Night Extra

Richard Caldwell was held for the Grand Jury without bail by a magistrate named Seaworth, who listened to Patrolman Coglan’s testimony without taking his eyes from the prisoner’s face. The magistrate was conscious of his moment in history, Terrell realized; he suffered the press photographers gladly, raising his head slightly to firm up his double chin, and freezing thoughtfully to indicate that he understood the solemnity of his decision. Actually he had no alternative; the bare facts made it mandatory for him to hold Caldwell for the Grand Jury.

The little patrolman, Coglan, stared at the floor as he gave his testimony, and the bright lights above the bar of justice gleamed on the bald spot at the back of his gray head. Everyone strained forward to listen. Coglan told of hearing a scream and going directly into Caldwell’s home. The front door was ajar and he found Caldwell in a dazed condition with the dead girl lying on the floor. He did not mention seeing anyone else in or near the house.

It went faster then. The police surgeon testified that Caldwell had been drinking. A lab technician gave the findings of his section. Caldwell made no statement and his attorney waived cross-examination.

Magistrate Seaworth banged his gavel for silence and gave his verdict.

And that was the end of act one, Terrell thought, as he watched Caldwell being led by police toward the cell block. There was no expression on Caldwell’s face; he stared straight ahead, seemingly oblivious to the murmuring crowd, but his eyes were like those of a man on a rack.

Someone shouted, “Get out of my way!” in a high, raging voice and began to fight through the crowd toward Caldwell. Magistrate Seaworth banged his gavel as a man shoved forward and swung a looping blow at Caldwell’s face. The blow landed, cutting Caldwell’s lip and then a patrolman caught the man from behind and locked his arms to his sides.

Terrell recognized him as flash bulbs began exploding on all sides of the room. Frankie Chance. Eden Myles’ friend.

Chance was tall and slim with wavy black hair and deep, brown eyes that were soft as a child’s. He was handsome enough, but there was a sulky pampered look about his mouth, as if he expected lavish payment for his smiles and good humor. He was a fiery hothead, Terrell knew, an emotional savage. And now there was nothing calculating or devious in his frenzy; he was struggling like a maniac against the big cop who was holding him and lashing futilely at Caldwell with his sharply pointed shoes.

“You killed her!” he screamed, and his soft, petulant mouth twisted as if he were under torture. “Because she wouldn’t let you touch her, because you’re not even half a man.”

Magistrate Seaworth raised his gavel, but Captain Stanko caught his eye, and Seaworth cleared his throat and put the gavel gently down on the bench. Public relations, Terrell thought, as the flash bulbs continued to pop. Don’t cut yet! It’s good copy.

“You killed her,” Chance was screaming. “You wanted her, you wanted to get your hands on her, to hurt her, to kill her — that’s all you want from a woman. That’s how you get your kicks.” Chance was crying now, the tears flowing from his deep brown eyes and glistening on his smooth, youthful cheeks. “Well, you’ll get your kicks when they strap you in the charr...”

“Take that man out of here!” Seaworth shouted, bringing the gavel down with a crash. “This is a courtroom, not a—” He sputtered as he groped for words. “Not a place for demonstration. Take him out, officer...”

Terrell eased himself through the crowd and reached the public phone in the hallway. He called Wheeler and gave him a few paragraphs of atmosphere, including Frankie Chance’s attack on Caldwell. When he finished Wheeler said, “That’s very juicy. Now here’s a message for you. Karsh wants you to come in. There’s been some confusion about that prowler Paddy Coglan did or did not see. The Superintendent called Karsh about it, and so did Stanko — they both said you’d gone off half-cocked. Also there’ve been certain implications that Coglan might have been a bit loaded tonight. Williams says he has a reputation as a rummy.”

“So what happened?” Terrell said.

“Karsh killed the prowler angle just before we locked up,” Wheeler said. “He wants to talk to you.”

Terrell sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Well, there goes Caldwell’s loophole,” he said. “They’ve turned it into a noose.” The disgust he felt was evident in his voice. “Tell Karsh I’m on my way,” he said, and dropped the phone back into its hook.

5

The city room was noisy with typewriters and ringing phones. A complete staff had been called in to cover the story; feature writers were poring over yellowing clips of Caldwell’s background, studying his schools, military service, marriage and business activities for possible items. And copy boys were bringing up fresh loads of pictures and copy from the morgue, dossiers on anyone connected with either Caldwell or the murdered girl.