by Parnell Hall
“Absolutely not, Your Honor,” Richard said. “For all the points I’ve already made. If he waives his cross-examination, the jury will have to be told why. Which will prejudice them against the defendant.”
Judge Blank turned back to the prosecutor. “What do you have to say to that?”
Wellington shrugged. “It’s all the same to me, Your Honor. If the defense would prefer, I’m willing to have Phil Janson’s testimony expunged from the record, just as if he had never testified.”
“And how would you expunge it from the minds of the jury, would you mind telling me that?” Richard said irritably. “You see what I’m up against, Your Honor? Here’s the assistant district attorney, oozing cooperation, making one suggestion after another, all of which would be extremely detrimental to the defense.”
“That’s hardly fair, Your Honor,” Wellington said. “The witness lied—that’s what’s detrimental to the defense. The witness committed perjury. The fact that he committed perjury is now obvious. Any way you slice it, it’s going to be somewhat detrimental.”
“You see, Your Honor,” Richard said. “I try to address these points and all I get is sarcasm and derision.”
“What points?” Wellington said. “The witness lied. All the points in the world can’t get away from that.”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Judge Blank said. “Could we avoid personalities and stick to the issue at hand?”
“The issue at hand, Your Honor,” Richard said, “is that circumstances have conspired to deprive my client of a fair trial. The jury hasn’t been in this courtroom in days. Assuming they haven’t read the paper—and that’s a big if, what with the story on the front page—then they have no idea what is going on. All they know is that they are being excluded from the court. The longer that happens, the more curious they become. And the less capable of rendering an impartial verdict.”
“And just who is dragging the proceedings out?” Wellington said. “I’ve offered to stipulate that the testimony go in or out, either way. The prosecution will stipulate to just about anything to expedite the matter and proceed with the trial. It’s the defense that’s dragging its heels.”
“Oh, Your Honor,” Richard said, and they were off again. As they had been all morning long. Finally, Judge Blank couldn’t take it anymore and broke for lunch.
Formerly, that had been the signal for Anson Carbinder to get up from the defense table and slip out of the courtroom with the comely Connie Maynard. Not anymore. The moment he stood up, there were two court officers there, ready, willing, and able to escort him back to his cell.
Poor, lovesick man. As they led him out the door, I could see him looking back over his shoulder, his eyes seeking out hers in the crowd.
And there she was, second row, side aisle, right behind the defense table, right where she’d sat every day since the beginning of the trial. It occurred to me, with Anson out of the way, there was nothing to stop me from walking up to the young woman, introducing myself, and offering to take her to lunch.
Except that Richard would have a shit fit.
But so what? As Alice had said, what was he going to do? So maybe I should.
Providing she’d even talk to me.
As I watched, vacillating, Connie Maynard gathered up her coat and made her way up the aisle.
Should I follow her out in the hall? Try to strike up a conversation when she was safely out the door, where Richard couldn’t see? No, don’t be silly. Use the lunch break to talk to Richard. Find out what he knows, and make the suggestion. Hell, maybe he already asked her. Maybe he knows the answer. Maybe this is a big fuss over nothing, and—
My mouth dropped open.
Alice, with her glad rags on and looking like a million bucks, had just glided up to Connie Maynard and flashed her a dazzling smile. Connie smiled back, and, chatting amiably, the two of them sailed on out the door.
I bolted up the aisle. At least, I tried to. There were a lot of spectators in court, and they were intent on leaving too. I clawed my way through them, fought my way out into the hall.
Just in time to see an elevator door close.
And no sign of Alice.
Damn.
Was another elevator coming? If so, could I afford to wait for it?
Damn.
I turned, sprinted down the stairs.
Bad move. By the time I reached the lobby, the elevator was already on its way back up.
I ran to the front door, jerked it open, plunged outside.
I stopped on the sidewalk, looked up and down the street.
Half a block away, Connie Maynard was heading down the street in the direction of the restaurant. It was cold, and she was bundled up in her scarf and overcoat, but it was her, all right.
No problem there.
But Alice was gone.
46
I FOUND MACAULLIF HANGING OUT in the upstairs hallway.
“Let’s take a walk.”
He must have seen the agitation in my eyes—he didn’t even argue, just grabbed his coat off the bench and headed for the elevator. We rode down in silence, went out the front door.
Snow had begun to fall. I don’t know if it was that or the wind chill, but somehow it seemed colder than it had before.
MacAullif shivered, turned up the collar of his coat. “Great,” he said. “Where you wanna walk?”
“How about I buy you a cup of coffee?”
“I’ve heard worse ideas.”
We found a little shop on Lafayette Street, ordered coffee, and got a booth in the back.
“All right, look,” MacAullif said. “I don’t know how many ADA’s frequent this place, but bein’ seen with you right now would not be a smooth move. The reason I’m here is you look like you’ve seen a ghost. So start talking, but you better make it good.”
“Okay,” I said. “How did you get a line on the witness?”
“Huh?”
“Phil Janson. Way back when. You called on him. You left your card. How did you get a line on him?”
MacAullif cocked his head. Frowned. “I’m afraid you’re not doing very well. Let’s try it again. You look like walking death. You wanna tell me why?”
I took a breath. “Okay, I’ll tell you why. I’m talking to my wife last night about the case—naturally, what with the alibi blowing up—and I’m talking about, what should I do now?”
“I can see where you might,” MacAullif said. “Suborning perjury’s just fine until you get caught.”
“I wasn’t suborning perjury.”
“Of course not. I know that. You have a TV mentality. If you had the faintest idea those guys were lying, you’d have kissed off the case. Which is one reason I’m talking to you now. Whereas, to everybody else from the prosecutor on down, you are living poison, you are the kiss of death, and so is anyone else connected to this stinking, odoriferous defense.”
“I know.”
MacAullif looked at me. “You must be really down. You’re not even going to point out stinking and odoriferous are redundant? You really must be fucked up. Let me make it easy for you. You found out your client’s guilty, didn’t you. You know he did it, and it’s eating you up.”
I looked at him in surprise. “Not at all.”
“Then what the hell’s going on?”
I told him about Alice showing up at the courtroom and talking to Connie Maynard.
MacAullif listened without interrupting, his brow furrowed, his eyes squinting. When I finished, he said, “But they didn’t leave together?”
“No. She went to lunch. Alice disappeared.”
“You call home?”
“I live way uptown. She wouldn’t be there yet.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Assuming she went home. If she did, fine. If she didn’t...”
“You think she’s on to something?”
“I have no idea. But she comes to court all dolled up and talks to the woman. What am I to think?”
“You didn’t ask her?�
�
“I told you. I couldn’t catch her.”
“Not her. The woman. You said she went to lunch. You happen to know where?”
“If it’s the same place she went with Anson, I do.”
“So why don’t you ask her?”
“What?”
“What your wife said. You’re going crazy not knowing. Why don’t you find out?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“So why don’t you?”
“In the first place, I don’t know if she’d tell me. In the second place...”
“Yeah?”
I grimaced. “What if I made it worse.”
“How’s that?”
“I’m scared to death she’s doing something dangerous. Why it would be dangerous, I don’t know. But this Connie Maynard—she doesn’t know who Alice is. She’s got no reason to think twice about her talking to her. Depending on what she said, granted, but say she doesn’t. Then I come in wanting to know and queer the deal. By asking, I blow my wife’s cover. Then she really is in danger. You see?”
“Yeah, I see.” MacAullif looked thoughtful. “Then this broad—the girlfriend—what’s her name?—Connie Maynard, right?—why is she suddenly so important? Is she the new alibi?”
“Oh, shit.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Don’t do this to me. Ever since this goddamn case started, all I get is beat up for giving you information. Now Richard’s gonna think I gave you this.”
“That’s practically a confirmation.”
“Damn it, MacAullif.”
“Hey, don’t obsess. I’m a cop, and I think like a cop. I hear a story, I make deductions. You can tell Rosenberg anything you want. As for this girlfriend bit—it’s not such a novel idea. If he wasn’t playing cards, where was he? Either killing his wife or bangin’ the broad. The defense position would naturally be he was bangin’ the broad. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“So stop kicking yourself in the head and get on with it. I don’t know about you, but I gotta get back to court.”
“Me too.”
“Okay. So what’s this got to do with the dead witness—this Phil Janson?”
“I don’t know, but I gotta find out. Alice is out there somewhere, and I don’t know if what she’s doing is dangerous. So I’m desperate for anything that will give me a clue. It occurs to me, a big one is Phil Janson. He was killed, yeah, but he was also the only witness you got a lead to. I’m wondering if there’s a connection, so I’m wondering how you got the lead.”
“You don’t think I was following you?”
“No, I don’t. Frankly, if that was the answer, right now it would be a huge relief.”
“I see.”
“You’re not going to help me out?”
“This is somewhat below the belt. You dangle your wife in front of me, say, I’m scared, tell me what you wouldn’t tell me before?”
“Aw, fuck.” I pushed back my coffee, stood up.
“Oh, sit the hell down,” MacAullif said. “Did I say I wouldn’t tell you? The lead to Phil Janson was an anonymous tip.”
“No shit?”
“None. Telephone tip. Male voice. Saying Janson was a witness in the Carbinder case.”
“Alibi witness?”
“No. Just witness. The alibi idea came from you.”
“Thanks. Anything else?”
“What do you mean?”
“About the phone call. Anything useful?”
“Not really. Male voice, most likely Caucasian, educated.”
“Educated?”
“Well, at least literate. In other words, there was nothing to indicate the caller was illiterate. You gotta understand, this is not rock solid. This is just the impression of the officer who took the call.”
I frowned. “Uh-huh.”
“Yeah. So what does that give you?” MacAullif said. “The call could be any one of these poker players. Though why they’d call is beyond me.”
“Me too. What about...?”
“What?”
“Could it have been Phil Janson himself?”
“It could. But why he’d do that...”
“I can’t imagine why anyone would do that.”
“Yeah, but him in particular. He tips me off to come, then clams up when I get there?”
“He could have had a reason.”
“What reason?”
“One that got him killed.”
MacAullif waved it away. “Yeah, he gets killed, so he’s important. That’s the thing. It doesn’t make everything he ever did important.” He took a sip of coffee, set the cup down. “All right, look. Now that I’ve violated department policy by giving you this information, what does it do for you? How does it help you find your wife?”
“I didn’t expect to find her.”
“Or feel better about what she’s doing?”
“That’s closer to the truth. Look, we got a case here, I haven’t the faintest idea what happened. That’s because the defense position is ass-backwards, all it cares about is who didn’t commit the crime. So every time I try to make sense of it, I feel like I’m starting from scratch. Right now, I’m saying, if that woman gave Alice a lead, what could it be to?”
“You want me to ask her?”
“Huh?”
“You say you don’t want to talk to her—you want me to bull in there and shake her down?”
“You’d do that?”
“I’d probably catch hell if I did. I haven’t thought it out—whether I could come up with a plausible excuse.”
“Thanks, but I don’t want you to do that. For the same reason I wouldn’t talk to her myself.”
“That’s what I thought you’d say. I just make the offer. So what about the Janson thing—do you think that’s it?”
“I don’t know. It’s just one thing.”
“What’s another?”
“This private detective—the one Barbara Carbinder hired.”
“What about him?”
“Exactly. She hired the guy, got the dope on her husband, and then what?”
MacAullif shrugged. “Presumably, she planned to divorce him. Whether she told him or not is something only he would know.”
“Right, so who was he spying on?”
“Anson Carbinder.”
“And?”
“The broad. Oh, I see. You come back to the broad, your wife talked to the broad, is there any connection?”
“Is there?”
“How the hell should I know?”
I took a breath. Exhaled. “Maybe it has been long enough.”
“Huh.”
“I’m calling home.”
There was a pay phone in the front by the cash register. A woman was on it, planning her life. I thought about telling her it was an emergency. I didn’t. Instead, I told myself it wasn’t. And tried to make me believe it.
Finally, she got off the phone. I dropped in a quarter, punched the number in.
And got our answering machine.
I waited for the beep, said, “Alice, it’s me. I saw you in court, I don’t know where you are. As soon as you get this, page me on my beeper. I know it’s been a while, but the number’s in our address book under Beeper. If you can’t find it, call the office and tell Wendy/Janet to beep me and have me call you. Do it now, please. I’m worried.”
I went back to the table.
“No luck?” MacAullif said.
“No.”
“Think she had time to get home?”
“Assuming she went home.”
“The subway’s erratic.”
“Assuming she took the subway.”
“It’s an expensive cab ride.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“What else can I do for you?” MacAullif said.
I ran my hand over my forehead. “I don’t know. You close to solving this crime?”
“I made an arrest,” MacAullif said pointedly.
“It doesn’t mean he isn’t. That’s your TV mentality again. In real life, occasionally a guy gets arrested because he really did it.”
“You don’t have to sell me.”
“Oh, no? Look, if you want to put it that way, you don’t know who did it and I don’t know who did it. But if we had to handicap the thing, the odds-on favorite would be Anson Carbinder.” MacAullif ticked them off on his fingers. “He took out insurance on her just last summer. He’s playing around with the broad. His wife had the goods on him and was probably planning divorce. Plus, he faked an alibi which blew up in his face.”
MacAullif shrugged, looked at me. “Now, you’re worried your wife’s playing around with a killer. Well, this is the best I can give you. Right now, the best bet for the killer is Anson Carbinder. And he’s in jail.”
47
ALICE SAILED IN AT SIX-THIRTY THAT EVENING.
I jumped on her the minute she got in the door. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Getting my hair done.”
I blinked.
And noticed her hair was curly. Very curly. I must have been really upset not to have noticed right away.
I stared at her. “You were at the hairdresser?”
Alice smiled. “I was at her hairdresser. Connie Maynard.” She shook her head. “I don’t think you wanna know how much it cost.”
I blinked again. “You went to Connie Maynard’s hairdresser?”
“Sure. I went up to her after court, said, Wow, you look great, who does your hair?”
“And she told you?”
“Sure. Why not? I called up, asked for an appointment, and damned if they didn’t slip me in.”
“Good lord.”
“What’s the matter?”
“What’s the matter? I’ve been worried sick.”
“Why?”
“I was there. In court. I saw you talk to her.”
“So?”
“What do you mean, so? I had no idea what was going on. You didn’t tell me you were going to do this.”
“I didn’t know. I just thought of it. I’m at home working on the computer, thinking how can I get a line on this woman.” Alice smiled. “Well, for a while it was hard because I kept thinking of her as this woman. You know, this mythical figure involved in the case. Then I started thinking, never mind that she’s special, how could I get a line on any woman. Then it was easy. Of course. Her hairdresser.”
