by Stuart Woods
"All right, Sandy, what can I do to help?"
"I know you don't handle criminal cases, Jim, but I expect you know somebody who does, and I want you to get the man a lawyer. Send the bills to me."
"How much do you want to spend?"
"I want him to have excellent representation; it doesn't have to be F. Lee Bailey."
"I know a young guy, Murray Hirsch."
"Is he very good?"
"He is; he used to be an assistant district attorney. He's only been in private practice for around five years, but he's very smart, and I think he'd do a good job."
"Fine."
"Do you know where-what's his name?"
"Not from somebody like Jock. You always knew exactly what you wanted to do. You resisted the idea of joining the compa-
Thomas Wills. The police told me he assumed that name after serving time for voluntary manslaughter many years ago. His real name is, apparently, Morris Wilkes. He's at the Nineteenth Precinct, but I don't know which name he's being held under."
I'll get right on it, Sandy."
Sandy said good-bye and hung up. He walked slowly back into the bedroom, where Cara was buried in the Times.
She looked up at him. "What's wrong? You look awful."
He sank onto the bed. "They've arrested one of the building's employees for Joan's murder," he said.
"That's wonderful!" she exclaimed.
"No," he said, "it's not wonderful."
CHAPTER 30
Sandy sat on a bench in the Nineteenth Precinct and waited. He'd have much rather spent Sunday morning in bed with Cara, but he felt an obligation to be here.
A young man wearing sweatclothes and carrying a legal pad under his arm walked into the precinct house. He looked to be in his late twenties and very fit; he was carrying the latest in graphite squash racquets. He walked over toward Sandy's bench. "Mr. Kinsolving?" he asked, choosing the only person in the room who could possibly be Sandy.
"Yes," Sandy said, standing up.
"I'm Murray Hirsch." The two men shook hands. "Let's sit down here for a moment, before we see Mr. Wills."
Sandy sat back down. "How is Thomas?"
"Somewhat distressed," Hirsch replied. "That's understandable."
"Under the circumstances," Sandy agreed.
"I saw him yesterday for more than an hour."
"And?"
"He's very nearly convinced me that he's innocent."
"As he most certainly is," Sandy said emphatically. "We've all known Thomas for a long time, and he's not the sort to kill anybody."
"I've told him that you and the other occupants of the building feel that way," Hirsch said, "but we're going to have to deal in reality here."
"Explain the reality to me," Sandy said.
"The reality is that the police have enough evidence to get Mr. Wills indicted for the murder of your wife and the battery of the chauffeur. But, if Mr. Wills decides that he doesn't want to plead, that he wants to go to trial, then I think I have a pretty good chance of getting him off."
"Only a pretty good chance?" Sandy asked.
"Mr. Kinsolving, a criminal trial-especially one involving a black servant accused of murdering a popular socialite-is a fluid thing. Tides run one way, then another, and a conviction or an acquittal will depend a lot on the jurors we get and a dozen other factors that I can only partially control."
"I'm perfectly willing to testify on Thomas's behalf," Sandy said.
"That could be very helpful, if we get that far," Hirsch replied. "What I'd like to do is to try and get the charges dropped before the matter comes to trial."
"And how will you do that?"
"Mr. Kinsolving, you say that the other occupants of your building all support Mr. Wills. Have you actually talked to them about it?"
"Well, no," Sandy admitted, "but I have no doubt that they will."
"The first thing to do is to write a letter to the district attorney, resoundingly supporting the innocence of Mr. Wills, and get every occupant and employee of the building to sign it. Do you think you can do that?"
"Yes, I think I can."
"Good. What we want to do is to put as much pressure as possible on the D.A. to drop charges. I know a couple of people at the newspapers, and I think I can get some space for him there along the lines of, 'High-class co-op residents, the rich and famous,' as it were, 'support innocence of old retainer. Husband of murdered socialite agrees, says man is innocent.' You get my drift?"
Sandy got it all too well; he was going to have to get this letter signed before stories like that appeared in the papers. The other occupants would shrink from that kind of publicity. "If you think that's the way to go," Sandy said.
"I do. This way, if it works, will also save you some major money. I understand you're footing my fee."
"That's right; and now that you mentioned it, what is your fee?"
"If I can get the charges dropped prior to trial, twenty-five thousand dollars; if we have to go to trial, fifty thousand. Appeals, we can discuss later; I hope they won't be necessary."
"Agreed. Can you get Thomas released on bail?"
"Are you willing to put up bail?"
"Of course; what is it likely to be?"
"A hundred thousand, or so; that's if I can demonstrate your support, show roots in the community, steady employment, etcetera."
"You may say for publication that the widower of the murdered woman is putting up bail, and I will state, as president of the co-op board, that Thomas still has his job."
"That will be a big help. There'll be a bail hearing tomorrow, and I'll put all that before the judge. Now, shall we go and see Mr. Wills?"
"First, I think there's something you ought to know," Sandy said.
"What's that?"
"From the very beginning, I mean since my wife was murdered, I've had the impression that the investigating detective, Duvivier, thinks that I may have had something to do with the murder of my wife."
Hirsch's eyebrows shot up. "I've read the clippings; as I understand it, you were talking on a car phone at the time of the murder and that was verified by a number of witnesses."
"I think Duvivier thinks I hired someone to kill her."
"Why?"
"As I say, it's only an impression, but he knows that I benefitted from my wife's will. He also knows that at the time she was murdered I thought I had practically been left out of her father's will. He died a few days before she did."
"I see," Hirsch said. "So you think Duvivier believes Wills to be innocent and that he's arrested the man just to put pressure on you?"
"Something like that; I think it's a possibility."
"Mr. Kinsolving, speaking within the bounds of client-attorney privilege, did you have anything to do with your wife's murder?"
"Absolutely not," Sandy replied firmly.
"Then I take it you are not willing to confess to her murder in order to get Thomas Wills released on bail or even acquitted at trial?"
"Of course not; I want to help Thomas simply because I believe he is incapable of murdering anybody."
"Good. I'll let the D.A. know about Duvivier's suspicions. Now, let's go and see Mr. Wills."
Sandy stood up as Thomas Wills walked into the little room where he and Murray Hirsch were allowed to meet him.
"Thomas," Sandy said, extending his hand, "I want you to know that I don't believe for a moment that you killed my wife, and neither does anybody else in the building."
Wills shook his hand and sat down heavily. He was trembling.
"I appreciate that, Mr. Kinsolving," he said, "but that policeman that talks funny says he's going to put me away."
"That's Duvivier," Sandy said to Hirsch. "He's Haitian by birth and has an accent."
"I've heard about him," Hirsch said. "He has a reputation of being very intuitive about cases, so his superiors and the D.A. will listen to him, but nobody's going to trial with just his intuition. He's going to have to present solid evidence, and I believ
e I can knock down just about anything he's got."
"You see, Thomas," Sandy said. "Everything's going to be all right, so don't you worry. Mr. Hirsch is going to try to get you out on bail tomorrow, and then you can come right back to work."
"You think all those folks in the building are going to want me back?" Wills asked.
"They certainly will, when they hear what I have to say," Sandy replied. "Is there anything I can do for you? Any family you'd like me to contact?"
"No sir, I don't have no family."
Hirsch spoke up. "Just about the only real problem I've got at the moment is substantiating Mr. Wills's story about where he was when the murder occurred," the lawyer said. "He lives alone, and he has told the police he spent the evening reading his bible and watching television. I'll have an investigator canvas his building to see if we can get some backup. Incidentally, expenses of that sort are additional to my fee."
"That's fine," Sandy said. "Thomas, I want you to relax and not worry. We'll try and have you out of here tomorrow."
"I can't stay in jail, Mr. Kinsolving," the man said. "I been in jail before, and it does something bad to me. I can't stand it again." His hands were still trembling.
Sandy put a hand on his shoulder. "I won't let them keep you in jail, Thomas," he said. "I'll get you out." It was the very least he could do, he thought. He couldn't let the man pay for his own mistake.
CHAPTER 31
Sandy rapped sharply on the desk with a paperweight, calling the meeting to order. Some three-quarters of the building's occupants were seated around the living room of his apartment, some of them on the floor. The building's entire staff, excepting one man who was minding the main entrance, was lined up against a wall.
"Thank you all for coming on short notice," Sandy said to the room. "I don't think we've had an extraordinary meeting of the residents in many years, but we have something very important before us this evening. As many of you already know, Thomas Wills, our custodian, has been arrested and charged with the murder of my wife, Joan."
There was a buzz around the room while those who knew confirmed this for those who did not.
"Now," Sandy continued, "I don't think that any of us here could possibly believe that of Thomas. He has been our loyal employee for nineteen years, doing whatever we've asked of him, cheerfully and well. I don't think there's a violent bone in his body. So what I hope you each will do is to add your signature to mine on the following letter, addressed to the district attorney." Sandy read aloud:
Dear Sir,
We, the residents of Fifteen-fifteen Fifth Avenue, and the employers of Thomas Wills, wish to express our disbelief that Mr. Wills could have had anything to do with the crime with which he is charged. We have known Mr. Wills for many years and have always found him to be a gentle, honest, and religious man, the sort who would not harm anyone. We urgently request that Mr. Wills be granted reasonable bail, and we pledge that he will be welcome to resume his duties in our building.
Sandy looked out into the room at blank faces. No one said anything.
"Well?" Sandy asked.
An elderly man on one of the sofas raised his hand.
"Martin?"
"Sandy," the man said, "I feel pretty much the same way you do about Thomas, but I think that before I sign such a letter I'd like to know the evidence against him."
"The police have told me that their evidence consists of, one, the fact that Thomas had a key to the basement, and thus, access; two, that Thomas's fingerprints were found on the doorjamb of my storage room; and three, that Thomas served prison time more than twenty years ago for killing another man in a barroom brawl." He paused and let that sink in. "Now, of course, Thomas had a key to the basement; he spent a lot of time there; also of course, his fingerprints would have legitimately been on the doorjamb of my storage room and, probably, on yours as well. God knows he's been in and out of that room a hundred times, carrying things for us. Finally, the news of his previous conviction came as a surprise to me, but the lawyer I have engaged to represent him says that, in all likelihood, Thomas acted in self-defense, but was inadequately represented at his trial. Certainly, in all the years he has worked for us, Thomas's behavior has always been law abiding, not to mention kind and gentle. He is a pillar of his church." Sandy stopped and waited again.
A middle-aged woman raised her hand.
"Mrs. Jacobson?" Sandy said.
"Mr. Kinsolving," she said, "I've lived in the building for only three years, a shorter time than you and the others. I've had little or no contact with Mr. Wills, but I wonder if we're going to be comfortable with having a man in the building who has been charged with murder?"
It was time to bully these people, Sandy thought. "Mrs. Jacobson, if you have even the slightest doubt of Thomas's innocence in this matter, then you should not sign this letter. I would like to say, though, that I am the injured party here; it was my wife who was brutally murdered, and my driver who was attacked. And I will not entertain for one moment the possibility that Thomas Wills harmed either of them. Now, I think we all know what the problem is; those of you who feel comfortable doing so may sign the letter along with me. As to the others, I thank you for your kind attention."
Sandy stood at the desk and glared at his audience, practically daring them not to sign. Then one by one, each of those present, including the recalcitrant Mrs. Jacobson, signed the letter and went home.
Sandy was in his office early on Monday morning. As soon as his secretary came in he gave her the residents' letter and asked her to messenger it to Murray Hirsch. That done, he called his travel agent and asked her to arrange air passage to London for himself and Cara, then faxed the Connaught for reservations for Angus and his girl. Then he called Sam Warren.
"Sam, I'm going to be out of the country, in London, for a week or so. Is there anything we can't handle by fax and phone during that time?"
"Nothing, Sandy. We won't have the closing documents on the vineyard until the end of next week at the earliest."
"Did my son, Angus, come to see you about an account?"
"He did, and I've opened one for him. I've also arranged for a Platinum American Express card for him, which will be FedExed to him in London, and I've alerted our European network of associate banks, in the event he needs any assistance while he's traveling."
"Perfect. You can reach me at the London shop from tomorrow." He gave the banker the phone and fax numbers.
"Have a good trip," Warren said.
Sandy hung up and turned to business. He worked steadily through the morning, approving buys of wine in France, California, Australia, and Chile, answering correspondence and talking with employees. Shortly after eleven o'clock he received a phone call from Murray Hirsch.
"Yes, Murray, how did the bail hearing go? Did you receive the letter in time?"
"Mr. Kinsolving, are you sitting down?"
"Yes."
"Thomas Wills hanged himself in his cell late last night."
Sandy's heart nearly failed. "How is that possible?" he asked weakly.
"It's possible, believe me; happens all the time. I feel a little responsible myself. Knowing the distress he was in I should have asked for a suicide watch on his cell."
"I don't see how you could have anticipated this," Sandy said. "You certainly aren't to blame." He knew exactly who was to blame. He himself was. No, he reminded himself, Peter Martindale was to blame.
"There's something else," Hirsch said, "good news, of a kind."
"What do you mean, 'good news'?"
"Thomas was guilty of your wife's murder."
"What?"
"He left a note in his cell, confessing to the murder, taking full responsibility."
"Why the hell would he have done that?" Sandy demanded.
"A guilty conscience, I presume. God knows, I thought he was innocent, and I know you did."
"Oh, Jesus, how could this have happened?" Sandy asked aloud.
"Mr. Kinsolving, I assure you,
this happens regularly. Some people in jail are hardened criminals; others just can't face the guilt associated with their acts."
Sandy took a few deep breaths. "What do we do now?" he asked helplessly.
"There's not much we can do, actually," Hirsch replied. "Mr. Wills had no family; apparently, his church was his family. I suppose I should get in touch with his pastor and ask him to make arrangements for claiming the body and effecting interment."
"Yes," Sandy said wearily, "I suppose that's the thing to do. I'm leaving the country on business tomorrow, and I'd appreciate it if you would handle whatever needs to be done."
"I'll be glad to do that," Hirsch said. "And Mr. Kinsolving, there will be no fee for my representation of Mr. Wills."
"Thank you, Murray. Please tell his pastor that I'll pay the costs involved, and, " he thought for a moment, "and tell him that I'll be making a twenty-five-thousand-dollar donation to the church in Thomas's memory."
"That's very kind of you, Mr. Kinsolving."
"Please get in touch with my banker and tell him to whom the check should go." He gave Hirsch Sam Warren's number."
"I'll do that, Mr. Kinsolving. I'm sorry this has turned out the way it has."
"Thank you, Murray." Sandy hung up and slumped over his desk. Would this never end? Would Peter Martindale's insane behavior keep having repercussions in his life and in those of other innocent people? He sat there, immobile, for the remainder of the morning.
CHAPTER 32
Alain Duvivier waited on the hard bench outside his captain's office. Shortly, a sharp rap on the glass above his head told him that the captain would see him now. He got up, walked into the office and took the offered chair, which was also very hard.
Captain Morello, a short, balding man of sixty, looked at him balefully. "Well, I hear you cleared a homicide this morning, huh, Al?"
Duvivier shrank inside his suit. "In a manner of speaking, sir."
"Saved us and the taxpayers a lot of time and trouble, huh?"
Duvivier said nothing.
"Only now I hear things," Morello said. "I hear things up and down the halls of this building."
