A Handy Death

“Objection! Your Honor, the People object to this line of questioning as being irrelevant and immaterial. We fail to see what Mr. Ross’s press coverage has to do with the indictment on which this trial is being held.”

“Mr. Varick,” Judge Waxler said, leaning over, “it was the prosecution who opened the door to the presence of this witness, by bringing up the matter of the disturbance on the baseball field at Attica State Prison.”

“Your Honor,” Varick objected, “it was the defense who brought up the baseball game at Attica—”

“The prosecution has a remarkably short memory,” Judge Waxler said tartly. “Mr. Ross mentioned that Mr. Dupaul played baseball. The entire matter of Attica Prison and the disturbance there was raised by the prosecution. It was you who opened the door. I’m far from certain that it was either relevant or proper at the time, but you were the one who raised the issue, and Mr. Ross can certainly question a witness to the event.”

“All right,” Varick said desperately, “we admit to having asked questions on the matter of Attica and the game, but we didn’t open the door to discussions regarding issues unrelated to the matter, such as newspaper articles covering Mr. Ross’s law practice!”

Judge Waxler considered Varick a moment, and then slowly shook his head.

“We’ll see,” he said. “If I consider the testimony irrelevant or remote, I will entertain a motion to strike, but I have serious doubt that I will grant such a motion. Proceed Mr. Ross.”

Coughlin cut in.

“As far as that article, Counselor,” he said, his voice emphasizing the title with sarcasm, “sure I was in Quirt’s office, but so were other news reporters. I thought you meant alone.”

“Were you ever in a room with him at any other time, alone or not?”

“No.”

Ross walked back to the defense table and opened the folder Mike had given him. On top lay an affidavit signed by the prison guard confessing to having been bribed by the convicts to make the call of four balls. Ross laid it aside; if Billy was ever bothered on that score he would need it. Right now he was after bigger fish. He found what he wanted, finally, not in Gunnerson’s folder, but in Steve Sadler’s, and walked back to the witness.

“How about this occasion?” Ross asked, and handed over a photograph. “For your information, Mr. Coughlin, this is a glossy enlargement of a picture that appeared in the New York Daily News on July 21, 1964. It shows Billy Dupaul signing the contract with the Mets, with Charles Quirt behind him. You are here, to one side. Isn’t that you?”

Coughlin took the picture and studied it. “I remember. So I was wrong. So what?”

“So nothing,” Ross said, “for the time being. Put it that I was testing your credibility. Now, Mr. Coughlin, what newspaper were you working for when you covered that contract signing?”

“I wasn’t working for any. I wasn’t covering it. A guy I knew was going over to cover it and I went along.”

“You mean you were free-loading, is that it?”

Coughlin glared at him. “So what’s wrong with getting a few sandwiches and a couple of drinks on the cuff? You never done it?”

“On occasion,” Ross admitted. His voice was tinged sympathetic. “You were broke?”

“Flat broke, if it makes you happy!”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” Ross said, and changed the subject. “Tell me, Mr. Coughlin, didn’t you tell me once that you had seen Billy Dupaul pitch baseball many times?”

“That’s right,” Coughlin said, agreeably.

Ross looked a bit puzzled. “But it couldn’t have been with the Mets, could it? Because Billy was signed during season and never pitched a regular game for them. Where did you see him pitch?”

Coughlin hesitated. Then he said, “Up at Attica.”

“That’s strange,” Ross said, and then thought of something. “You were an inmate there?”

“Never!”

“Then it really is strange,” Ross said, “because Warden Chalmers tells us that the game you attended was the only one you had ever requested permission to cover. So where did you see all these games?”

Judge Waxler interrupted, peering coldly at the man in the witness box. “I should like to warn the witness,” he said, “that he is under oath. And I do not look on perjury kindly. You have already perjured yourself in saying you saw the defendant many times at Attica. One more example and you will be bound over as soon as you finish testifying. Now, answer the questions and answer them honestly. You may proceed, Mr. Ross.”

Ross nodded and returned to Coughlin. “So, where did you see Billy pitch ‘many times’?”

Coughlin looked as if he were going to be stubborn about it. His skinny hands wrapped up in each other; they looked like a bundle of twine. “All right,” he said at last, “so I saw the kid pitch up in Glens Falls. What’s your point?”

“At the time you were a reporter on the Glens Falls Herald, weren’t you?”

“That’s right. Is that a crime, too?”

Judge Waxler’s gavel descended. “Mr. Coughlin, I shall not warn you again!”

Ross continued, unperturbed. “How many years were you a reporter on the Glens Falls paper?”