by Parnell Hall
“Is that true, Mr. Hastings?” Judge Blank said. “Are you stalling?”
I most certainly was. And how damnably astute it was of ADA Wellington to have figured that out.
But it didn’t seem prudent to say so.
“Certainly not, Your Honor,” I said. “I am testifying to facts based on my investigation. If I have to fill in the gaps between them with theories, that is of course true of any set of facts.”
“Mr. Hastings,” Judge Blank said. “We are waiting to hear a fact. If you have any evidence at all to present, it had better be now.”
“Yes, Your Honor. The fact is this. I have uncovered a witness by the name of Ricky Pomerantz. Mr. Pomerantz is the poker player who actually played in the game that night instead of Anson Carbinder.”
“You’re admitting the perjury?” Wellington said. “You’re conceding Anson Carbinder was not at the game?”
Judge Blank held up his hand. “Please. This is the first concrete fact, and I for one would like to hear it. You say this man was actually at the game?”
“That’s right. And he was there at two in the morning when the phone call came through.”
“Phone call?”
“From Anson Carbinder. Saying he just found his wife dead and asking them to back up his alibi.”
Judge Blank looked at Wellington. “Were you aware of this?”
“Absolutely, Your Honor. This is not news. The witnesses have conceded the alibi was faked. I fail to see the importance of this witness, except in confirming what we already know. And,” Wellington said, “he certainly doesn’t help the defense.”
“He does in one respect. Since he was the only one who wasn’t programmed to back up the alibi, his recollection hasn’t been colored by the story he was coached to tell.”
Judge Blank frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I’m sorry. I’m getting ahead of myself,” I said. “You’ve got to understand who this guy is. Ricky Pomerantz is a sour, cranky, opinionated cuss. It was no accident he was the one chosen to be left out. He wouldn’t go along with telling the story, and it was all they could do to get him to butt out and not deny it.”
“He’s stalling again,” Wellington said. “How about some facts?”
“Okay, here’s the facts. Ricky Pomerantz was there at two in the morning when the call came through. According to him, the idea to give Anson an alibi was all Sam Kestin’s. Anson called, hysterical, his wife had been killed, and Sam Kestin took over and told him what to do.”
“Oh, yes?”
“Yes. Moreover, he steamrolled it. Told Anson that without consulting anyone. Then hung up the phone and whipped the other poker players into line. Told them exactly what to say. That Anson had been there all evening, never left till two. That everyone else had been there all evening, never left till two, except Tim Hendricks, who went home at twelve.
“And then he made up the bit about Anson winning the big hand.” I raised my finger. “There’s another thing the cops can check. Phil Janson on the witness stand said he had a straight to the jack. Well, you know what? When I first questioned him, he said he couldn’t remember what he had in the hand. I told him that was fine, it was better to say you don’t remember than to say something that’s wrong.
“So what happens? He comes into court, says he had a straight to the jack. Why? Because Sam Kestin called him the night before and told him to say that. If you trace Sam Kestin’s phone records you’ll find that call too.”
Judge Blank frowned. “Why would he do that?”
“Same reason he tipped MacAullif off to him to begin with.”
“I beg your pardon?”
I looked at Wellington. “You remember way back, when Sergeant MacAullif got a line on the witness? He called on him, left him his card? You know how he got a line on him? From an anonymous tip. You know who gave him that tip? Sam Kestin. Why? Because Phil Janson was the weak link that was supposed to destroy the alibi.”
I put up my hands. “Because that was the whole point. The alibi was designed to explode. Sam Kestin set it up that way. It was the perfect frame. Give the guy an alibi that blows up in his face. It was diabolical. Anson Carbinder claims he was playing cards, everyone supports him, two days later the weak link crumbles. The weak link was Phil Janson or Ollie Pruett.
“But the way the defense plays it, Anson doesn’t pull his alibi right away. So the cops never get on to these guys. So Kestin tips them off to Janson. Only, instead of cracking, Phil Janson bites the bullet and calls his lawyer. So the alibi holds and we wind up in court.”
“He’s off again,” Wellington said.
“Yes, but in more promising ground,” Judge Blank said. “What were you saying about the phone call?”
“Oh. Sam Kestin wants to make sure the testimony won’t stand up in court. So he calls Phil Janson the night before they testify and tells him to say he had a straight to the jack.”
“What does that do?”
“It makes his story false.”
“How so?”
“Sam Kestin testified that in that hand he had three eights. Barry Brown said he had a straight to the queen. Well, if Phil Janson had a straight to the jack, both of those straights have an eight in ’em, and that’s five eights.”
Wellington frowned. “Is that right?”
I looked at him. “You mean you never noticed? After the story blew up it didn’t matter anymore, but that’s what tipped me off to it. Phil Janson changed his story, creating five eights. If you’d cross-examined him that afternoon, he probably would have cracked. But when cross-examination was delayed, and when the fifth eight went into the record and no one batted an eye, Sam Kestin decided to push the deal. So he got him to make the phone call to Anson Carbinder, and then he bumped him off.”
“We’re back to sheer speculation,” Wellington said. “Aside from the name of this witness, I haven’t heard anything new.”
“Okay,” I said. “Here it is. According to Ricky Pomerantz, Tim Hendricks left at midnight.”
“So? Everyone agrees to that.”
“Sam Kestin saw him out. This was his habit. Walking Timmy down—Deal me out, I’m walkin’ Timmy down. It was something he did at midnight when Timmy left. He’d be gone a half hour, forty-five minutes, come back from the deli with chips and Coke.”
“So?”
“Walkin’ Timmy down. It was a joke with them. They knew he was with a woman. They just didn’t know it was her.”
“Oh, come on.”
I held up one finger. “Same thing that night. Only, Ricky Pomerantz has a feeling he was gone a little longer.”
“A feeling?” Wellington said.
I held up my hand. “Let’s not quibble. The point is, he was gone. And what makes Pomerantz special is that he’s the only witness who will say so. Because he’s the only one who wasn’t indoctrinated to give the party line. Which is, Anson was there till two in the morning, Tim Hendricks left at midnight, aside from him everyone else was there till two. Which is why no one mentioned Sam Kestin went out. No, we were all here, we were all witnesses for Anson. That’s the solidarity part. That’s what they were sold on.
“The fact they were actually giving Sam Kestin an alibi never occurred to them.
“But Ricky Pomerantz never told that story. He wasn’t programmed to lie. Just to keep quiet. Once he talked, he told it the way it was. And the way it was, was Sam Kestin went out. At the very time Barbara Carbinder was killed.”
Judge Blank frowned. “Is that all you’ve got? Aside from the theories and speculation you’ve already advanced—is your only hard evidence the fact that this man will testify that Sam Kestin was not at the poker game for a certain time after midnight on the night of the crime?”
“No, there’s more,” I said. “The morning after the murder, I interviewed Anson Carbinder. In Connie Maynard’s apartment. I didn’t know it at the time. That it was her apartment, I mean. I thought it was his. I’d been sent there without being told any
thing, I’m talking to him, I’m finding out about the murder, and suddenly the door opens and she comes in and falls into his arms. At the time I’m thinking she obviously wasn’t there when he got there, so he must have a key to her apartment, and wait’ll that comes out. So that’s all that concerned me at the time.
“But once the alibi blows up, once he wasn’t playing poker, the question is, where was she?”
Judge Blank frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Say he’s with her in her apartment till two in the morning. He goes home, finds his wife dead. He arranges the alibi, calls his lawyer, calls the cops. Gets picked up, taken in for questioning. His attorney gets him out. He doesn’t go home, because it’s a crime scene. He goes to Connie Maynard’s apartment and lets himself in with a key. She isn’t there and doesn’t show up until ten in the morning. The question is, where is she?”
“What’s the answer?”
“At Sam Kestin’s.”
“Why would she go there?”
“She’s upset, she doesn’t want to be alone. That’s for starters. In the second place, Kestin calls her up and asks her. He tells her she’s upset and she shouldn’t be alone, but the real reason he wants her over there is to make sure he’s got her story sewed up just the way he wants it. The woman is not the swiftest thing ever lived. He’s gotta sell her on the idea, make sure she doesn’t blow the alibi too soon.”
“What do you mean?”
“The main thing implicating Anson Carbinder is his alibi blowing up. After that happens, no one’s going to listen to the idea that he was actually with her. But if she comes forward first, way back when, says, No, no, he was with me—particularly since he hasn’t sprung his poker alibi yet—well, Anson Carbinder may be a bit gullible, but, even so, Sam Kestin would have a hard time convincing him he should claim he was playing cards when his mistress has already come forward and said he was with her. So shutting her up is a top priority.”
“So what?” Wellington said. “He’s talking just to hear himself talk. He’s still stalling. What the hell is he waiting for?”
As if on cue, there was a knock on the door.
Movie moment.
Deus ex machina.
A court officer came in. “Excuse me, Your Honor,” he said. “I have a message for Mr. Wellington. There’s a Sergeant MacAullif on the phone. He’s at La Guardia Airport. He says the witness Sam Kestin appears to be about to leave the jurisdiction of the court. He wants to know how far you’d like to let him run before he reels him in.”
I exhaled noisily, wiped my brow.
Talk about cutting it close.
I’d just about run out of bullshit.
52
BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR, you might just get it.
I have no idea who said it, but that’s the line that came to me as I walked out of the Criminal Court Building. And that’s the line that ran through my head as I sat sipping coffee in a small coffee shop near the courthouse.
Guess who I was having coffee with.
No, not Anson Carbinder. That would be too much to hope for, finally sitting down with the gentleman after missing him for so long. But, no, just because you’re innocent doesn’t mean they let you go. Ironically, before the case was dismissed, Anson Carbinder was free on bail and could come and go as he pleased. Now that the case was dismissed, there were innumerable technical details that had to be tied up.
And I didn’t have coffee with Richard. He was the one doing the tying.
Nor with MacAullif, who was at La Guardia, riding herd over our new chief suspect.
Or with Alice. She’d gotten a job programming someone’s computer and hadn’t even shown up in court.
Connie Maynard? I like the way you think. You have a dirty mind.
You also happen to be wrong.
ADA Wellington?
Judge Blank?
Not likely.
I’m sorry. It was a trick question.
I had coffee with Sergeant Clark.
Yeah, I know. That isn’t fair. Dragging him in out of left field. I mean, he had nothing to do with the case, and I hadn’t even mentioned him before.
But the problem is, real life isn’t like a book. All neat and tidy. With the hero tying things up in the last chapter with one of the principals in the case, preferably his chief rival. But, no, the guy I ran into didn’t have a goddamn thing to do with it.
And while that might not have done much in terms of art, it suited my disposition just fine.
Sergeant Clark was a straightlaced homicide sergeant that I’d run into twice in my dealings with the New York City Police Department. He was not exactly a friend—in fact, the first case I worked on I couldn’t stand him. The second time was only slightly better. So buying him a cup of coffee was not the sort of thing I’d normally do.
Which made it seem just perfect for this case.
I sat him down, told him what had just transpired.
He didn’t seem that surprised.
“Bit of a shame for MacAullif,” he said.
“Oh?”
“A perfectly simple, straightforward case has to blow up like that.”
“Carbinder was innocent,” I pointed out.
Clark nodded. “Sure, but who would know? That’s the problem with a case like that. It used to be if a man was charged with murder, he’d tell his story and you’d work it out from there. Now you have a lawyer who makes him clam up, and you have a pitched battle on your hands. Maybe the man’s innocent, but who’s to know?”
“I don’t think it’s as bad as all that,” I said.
“Well, it isn’t good,” Clark said. “MacAullif’s a good officer. If he makes an arrest, there has to be grounds. Here it turns out the man was framed, well, that’s unlucky for him. I know it happens in books a lot, but in real life, ninety percent of the time the guy who looks guilty, is.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Well, it looks like you were very lucky.”
“Yeah.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“I feel bad about MacAullif.”
“Why? Just because he lost the case?”
“No. Because of what Richard did.”
“On the witness stand? Yes, I heard about that. He brought up the movie and the whole bit?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, how is that your fault?”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“I know. But that’s how you’re thinking, right? That’s why you’re so glum?”
“I don’t feel good about it.”
“You think MacAullif’s sore?”
“Don’t you?”
Clark shook his head. “Not at all.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Didn’t you tell me you were in the judge’s chambers and the ADA got a call and it was MacAullif at the airport, wanting to know if he should pull the suspect in?”
“Yeah. So?”
“How long has MacAullif been on the job? How many suspects do you think he’s tailed? You think he needs some ADA’s advice? No. He was in court when you made the accusation. He knows you’re in the soup. He called the judge’s chambers to get you off the hook.”
My eyes widened. “Are you kidding me?”
“Not at all. And consider this. This is the only murder case you’ve been working on for some time, right? Do you think that’s true of MacAullif? Well, guess what. He’s got a dozen cases he’s working on. You think it kills him if one blows up? We don’t arrest people just for the hell of it. We arrest them because we think they’re guilty. If this guy Carbinder isn’t guilty, well, that’s all right. We’re not really that upset. You see what I mean?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“What’s the matter?” Clark said.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Who said, Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it?”
Clark frowned. “Rudy Giuliani?”
I nodded. “That’s as good a guess as any.”
<
br /> Half an hour later I was on the subway, heading home.
Thinking about the case.
And what Clark had said.
The guy was right. When you came right down to it, it was just another case. Chalk it up, and move on.
Yeah, I suppose. But not without a certain loss of innocence. I’d certainly never look at Richard Rosenberg the same way again. Which was a little sad. I guess I’d paid the price for my two hundred bucks a day.
Just as Anson Carbinder had paid the price for his little fling.
I wondered if he regretted it.
I wondered if Sam Kestin did.
Or Connie Maynard, for that matter.
I guess that was the problem with criminal law. You didn’t get to like your clients much.
Not that he was my client.
Not that that mattered.
Yeah.
Chalk it up and move on.
A woman with a handbag the size of a steamer truck elbowed me away from the pole I was hanging on. I didn’t resist, just moved on down the car.
I smiled slightly.
Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.
Yeah, life goes on.
At twenty bucks an hour and seventy-five cents a mile.
Next morning I’d call Wendy/Janet.
Tell her to put me back on the clock.
Books by Parnell Hall
Stanley Hastings private eye mysteries
Detective
Murder
Favor
Strangler
Client
Juror
Shot
Actor
Blackmail
Movie
Trial
Scam
Suspense
Cozy
Manslaughter
Hitman
Caper
Puzzle Lady crossword puzzle mysteries
A Clue For The Puzzle Lady
Last Puzzle & Testament
Puzzled To Death
A Puzzle In A Pear Tree
With This Puzzle I Thee Kill
And A Puzzle To Die On
Stalking The Puzzle Lady
