The Underground Man sw-3

by Parnell Hall

  “What does that mean?”

  “That it was possible. That it could have happened. You see?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Well, could it have happened?”

  Jeremy thought a moment. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Good. You have some time to think, you try to figure out who, why, when, where. Now let’s talk about your uncle.”

  “What about him?”

  “You came to my office, asked me to get your uncle out of Bellevue.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “That seemed a nice gesture for a high school kid. I remember what you said at the time. He wasn’t crazy, he didn’t belong there, you liked him, you wanted him out.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Is it? I could buy that before I knew who you are. Coming from a crack dealer, it sounds like a crock of shit.”

  “Hey, man-”

  “Do me a favor. Don’t ‘hey man’ me. I’m gettin’ really sick of it. Your uncle-he used to give you money?”

  “Why?”

  “Just answer the question. He used to give you money?”

  “Yeah. I told you. He was a nice guy. He liked me.”

  “But after he moved out, he didn’t see you, he didn’t give you money no more.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, that must have been tough on a kid who likes crack. A kid who deals crack just to have some around. A kid who likes to be a big shot.

  “And then your uncle gets locked up in Bellevue, and your relatives try to grab the cash, but they never treated you well and you know you’re not going to get any. And it occurs to you, hey, if you got your uncle out, he’d be very very grateful.”

  Jeremy said nothing.

  “Didn’t it?”

  “What if it did?”

  “Grateful enough to write a will?”

  “Hey, man, that was a shock to me. I never even thought of it.”

  “No, I’ll bet you didn’t. A spot of cash would have been a lot more handy.”

  Jeremy looked at him. “Hey man, why are you doing this? You’re not my father, you’re my lawyer. We’re supposed to be discussing a murder rap.”

  “That we are,” Steve said. “I’m just trying to get a message across to you, and I gotta hammer it, because frankly you aren’t that swift.

  “Let me tell you something about murder trials. It’s not just the facts of the case. The prosecution’s gonna try to paint a picture of you for the jury. And they’re gonna have a lot to work with. The way I’m makin’ you sound-that’s nothing compared with what the prosecutor’s gonna do. Everything you ever did, they’re gonna paint it with a greedy, selfish motive. You don’t like how it sounds coming from me, think how it’s gonna sound coming from them. Think how’s it’s gonna sound to a jury.”

  Jeremy looked at Steve defiantly for a few moments, then dropped his eyes to the floor.

  “Now,” Steve said. “I gotta get the facts. I can raise an inference about the gun, but that’s all. If it’s your gun, it’s bad. Then we gotta concentrate on the alibi. Now, your alibi is a picture show and a soda shop where no one saw you.

  “Let’s start with the picture show. You keep the stub?”

  “No. Why would I do that?”

  “Who cares why? The fact is, if you had it would help. I take it you didn’t?”

  “No.”

  “The ticket girl remember you?”

  “No, why should she?”

  “I don’t know. How many green haired customers you think she gets?”

  “More than you’d think.”

  Steve sighed. “You’re probably right there. Jesus Christ, I feel a hundred years old.

  “All right, look. I’m gonna check your alibi out. Till I do, be damn sure you don’t mention it to the cops.”

  Jeremy’s eyes shifted.

  Steve winced. “Oh shit.”

  Jeremy shifted in his chair.

  “Damn it, you told me you didn’t tell the cops anything.”

  “I didn’t tell them nothing important. But they were saying I was on the subway that night. All I said was I wasn’t.”

  “I told you not to say anything.”

  “I didn’t say anything. They just said I was on the subway, and I said no, I wasn’t.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “What’s so bad about that?”

  “And then they wanted to know where you were?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you told ‘em you were at the movies?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “If you really were at the movies, nothing. If you weren’t, you just slit your throat.”

  “I was at the movies.”

  “What was the name again?”

  “What?”

  “The name of the movie.”

  “Heathers.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “What do you care?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I told you. It’s a teen comedy.”

  “About what?”

  “It’s about this crazy chick and this guy who talks like Jack Nicholson go around killing people and making it look like suicide.”

  Steve looked at him. “That’s a comedy?”

  “Yeah. It was funny.”

  “O.K., I’ll check it out. Now, here’s what we’re gonna do. First of all, I’m going to waive extradition and get you transferred to New York.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “In the first place, the cops got enough on you to extradite you anyway.”

  “Oh.”

  “In the second place, it’s a pain in the ass to have to come all the way to Jersey every time I want to talk to you. I’m just telling you so when they move you, don’t be upset.

  “Here’s another thing. They let you shave in here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. Next time they do, shave off the fucking hair.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “I gotta sell you to a jury. It’s gonna be hard enough without dealing with that.”

  Jeremy thrust out his jaw. “Hey man, this is America. I got a right to a fair trial. They got no right to judge me on how I look.”

  “Right,” Steve said. “And if you believe that, I have this land in Florida.”

  “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, and it’s also true someone sometimes wins the lottery. But I wouldn’t wanna bet on that person being you.”

  “That’s bullshit, man. I didn’t do it. No one’s gonna find me guilty ’cause of how I look. I ain’t cuttin’ my hair for that.”

  Steve took a breath. “All right, how’s this? The prosecution’s gonna put someone on the witness stand and say, ‘And did you recognize the man you saw walking in the subway station with Jack Walsh?’ and the witness will say, Yes sir, it’s that kid right there with the green hair.’”

  Jeremy thought that over. He frowned. “You may have a point.”

  24

  Mark Taylor was still on the phone when Steve Winslow pushed open the door. He covered the mouthpiece. “Sit down, Steve. I got stuff comin’ in now.” Into the phone he said, “Uh huh. Go on.” He listened for a minute, said, “O.K., keep on it,” and hung up.

  “Glad you’re here, Steve, this thing is moving fast.”

  “What you got?”

  “The biggie is, it’s the kid’s gun.”

  “The murder weapon?”

  “No question about it. The bullets match.”

  “Shit.”

  “Well, it’s what you expected, right?”

  “Yeah, but you can always hope. What else?”

  “I understand you just waived extradition.”

  “Right.”

  “How come?”

  “Frankly, I was tired of running over to Jersey.”

  “Makes sense. Anyway, they’re
putting together a grand jury, getting ready to indict Jeremy Dawson for murder.”

  “Yesterday’s news, Mark. All of that’s just routine. You got anything fresh?”

  “Well, word is Harry Dirkson’s gonna handle the case himself.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. And that’s opened up a bit of speculation.”

  “Over what?”

  “Is the D.A. getting involved personally just because the victim was a millionaire, or is it just because you happen to be attorney for the defense.”

  “You’re trying to tell me Harry Dirkson doesn’t love me?”

  “That’s putting it mildly. The word is he’s so pissed off about what happened in the Harding case, he can’t resist taking a shot at you in a case where he’s got your client dead to rights.”

  “He doesn’t have my client dead to rights. He’s got circumstantial evidence. It’s bad, but it’s still just circumstantial.”

  “Yeah, well he’s also got the eyewitness.”

  “What eyewitness?”

  “The one who saw Jeremy and Jack Walsh together in the subway station.”

  “There really was such a witness?”

  “Yeah, there was.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “Well, it’s not as bad as it could be. It turns out we were right about the witness bein’ a bum.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. That’s unofficial, by the way. The cops aren’t letting it out, but my man managed to get it. So that’s good news. The guy’s a wino. His identification’s not gonna be that strong. You should be able to rip him apart on cross-examination. So that’s good.”

  Steve frowned. “Yes and no.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a two-edged sword-the guy being a derelict, I mean. Yeah, sure, I can cut him up on the witness stand. But the jury’s not gonna like it. ’Cause a guy like that’s basically defenseless. If I tear into him, it’s like picking on a cripple. Sure, I can raise some doubts about the identification. Maybe even get the guy’s testimony struck out. But in the eyes of the jury, I’m a big bully picking on a helpless man, and the result is I wind up antagonizing them and prejudicing them against the defendant.”

  Taylor frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Yeah, well I bet Dirkson has. He’s probably happy as a clam the guy’s a bum.”

  “You mean you’re not going to try to break down his identification?”

  “I’ve got to. That’s my job.” Steve frowned and rubbed his head. “So here’s a job for you. Get one of your men to take some pictures for me.”

  “Pictures?”

  “Yeah, and then have him blow ‘em up to eight-by-ten glossies.”

  “Pictures of what?”

  “Kids with green hair. At least five of them. Head shots. Shot from the same angle. Similar photos, you got it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And not just green hair. Green mohawks.”

  “I understand. Anything else?”

  “Yeah. First off, get a shot of Jeremy Dawson. Have the photographer use that picture as a model for the other ones.”

  “Where am I gonna get that?”

  “Are you kidding me? It’ll be on the wire services. They’re indicting him for murder. It’ll be on the front page of the Daily News.”

  “Yeah, right. Anything else?”

  “Yeah. Check on all the relatives. Check ‘em for alibis. See what they were doin’ that time of night.”

  “Now that I like.”

  “Why?”

  “Routine, time consuming, and expensive.”

  Steve frowned. “Yeah.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Well-”

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t got a retainer?”

  Steve shrugged. “My client’s a teenage kid.”

  “Shit, that’s right.”

  “On the one hand, he hasn’t got a dime. On the other hand, he’s got a holographic will that makes him the sole heir to millions.”

  “What about that? Can the will stand up? Is it legally binding?”

  Steve shrugged. “I haven’t seen it yet.”

  “Yeah, but as a general rule-can a handwritten will knock out a prior one drawn up by lawyers?”

  “It can if it’s drawn right.” Steve smiled. “And if you’ll recall, Jack Walsh consulted me about how to write the will. So if I knew what I was talking about, the will should stand up.

  “Except for one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “One little law I forgot to mention. Not that it would have done Jack Walsh any good.”

  “Oh yeah? What?”

  “A person convicted of murder can’t inherit from his victim. If Jeremy Dawson killed his uncle, it doesn’t matter what that will says, he can’t touch a dime.”

  “Shit, that’s right.”

  “Which puts me in the unique position of handling a murder case on a contingency basis. If I get Jeremy Dawson off, he inherits and I get paid. If he’s convicted, he can’t inherit and I get zilch.”

  Taylor shook his head. “Shit, what a bummer.”

  “Yeah. So get going on the other relatives. Come up with someone else who could have killed the guy.”

  “I’ll try, Steve, but Jesus.”

  “What?”

  “Well, Jeremy’s the one who was seen in the subway, he’s the one who inherits, and it was his gun. Now, I can try to make a case against one of the others, but let me tell you, it sure don’t sound good.”

  “I’m not asking you to make a case, Mark. That’s my job. I’m just asking you to get the facts.”

  “Yeah, and you’re paying me out of your own pocket. That’s the part I don’t like.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I have every intention of being paid for this case. Now, you got anything else?”

  “Yeah. It’s just incidental now, but I got a line on Julie Creston.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. She finished filming, showed up back in L.A. My contact out there looked her up. Frankly, what with the murder and everything, I’d forgotten to call him off. I didn’t think of it till he reported in. I’m sorry, ’cause it’s an unnecessary expense, and-”

  “Screw the expense, Mark.” Steve held up his hands. “Let me make something clear. I either take a case or I don’t. The size of the retainer doesn’t matter. If I take a murder case, I’m gonna go all out. As far as you’re concerned, I want you to investigate this as if I had a hundred-thousand-dollar retainer. Don’t stint on anything. ’Cause frankly, the case looks pretty bad, and I need all the help I can get. You got it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “O.K. So what about Julie Creston?”

  “Well, the guy looked her up, asked her about Jack Walsh.”

  “And?”

  “And she didn’t want to hear from him. Acted like the name was poison. She’s out there, she’s got a new life, a new career, she’s livin’ with someone, the name Jack Walsh’s just a big embarrassment to her.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. And she don’t want her boyfriend hearin’ about him, either. She took the detective out in the hall, gave him an earful. According to her, Jack Walsh is a slime and a shit, and she wants nothing to do with him.”

  Steve held up his hand. “Wait a minute, wait a minute. When was this?”

  “I don’t know the exact time. It was earlier today.”

  “Today?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But she’s talkin’ as if Walsh was still alive. Didn’t your man tell her he was dead?”

  “He didn’t know, Steve. The guy’s in California. And this is an assignment left over from last week. I’d completely forgotten about it till the guy phoned in his report.”

  “I see,” Steve said. He frowned. “So this Julie Creston-she still doesn’t know Jack Walsh is dead?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But your man in L.A. said she hates his guts?” />
  “Yeah.”

  “All right. Fine. Look, call him up and tell him to make another pass at her. Only this time give her the dope. Tell her what happened to Walsh. See how she reacts.”

  “Sure,” Taylor said. “But what for?”

  Steve went on as if he hadn’t heard him. “And tell him to trace her movements. Find out when she finished filming. And find out when she went back to L.A. And whether she went straight back, or whether she had time to make a side trip somewhere, specifically to New York.”

  Taylor stared at him. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Not at all. Here’s a woman who hates Jack Walsh. From what your man says, she’d like to see him dead. Let’s find out how much.”

  “Steve, that’s mighty thin. I mean, Walsh didn’t dump her, the relatives got in the way. Maybe she blames him and thinks it was his fault, but still. I mean, that was a year ago, she’s out there in California now, she doesn’t profit from his death, and-”

  “How do you know?”

  “Huh?”

  “How do you know she doesn’t? Jack Walsh wrote one holographic will. What’s to have stopped him from writing another one? When your man tells her Walsh is dead, have him ask her how it affects her. Find out if she expects to inherit in any way. Who knows, how do we know she isn’t holding a handwritten will Walsh made out a year ago when they were all lovey-dovey?”

  Mark Taylor had trouble meeting Steve Winslow’s eyes. “I’ll do it, Steve, but Jesus. I mean-”

  Steve smiled and held up his hand. “Hey, Mark. I’m not crazy and I’m not stupid. You know and I know that didn’t happen. But I’m trying to get the kid off. Reasonable doubt, that’s all I need.”

  Taylor sighed. “Yeah, Steve. But I think the operative word is reasonable.”

  “Hey, Mark. You just get me the data. I’ll make it sound reasonable.”

  25

  Tracy Garvin stood and watched while Steve Winslow read through the facsimile of Jack Walsh’s holographic will. Steve finished, set the paper on his desk, leaned back in his chair and frowned.

  “Well?” Tracy said.

  Steve shook his head. “It’s all wrong.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Steve tipped the chair forward, pointed to the will. “This will. It’s all wrong.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”