‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. What’s going on?’
‘That’s a warning from downstairs. The coppers are down there asking for me. Probably the D.A.‘s plainclothes goons. And you tipped them -‘
‘Are you crazy, Quandt? You’ve read the papers. I’m on the other side.’
‘Well, it’s the first time they’ve tumbled to this location, and, goddammit, your being here is a pretty damn big coincidence. Until now, they didn’t even know I was in business -‘
Something had hit Barrett. ‘Listen, Quandt, listen to me and believe me. That bastard Duncan must have had a tail on me, and they tailed me here. But it’s not you they’re after. It’s me! I’m the enemy now. And if they could trap me in your studio-with the stag films - the nudes - me, the big defender of art consorting with illegal pornographers - can’t you see the carnival they’d make of it on television and in the newspapers - discrediting me before I got
into court - ’
Quandt looked off frantically. ‘I don’t know. Maybe you’re leveling with me, maybe not. But I guess you’re against Duncan and I got to go with you. Okay, follow me. There’s a way out through the back and down under the garage. One of the girls will show you. You’ll get out safe and clean.’
He had reached the wall beside the sofa, touched the paneling, and the wall slid open again to reveal a narrow passageway.
‘Get your ass out of here,’ ordered Quandt, ‘and don’t let me ever see you near this place again.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Barrett. He ducked into the tunnel. He saw Quandt reach to close off the wall. ‘Mr Quandt -‘
‘I don’t have any time. I got to meet those coppers downstairs.’
‘Mr Quandt,’ Barrett called out again, ‘the autograph dealer, the one you sold the Jadway letters to -‘
The wall was sliding shut.
And then Barrett heard Quandt’s voice. ‘Olin Adams Autographs - Olin Adams - Fifty-fifty Street - New York.’
The wall closed, and Barrett turned away, and in the distance, he could see the light, at last.
In the cozy security of his law office an hour and a half later, Mike Barrett had just finished relating his adventure with Norman C. Quandt to Abe Zelkin, who was pacing back and forth in front of Barrett’s desk.
‘And that Quandt smoked a cigar just like the one you’re smoking,’ Barrett added. ‘Only you don’t dribble and drool the way he does.’
Zelkin considered his cigar. ‘I’ve got nothing to drool about. He has.’
‘What a creep,’ Barrett shook his head. ‘That stinking business. Closeups of fellatio, cunnilingus, coitus, sodomy, orgasms, let alone dildos, and all done in the name of sexual liberation and the elevation of science. Maybe those stag films harm no one any more than honestly conceived and executed movies or books harm anyone, yet there is something about the men who create them, the Quandts of the world, that makes me ill. Maybe this sounds inconsistent, Abe, but a man like Norman C. Quandt shouldn’t be allowed to stay in business.’
‘If they ever nab him, he’ll get five years.’
‘Nobody’ll catch him. He’s too slimy and slippery. Those are the guys who make sex a four-letter word, and make it tough for people like us. It bugs the hell out of me - this is the sad part, Abe - that when we defend freedom of speech and freedom of the press, we’re also defending the rights of a whole subterranean reptile community consisting of people like Quandt. They’re evil, because they’re dishonest. Yet we’re forced to have them in our battalion. If you’re against censorship, you’re made out to be against all
censorship. I only wish there were a way to draw the line, select those who deserve defending and those who don’t deserve it. But who does the selecting, who separates those with merit from the meretricious? Where is that wisest judge and umpire?’
Zelkin had stopped pacing. His pumpkin face was grave. ‘Forget it, Mike. We’re not defending Quandt. We’re defending Jadway. Unwittingly, Quandt may have served freedom, grand as that sounds. He gave you the name of that autograph dealer - Olin Adams, wasn’t it? - okay, that may be our biggest gain against Duncan yet. And just in time. Before court adjourned today, we agreed on eight jurors. That leaves four more to decide on tomorrow. If we make it, we’ll be ready to go on Monday. I’m grateful for this new break, that’s one thing. And I’m grateful that the police didn’t find you with Quandt and those naked girls.’
‘You can say that again. Imagine the headlines. “Defense Attorney Trapped in Sex Orgy with Topless - and Bottomless -Beauties.” That would have really been curtains for us.’
The telephone buzzer sounded, and Barrett picked up the receiver.
It was Donna. ‘I’ve got New York, Mr Barrett. Lucky, we caught Olin Adams just as he was closing shop for the day. He’s on the line. Take it on one.’
‘Thanks, Donna. In case our luck holds, check the earliest flights to New York.’ He glanced up at Zelkin. ‘We’ve got Olin Adams on the other end, Abe. Cross your fingers.’ Barrett punched the lighted key. ‘Mr Olin Adams ?’
The voice was distant and gentle. ‘Yes, sir. What can I do for you. Mr Barrett?’
‘I understand that you acquired a packet of holograph letters about ten days ago - literary letters written in the 1930s by J J Jadway, the author of The Seven Minutes. I learned this today from the gentleman who sold them to you.’
‘The Jadway letters. Yes, I remember. You are quite right.’
‘Do you still have them on hand, Mr Adams ?’ Barrett asked, and then waited anxiously.
‘Do I have them ? Oh, yes, certainly. I’ve hardly had time to unpack them, let alone collate them in order to include them in my next catalogue. We’ve been very busy here going through two large collections, one of Walt Whitman manuscripts and the other of Martin Lu her King correspondence, that arrived prior to the Jadway material.’
Making a hasty victory sign with his fingers for Zelkin, Barrett concentrated again on the conversation. ‘Mr Adams, I’m delighted you sti 11 have the Jadway material, because I’m interested in acquiring it. Can you tell me what it consists of?’
‘Not exactly, at this moment, Mr Barrett. The letters are locked up for the night. I was just leaving for home. Perhaps tomorrow -‘
‘Well, if you could only give me an idea, in general, from
memory.’
‘As I said, I unwrapped the folder they came in a week or two ago and only had time to authenticate the letters. If I recall correctly, there were four pieces, three holograph letters signed by Jadway, and one typescript page with Jadway’s signature typed, but on the verso it has the holograph signature of a Miss McGraw, Jadway’s inamorata, I understand. In all, about nine pages of material.’
‘And the contents, Mr Adams?’
‘I hardly remember at this minute. I barely skimmed the material. It’s mostly literary - discussions of his writing of the novel and some autobiographical information intended for a book jacket. It is difficult for me to remember more, what with Walt Whitman and-‘
‘Mr Adams, I’d like to purchase the Jadway material sight unseen.’
‘I wouldn’t want you to do that. It would be most unwise.’
‘I don’t mind. I must have the letters at once. Can you give me a price?’
‘Well, I haven’t had time to evaluate -‘
‘Set a figure, and if you’ve overpriced the letters I promise you I won’t complain.’
‘Umm. This is difficult, Mr Barrett. These are the first Jadway letters that have come on the market, to my knowledge, and there’s been no auction standard set.’
‘But you must have some notion, Mr Adams,’ persisted Barrett, containing his impatience. ‘Name a price that you know you’d be happy with.’
There was a silence, then the dealer’s voice again. ‘Well, we get fifty dollars for a Sinclair Lewis letter and sometimes two hundred and fifty dollars for a Whitman letter, and while Jadway is neither of these, still he is a rarity, and his recent notori
ety may one day lend him a special appeal for certain collectors. It is remotely possible our Jadway packet might one day be worth, umm, let us say perhaps, perhaps as much as eight hundred dollars.’
‘It’s a deal,’ said Barrett crisply.
The other end of the line was silent again, and when Olin Adams found his voice he sounded confused. ‘I… do you … are you saying - ?’
‘I’m saying I’ve purchased your Jadway letters for eight hundred dollars. Are you satisfied with the deal?’
‘Why - why, yes, sir, if you feel that you are.’
‘I am, I am.’
‘Very well, Mr Barrett, excellent. You have them. If you will mail me your check for the sum and allow time for it to be cleared. I will then send the letters to you by air mail.’
‘No, I need them more quickly than that, Mr Adams. I’m flying to New York tonight. What time do you open in the morning?’
‘At nine o’clock.’
‘I’ll be in your shop between nine and ten. There’ll be no check to clear. I’ll pay you in cash. Be sure to have them ready.’
They’ll be ready for you, Mr Barrett. Yes, thank you, thank you very much.’
‘See you in the morning then.’
Barrett dropped the receiver into the telephone cradle and beamed up at Zelkin.
‘Good work,’ said Zelkin, rubbing his hands together. ‘Now we’ve got something. Jadway speaking from the grave, hopefully to refute Leroux’s contention that he was a commercialist and pornographer. Isabel Vogler to refute Jerry Griffith’s testimony that the book alone was what unhinged him. Things are looking up.’
“That reminds me. Abe, will you call Mrs Vogler and tell her I’m off to New York, but I’ll phone her when I get back later tomorrow ? I definitely want to see her tomorrow. Tell her to sit tight.’
‘Will do.’
The buzzer sounded again, and it was Donna.
Two things, Mr Barrett. Your airplane reservations for New York. I’ve got a hold on flights going out of International at eight tonight and another at nine. That’ll get you into Kennedy pretty late.’
‘I’m taking no chances. Make it the eight-o’clock flight. And get on long distance again and call The Plaza. I’ll need a single for late tonight.’
“The other thing, Mr Barrett. While you were on the phone with Mrs Adams, there was a call from Miss Osborn. She said it was urgent and she wants you to call her right back.’
‘Urgent ? Okay, get her for me before you do the rest.’ He looked up at Zelkin. ‘I’ve got to talk to Faye. Something urgent, whatever that means.’
Til leave you,’ said Zelkin. Til be in my office, calling Mrs Vogler. Look in on me before you punch out.’
Moments after Zelkin left, Barrett was on the phone with Faye Osborn.
The tension in her voice was immediately apparent. ‘Mike, I know you canceled out on me tonight because you’re loaded with work, but I’ve got to see you. It’s terribly important.’
‘Faye, I’m sorry, it’s not only work now - it’s work in New York. I’m flying out of here at eight o’clock. But I’ll be back tomorrow.’
‘Mike, it simply can’t wait. I’ve got to speak to you tonight.’
‘But I told you…’ He hesitated. ‘Can’t you speak to me now? What’s it all about?’
‘No, I can’t speak to you now.’
Then on the way to the airport. You can drive me.*
‘No, Mike. This needs a quiet place, and I don’t know how long it’ll take. We may need a couple of hours.’ Then, with emphasis, she added, ‘Mike, this involves your whole future, yours and ours.’
This sounded urgent, and it troubled him. ‘Well, since you put it
that way, I’ll tell you what. Donna can change my reservation, try to get me the midnight flight out of International, and I can grab some sleep on the plane. I’ll have my overnighter with me in the car, and maybe I should allow an hour to get to the airport from town. Want to make it at eight-thirty or nine?’
‘I need some time with Dad before seeing you. Make it nine. Where?’
‘Let’s say the Century Plaza. There’s a convivial room downstairs. The Granada Bar. Want to meet me there?’
‘At nine sharp,’ Faye agreed. ‘I’ll be there.’
She hung up.
Barrett sat thinking.
Faye had said, This involves your whole future, yours and ours. Faye had also said, I need some time with Dad before seeing you.
Completely enigmatic, yet vaguely threatening.
After a while, still troubled, he buzzed Donna to tell her to change his airplane reservation.
He had a table in the rear of the Granada Bar. Before him was the Scotch on the rocks which as yet he had not touched. The hotel barroom was half filled, but he was hardly conscious of the constant jabbering of the tourists and transient drummers. He was ready for Olin Adams in New York. His overnighter was in his car and the eight hundred dollars in bills was in an envelope in his inside jacket pocket, along with his wallet. He was not ready for Faye Osborn. He had finally concluded that she had delayed his departure over some frivolous personal matter, and he felt faintly resentful.
Also, she was late, and he was restless.
He had been waiting fifteen minutes, and had begun to drink his Scotch, when he saw her arrive. She was wearing the pale-beige silk coat. As she tried to locate him among the customers at the long bar counter, he half rose, waving, trying to catch her eye, and then he did. Faye came toward him rapidly, and he stood up fully to receive her.
‘Darling,’ she said. She offered her cheek, and he kissed it, and then she slid in behind the table, and he settled down next to her.
‘Shall I check your coat ?’ he asked.
‘No, I’ll keep it around my shoulders.’
He helped her out of it and draped it across her shoulders. Her silk shantung cocktail dress was new.
‘That’s a nice dress,’ he said.
“Thank you, Mike,’ she said, but gave him no appreciative smile. Her face was thin and drawn, almost tight. ‘What are you having? Scotch? No, thanks. I’ll have a creme-de-menthe frappe.’
The uniformed waitress was cheerful and cute, and he ordered the creme de menthe and another Scotch.
‘Sorry to keep you,’ she said. ‘I had to speak to Dad again, and
he was late coming from wherever he was, and we talked our way through dinner and kept talking after and I simply couldn’t leave as soon as I had intended.’
More enigma, Mike thought. ‘We have plenty of time,’ he said.
‘Why are you going to New York so suddenly?’
‘I’m still on the trail of Jadway’s past. There may be some vital information there that will be useful in court.’
‘I thought maybe you’d found another witness.’
‘No, not this time. Unless something else turns up, I think we have all the witnesses we’ll need.’
She started to say something, but held back until the waitress had served them the drinks and laid down the plate of cashews.
‘Mike -‘ she said.
Barrett had already hoisted his fresh drink. ‘Cheers.’
‘Yes, cheers,’ she said, taking up her green drink and sipping briefly at the two short straws set in the shaved ice. Setting down the glass, she added, ‘Anyway, I hope it is.’
‘Hope what is?’
‘Cheers - cheery, cheerier - after we’ve talked.’
‘Faye, I wish you’d tell me what this is about.’
She came around to face him. ‘It’s about your witnesses,’ she said. ‘At least, one of them.’
‘Meaning?’
‘When we spoke at noon today, or whenever it was - remember ? - you told me you’d just found a new witness for the defense. That woman, Isabel Vogler, who used to work for the Griffith family.’
‘That’s right.’
‘And you were so enthusiastic because that horrible woman was going to take the stand and prove - how did you put it
? - that Mr Griffith was “anything but a paragon of virtue” and that he’d done more harm to his son than a dozen books. I believe that’s what you said.’
‘Right again.’
‘And you said something to the effect that not Dad nor any of his friends had the slightest idea of what Frank Griffith was like in private.’
‘And you thought Isabel Vogler was finky to expose the facts about her former employer on the witness stand.’
‘More than finky. It’s downright immoral and rotten.’
‘Whereas it’s not immoral or rotten for District Attorney Duncan to parade witnesses who will malign a dead author who can no longer defend himself,’ he said caustically, ‘and it’s not wrong to provide public entertainment by propping up in the witness box an emotionally disturbed young man who has no place in this trial, but is being used the same way Hitler used that poor demented Dutch boy, van der Lubbe, to achieve personal political power?’ He made an effort to control himself. ‘You consider that moral and decent?’
‘Mike, please stop it,’ Faye said with exasperation. “Why do you always do that? I can’t stand that habit of yours, of forever reducing what anyone says to lawyer’s arguments, of constantly obscuring truth with double-talk smoke screens. Can’t you, this one time, leave your law diploma in the office and speak to me like a human being ? It is after hours, you know. If you want me to stoop to your argument, I could. That author of yours, Jadway, he’s dead and buried, and nothing Elmo Duncan says will do him harm. And as for Jerry, he is a confessed rapist, and he is ruined and he is going to jail, and anything Duncan does with him won’t hurt him any further. But your use of someone like Isabel Vogler - mat can be damaging to someone who is living and whose reputation is impeccable. Like anyone in public life, Frank Griffith is vulnerable to an attack of lies. His reputation and business could be damaged beyond repair by some common domestic whom he had been forced to fire and who now sees a chance to get even. She’s vicious. It appalls me that you’d condone, let alone support and encourage, her spouting these falsehoods. And for what? I know, I know, to make some minor point in court, that maybe it wasn’t that filthy book alone that was to blame for Jerry’s act, maybe instead it was his father. Really, Mike, knowing you as I do, caring for you as I have, I can’t believe this is you who is doing such a thing.’
(1969) The Seven Minutes Page 33
