by Lionel White
George Randolph created an opportunity for a quick few words with Swazy, by suggesting coffee to Mrs. Neilsen, right after she had finished repeating the very story Len had told the lawyer and that the lieutenant had told Randolph himself. The moment she was out of the room, Randolph turned to Swazy and spoke in a low voice.
“All right, Martin,” hesaid. "I guess you’re right. We’re going to need a specialist. Who would you suggest?”
“Well, Monday morning I'll get together with...”
“The hell with Monday morning,” Randolph said. Hisjaw was very square and Swazy recognized the hard, aggressive expression on his face which was so familiar from past experiences when Randolph had insisted on taking the immediate, though possibly more risky, course when it might have been safer to have been a little more cautious in making decisions.
“The hell with Monday. Who’s the best criminal lawyer available?
“Well, I guess you’d say that Leavy is, I. Oscar Leavy. Used to be a magistrate and before that was an assistant district attorney. Doesn’t have the most savory reputation, possibly, but he’s...” „ .
"I don’t give a damn about the man’s reputation,” Randolph said. I just want to know if he handles this sort of thing—and if he gets his clients о
“He gets them off,” Swazy said. There was faint disapproval in his tone.
‘‘Then get him on the phone and get him over here. ” Swazy looked at Randolph in surprise.
“Now George,” he said. “I don’t know. After all, this man Leavy is pretty expensive. And after all, Saturday night and...”
“I don’t give a goddamn how expensive he is,” Randolph said. “And as far as Saturday night and so forth, that’s probably why he’s expensive. He’s undoubtedly used to working at all sorts of hours—if he’s the kind of fellow you say he is and the kind that we’re looking for. You see if you can get hold of him and have him get out here. I’ll go in and talk with Mrs. Neilsen.”
Leavy, fortunately, lived in Old Westbury. Also, fortunately, he was home when Martin Swazy telephoned. I. Oscar Leavy was, as Swazy had said, atop criminal lawyer. Not only that, but he had an almost psychic insight into the private assets of a potential client.
He knew the firm of Swazy, Steele, Caldwalder and Kohn, by reputation. He knew the type of client in which a firm of this sort would be interested. He didn’t hesitate to call his chauffeur and come running the minute he hung up the receiver.
The thing which Swazy never did realize is that Leavy would have probably taken the Neilsen case even if it was not for the fabulous fee which George Randolph privately agreed to pay him for handling the matter. It was the sort of case on which Leavy thrived.
A young, beautiful girl murdered, possibly a sex attack. Headlines. It was right down his alley. The publicity alone, especially when the client was ready-made for the tabloids, would be well worth it. The fact that the client, as Leavy determined a few moments after his arrival at the Neilsen home, was probably guilty as hell, just made it that much the better.
Allie Neilsen was crying when George Randolph went into the kitchen while Swazy got busy on the phone.
An odd thought crossed Randolph’s mind as he looked at her standing near the stove, the tears falling gently down her pale cheeks. If Len killed that girl— and Randolph was pretty much convinced that he had—it couldn’t be any simple sex crime. The liquor must have driven him temporarily insane. No young fellow of Len’s caliber, with a wife like this, would go around raping and murdering young girls if he were in his right mind.
Once more Randolph experienced a sense of deep guilt. He'd gotten the boy drunk. Well, he’d get him out of this mess, no matter how much it cost or what he had to do.
He walked over and patted Allie Neilsen on the shoulder.
“Now stop that,” he said. "You don’t have to cry. We’ll get your boy out of this.”
Allie looked up at him.
“Hedidn’tdo it,” shesaid. “Len didn’t do it. I don’t care how drank he was or anything else, Len didn’t do it.”
Randolph knew that she really believed this; knew there was no question at all in her mind.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. "Doesn’t matter. We’ll get him off all right.”
A moment later and he felt like biting his tongue off. Seeing the look in her eyes, as she stared at him, understanding—understanding that she knew what he thought, he cursed himself for being the world’s biggest idiot. Yes, she knew what he was thinking. There was no mistaking the gradual look of horror which came into her face as she stepped back to stare up at him.
Chapter Ten
It is an established fact that all too frequently violence seems to set off a sort of chain reaction; as though the very fact of an initial act of violence were to spark a veritable epidemic which travels from one person to another, in greater or lesser forms, so that before long people who have had no connection with the first event are involved in all sorts of odd situations which could not be foreseen and to which they react in various fashions.
Ina way, that is what happened when Gerald Tomlinson first lifted his arm to bring a revolver butt down on the skull of Angelo Bertolli as that unfortunate man was about to make a deposit of the horse-parlor money in the South Shore Bank.
By Tuesday of the following week, this strange epidemic seemed to reach its climax, so far as its widespreading aspects were concerned, although the intensity of the disease had thinned out and grown comparatively anemic by this time.
Tuesday was a significant day in the lives of a number of people, none of whom had ever as much as heard of Bertolli, the private detective.
First there was young Peter Doyle. Peter received the first real thrashing he had ever had in his life and although he was completely innocent of any wrong doing at that time, it was without doubt a licking he’d had coming for a number of years.
Howard McNally, who usually never took a drink before sundown, managed to get drunk before noon and the sudden Dutch courage inspired by the liquor misled him into striking his wife, Myrtle, who in turn gave him a beating with a leather belt.
Grace and Tom Swanson had an equally bitter domestic scene, although no
physical violence was involved.
Marian Tomlinson lost her head completely when her brother-in-law struck her daughter after the child admitted having left the house the previous Saturday. In losing her head, she also, for the first time, temporarily lost her fear and dared to talk back to Gerald, who in turn beat her so badly that she was unable to see out of one eye for a week and carried a broken nose on her already plain face for the rest of her life.
Mrs. Julio, the dead child's mother, missed her daughter’s funeral when she suddenly became hysterical, a condition which swiftly developed into a state of temporary insanity and was responsible for her being taken to a hospital and placed under sedatives.
Even gentle little Mrs. Kitteridge and her husband had sharp words for the only time in their lives.
It was almost as though an evil curse had fallen over the residents of Fairlawn Acres. The thing which made it so strange, of course, was that with the exception of one of these cases, each particular act of violence followed immediately upon the heels of a visit from Allie Neilsen, who, suffering her own particular brand of grief, certainly hadn’t the slightest intention of triggering difficulty for anyone else.
But that was on Tuesday.
Monday was something else. Monday, the day during which Allie went through enough emotional tension and violence—as far as her feelings were concerned—to serve the entire population of the suburb. On Monday Allie was permitted to see Len for the first time since his arrest. She saw Len but only after she had talked with the man who had been selected to defend her husband, I. Oscar Leavy.
Leavy telephoned Allie while she was still having breakfast. It wasn’t really breakfast, merely a cup of black coffee and a cigarette. She hadn’t even cared about the coffee, but little Billy was having his br
eakfast and she wanted to sit with him. She knew the child was restless and upset; Billy sensed that something was going on and the fact that no one was able to explain it to him, made things very difficult.
Billy had been asking for his daddy ever since Lieutenant Giddeon had taken Len away. Allie had tried to explain that Daddy was “away on business,” but it had been a thin explanation at best and this combined with the comings and goings in the house, as well as the additional fact that he’d not been allowed out to play as usual, had been enough to throw his emotional balance completely off center. Billy knew something was very wrong and he wanted to know what it was all about.
So Allie had sat down at the table with him while he had his cereal and milk and tried to pretend everything was normal. She didn’t fool him at all.
Allie was still stalling, still avoiding his curious eyes and his questions, when the telephone rang. She recognized Leavy’s high-pitched voice at once.
"Has the press been around?” was his first question after he had told her who it was that was calling.
“Not this morning,” Allie said. “But yesterday, all day...”
“I know.” The attorney spoke quickly and wasted no time. Whatever was onhis mind, Allie realized, must be urgent. “You’ll be seeing a lot of them before they are through, I’m afraid. I was just worried that they had already arrived.”
“Why? Why, has something else... ” There was sudden alarm in her voice.
“Now there’s nothing to get upset about,” Leavy quickly said. “It’s just that I’m afraid there is going to be an indictment the first thing this morning. And I don’t want you to see anyone or talk with anyone.”
“I want to talk to Len,” Allie said. She found it hard to keep her tone level. She suddenly wanted to start crying all over again. “They’ve got to let me see...”
“Now listen, Mrs. Neilsen,” Leavy spoke quickly. “Listen, I’mgoingtotry and arrange it today. I’m sure that I can. But right now this is more important. If any reporters come around, or anyone else for that matter, I don’t want you to admit them. I don’t want you to even answer the phone again after I hang up. Understand? Don't see or talk with anyone.”
“What...”
“I’ll explain when I see you. I’m coming right out. Just do as I say. Don’t answer the phone or the doorbell. I’ll be there in less than an hour.”
The doorbell began to ring as the lawyer hung up on her. For a moment Allie sat there and then she suddenly jumped to her feet. She had become aware of Billy going into the hallway to answer the doorbell.
“Billy,” she said, “Billy, come here dear. Mother will get it.”
Billy stopped and looked at her.
“Go back and finish your breakfast,” Allie said. “I’ll take care of it dear.
A moment later, as Allie stood in the hallway and looked through the diamond shaped small pane of glass in the center of the front door, she realized how right the attorney had been. Outside stood two men and a woman. One of the men wore a camera strapped over his shoulder and carried a leather case which she guessed must contain his photographic equipment. The second man she recognized as a newspaper reporter she had talked with the previous day. The woman, little more than a girl, was dressed in a severe tweed suit and wore a small black hat on her short blond curls.
The bell stopped ringing and Allie quickly shook her head back and forth. She could just make out the words as one of the men called her name.
Again Allie shook her head and turned to leave. The doorbell again began
ringing.
For a moment she hesitated, and then, trying her best to ignore the shrill sound of the bell, she started for the kitchen. This time she was unable to keep the tears back.
Twice within the next hour the phone rang for long intervals, but each time Allie steadfastly refused to answer. Once again the doorbell rang and for a while, Allie ignored it. And then it occurred to her that it might be the attorney and so she got up from the table and again went down the hallway. By this time Billy was crying. He didn’t quite know why, but he just felt like crying.
It was Leavy and there was a middle-aged woman with him. As Allie opened the door to let them in, she saw a man leap from a car parked down the street. It was one of the newspaper people.
Leavy himself locked the door after them when they had entered.
‘‘We’d better go into the living room, ” he said. "Oh, by the way, this is Mrs. Manning. She’s a nurse. I’ve brought her to look after the youngster.”
Allie automatically turned and said hello, then quickly turned back to the lawyer, who was busy removing his neatly pressed topcoat.
"A nurse?” she said, surprised. "But I don’t need a nurse. I can take care of Billy all right myself. I didn’t ask...”
Leavy interrupted her in a kind, but determined tone.
“Please don’t ask any questions just now,” he said. “You will need someone here. If you are to see your husband, someone will have to stay...”
“But I’ve already planned to have my aunt come in from...”
“Please listen, Mrs. Neilsen. Let Mrs. Manning go in with the child for the time being and explain everything to you.”
Allie nodded in an almost half- conscious way, as though none of it was quite clear to her.
“Billy’s in the kitchen,” she said, almost listlessly.
“Take Mrs. Manning in and introduce them to each other and then come to the living room. ’ ’
Allie obeyed. Five minutes later she was back in the living room talking with the attorney. Billy, finding someone to talk with him for a change, had quickly dried his tears. He took to the woman at once, especially after she had told him that she’d like to see his electric train.
“It’s like this, Mrs. Neilsen,” Leavy was explaining. “I don’t want you sending the child away while all this is going on. It’s much better that you stay here together. And you should have someone...”
“But I’ve already explained,” Allie said. “My aunt is coming and anyway, we can’t afford a nurse. Especially now...” Once more she felt the tears coming to her eyes.
Leavy again interrupted.
“It isn't a case of not affording,” he explained. “It’s what’s best. You must let me handle things in my own. Everything has been arranged by Mr. Randolph. He’s taking care of... ”
“Mr. Randolph?”
"Yes. You see, he is determined to see this thing through. To stand by your husband. He’s turned the defense over to me and has instructed me to take complete charge. Now...”
“But what has Len’s defense got to do with...”
The lawyer reached out and sort of half patted Allie on the shoulder.
‘‘A thing like this is very complicated. You want to see your husband go free, now don’t you Mrs. Neilsen?”
“Why of course. Of course I want to see...”
“Then you must let me do things my own way. In this type of case it is frequently more important what takes place before the trial than during the trial. The general impression the public has of the prisoner and his family...” he went on talking and suddenly Allie was no longer listening to the smooth, unctuous phrases.
"This type of case. ”
My God, Allie thought, can this really be me? Can this thing actually be happening to Len and myself and even to Billy? This odd little fat man with his immaculate clothes, his precise high-pitched voice with the Brooklyn accent and his white, pudgy manicured fingers—can he actually be sitting here talking as though Len...
But once more the voice came through and she was aware of the words.
“So you see that it is vitally important the press learn only what we want them to learn. That, as much as possible, we try to form a sympathetic picture of Neilsen and Neilsen’s family. That you be protected, by competent people, from questions which might be embarrassing. Which reminds me, about the story your husband first told. The business of getting into some wrong house and finding a
dead man and all of that. I can’t...”
Allie looked up quickly. “Len’s story?” she said. “What about Len’s story? It’s the truth, Mr. Leavy. Len would no more tell a lie than...”
The attorney nodded his small round head.
“Of course, Mrs. Neilsen,” he said. “Of course. I’m not questioning the story. It isn’t a case of whether it’s true or it isn’t true. It doesn't matter even whether it actually happened or your husband, in his condition, just imagined it happened. The point is... ”
“But if Len says it happened, itdid,” Allie spoke almost sharply. Icanas-sureyou...”
Once more Leavy interrupted. .
“You must try to understand me, Mrs. Neilsen. And please let me finish.
Let me explain.”
He was being very patient; Allie could see that he was taking her emotional condition into consideration and being patient. She bit back the words she was about to say and nodded, dumbly.
“The one thing we have all got to do is to forget that story. If I am to defend your husband—and to have him cleared—above all else, we must forget any story about his being drunk and wandering into the wrong house and finding dead men lying around. There are several lines of defense which I may or may not use. It will depend largely on developments and the way things turn out. But no matter what method of procedure I shall take, we certainly cannot depend on anything as fragile and nebulous as Mr. Neilsen’s original story of what happened on Friday night—or Saturday morning to be exact.
“It is possible, that as a last resort I might have to use a temporary insanity approach, although I...”
In spite of herself, Allie once more interrupted.
“Do you for one moment think that my husband actually had anything to do with killing...”
