good. “A miracle.”

“Right!” Gunnerson said. “Well, you might as well take us to the bus station. We might as well take a run down to Albany and check out this Anne Melisi while we’re up in this neck of the woods.”

“You check her out alone,” Ross said. “And I hope to God you come up with something. We’re running out of places to look, not to mention time.” He looked at his watch and made a rough calculation. “Let Don drive you down there to save you time. There’s a plane from here to the city at three forty-five; it stops in Albany. That should give you enough time there to get the Quigley Agency on Melisi’s trail. Try to catch the plane. Okay?”

“Sure,” Gunnerson said, mystified. “But what are you going to be doing between now and plane time?”

“You forgot my infernal curiosity,” Ross said. “I’m going to the Queensbury Central Bank. I still want to discuss old John Emerich’s finances—”

Chapter 13