A Handy Death

“The pastor didn’t know. I’ve got people working on the records here as well as in Albany, but they could have gotten married anywhere. And without the man’s name, it’s one hell of a lot of work to find it. Even if it was here or in Albany, it would take days and days. Maybe weeks.”

“Mike, that could be the answer! And we don’t have weeks, damn it! You should know that!”

“I know it, Hank. We don’t know when she married, or where, or to whom. We’re doing the best we can.”

Ross brought himself under control. “I know you are, Mike. I’m sorry I blew. Anything else?”

“No, that’s it, so far.”

“Then I’ll let you get back to it. Thanks.”

Ross hung up and shook his head. Steve looked at him.

“So now what?”

“Well,” Hank said, “we’ve gone over your abstract of the transcript in as much detail as we can. Once more and I’ll throw the damn thing out the window. Let’s hear that tape of Billy in the Tombs again, just for luck.”

“Right,” Sharon said. She slipped the casette into the recorder and pressed the start button. Ross leaned back in his swivel chair, weariness gripping him, idly letting the chair swing from side to side, his hand on his brow, his head bent, his eyes closed, listening. The tape wound through. Ross heard his own voice.

“...Jim Marshall had access to that gun? He also probably had access to the mate to it in Queensbury—”

“Hold it!” Ross was sitting erect, his weariness put aside. Sharon punched the stop button on the recorder, looking at Ross in surprise. “Go back a bit,” Ross said tersely. “Go back and take it over.”

Sharon obediently reversed the tape for several seconds, and then replayed it. Ross was leaning forward, his eyes gleaming excitedly.

“I’m stupid!” he said to himself. “Dumb, dumb, dumb! I wonder...” He frowned in silent thought for several minutes, while the tape droned on. Sharon turned it off; Hank Ross made no objection. It was doubtful if he even realized the sound had stopped. Sharon and Steve, both mystified but recognizing the mood, remained silent. “Well, at least it’s a chance,” Ross said, more to himself than to the others. His voice strengthened. “Steve, do you still have that picture of Billy Dupaul signing that contract?”

“Sure,” Steve said, puzzled, and dug it from his papers. He shoved it across the desk, and put his glasses back in place. “But what—?”

“Later,” Ross said tersely, and studied the glossy photograph closely. Suddenly he grinned, a happy grin, and reached for the phone, dialing. “Bingo,” he said under his voice, and added, “maybe...”

Mike Gunnerson answered.

“Mike,” Ross said without preliminaries, “would it help you in your search for Grace Melisi’s long-lost husband if I gave you a name as a possible candidate?”

“You’re damn right!” Mike said. “Who?”

Ross looked up. Both Sharon and Steve were hanging on every word. He grinned.

“I’ll put it in a sealed envelope and send it right down to you,” he said. “If I’m wrong, I wouldn’t want to lose the respect of my staff...”

Chapter 15

The final juror had been seated; the Clerk of the Court had droned out his monotoned charge. Judge Waxler indicated he was waiting. Paul Varick came to his feet confidently, looked first at the judge and then at the jury. The jury looked back expressionlessly.

“May it please Your Honor, Mr. Foreman, ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Varick began, “As you know, at this time it is customary for me as the prosecutor in this case to make what is known as an opening statement. The purpose of an opening statement is to give you a bird’s-eye view of the evidence that will be presented from the witness stand in order that you might more easily follow the evidence as it unfolds. Frequently we have to introduce evidence in piecemeal fashion, and the opening statement helps you tie it together. I also want you to know that everything given in an opening statement is what the prosecution expects to prove.”

He raised the sheet of paper in his hand for reference, glanced at it, and brought it down. It was a move to focus the attention of the jury; Varick knew his opening statement by heart.

“The prosecution will prove that on July 25, 1964, one Raymond Neeley, the deceased in this case, was passing a bar here in the Borough of Manhattan known as the Mountain Top Bar, when the defendant came staggering out and grabbed him and said, in essence, ‘This is a miserable, stinking town, they won’t even sell a guy a drink.’ The deceased, a compassionate man, felt sorry for what appeared to him to be merely a big kid, and said, in effect, ‘Look, you’re not in very good shape; why don’t you come up to my place and have some coffee and you’ll feel better.’ The defendant replied that that wasn’t a bad idea, and the deceased, Raymond Neeley, together with the defendant, then walked to the apartment on West Sixtieth Street where Neeley lived.