A Handy Death

“Sure — facing Willy Mays or Hank Aaron, maybe,” Coughlin said, nodding. “But Billy Dupaul was facing a clown named Ryan, doing a ten-to-twenty for safecracking. A safe’s about the only thing can’t run away from Ryan. He’s slower than glacier ice. Dupaul and Millard — he was back of the plate — those two can play catch a couple of times while Ryan is getting the bat off his shoulder. Dupaul can throw it past Ryan ten out of ten, but in this game — after a perfect warm-up — he throws four straight balls. I ask you!”

Coughlin paused for a moment for effect and then went on.

“And then what do you think just happened to happen?” The thin man opened his eyes wide for effect. “Surprise, surprise! A Donnybrook out on the field and the guards come from all over the joint — they’re still pretty much on edge at Attica, you know; a guy sneezes in the yard and he’s apt to get shot if he reaches for a handkerchief — and while everyone’s milling around on the athletic field, over on the far side of the joint two cons are making tracks for the open spaces!”

He leaned back triumphantly, his point made. Ross nodded politely.

“Well, it’s a fascinating story, and I appreciate your taking the time to tell me — but why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you telling this to me?”

“Well,” Coughlin said, “seeing as how you’ll be taking on Dupaul’s defense on that murder charge—”

“I am? Where did you hear that? And when?”

“I heard it,” Coughlin said. “That’s all that counts. Are you trying to deny it?”

“Skip it,” Ross said. “Stick with the first question. Why are you telling me all about that ball game at Attica Prison?”

Coughlin stared at him a moment.

“Mr. Ross, you aren’t stupid.”

“Thank you. In general I would agree, but I’m afraid in this case—”

“I get it. You want me to spell it out for you. Do you think I’m afraid to? I’m not.”

“Good,” Ross said quietly. “Go ahead.”

“I will. Billy Dupaul’s going up for murder one within a very short time, and being involved in a prison break that cost a guard’s life isn’t going to help his chances. Not the way feelings still are over Attica. I know it, you know it, and we both know the other knows it.”

Ross remained silent, watching the man. Coughlin shook his head.

“And don’t try to tell me the DA can’t bring this prison break into the murder trial, because if he can’t he’s a lot more incompetent than I think he is. Sure, he’s not supposed to — and you’ll object like crazy, and the judge will bust his gavel pounding, and he’ll sustain all your objections, and strike tons of stuff from the record and all that noise — but what do you think will be going through the minds of the jurors? You know as well as I do.”

Ross smiled faintly. “You sound like a lawyer yourself.”

“I’m no lawyer but I’ve been around. I’ve seen the inside of courtrooms, and not as a prisoner, either. I know how they work. I know how the minds of juries work, too.”

“And how do the minds of juries work?”

“They work like this: Here’s this guy Dupaul, a bad apple, a two-time loser — look what happened up at Attica the other day. Last time they had a riot up there forty-three guys got killed. Riots are bad things; any guy starting one ought to be shot. What’s the judge saying? Don’t pay any attention to the riot and him starting it? What’s the judge saying? The guy isn’t charged with the riot, just with another murder eight years ago? Well, hell, sure he’s guilty! Any guy who would start a riot at a place like Attica must be a mad dog; ought to hang. I vote guilty.”

Coughlin pointed his finger around the room, stabbing it toward imaginary jurors.

“Me, too! Me, too! Me, too!”

He stared across the desk, his hand falling beside him.

“That’s the way the minds of juries work, Mr. Ross, nine times out of ten. And we both know it.”

Ross’s face was expressionless. “Anything else?”

“I think you have the picture,” Coughlin said. “Your turn.” He leaned back.

“Then let me ask you a few questions. Any objections?”

“None.” It was apparent that Coughlin did not lack confidence.

“Good. First of all, then, where were you — physically — when you were watching this baseball game?”

“On the south wall.”

“With the guards there? In one of the towers?”

“No. Over the athletic field. The field is located between the south wall and the main cell block, with the shops and the power plant and the hospital and rec building around it like sort of half an H. Anyway, over the athletic field, maybe halfway along the wall between towers, they’ve built a little sort of press box mounted down from the top of the wall a bit. A spectator box would be a better word for it; I guess they don’t get many reporters at their sports events. It’s for visitors, or off-duty guards, or anyone else who wants to watch a game and has the clearance to sit there.”

“And you have clearance?”

Coughlin looked at Ross as if this was a question beneath the intelligence of the other. Ross returned the stare imperturably. Coughlin shrugged.

“Of course.”