Blackmail

by Parnell Hall

  I frowned. “Who?”

  “Patricia Connely. Do you know a woman named Patricia Connely?”

  “No, I do not.”

  A.D.A. Frost scowled. “Just a damn moment,” he said. “What the hell’s going on here?”

  What was going on, of course, was that Marlena hadn’t given me her right name. She was not Marlena at all, but some woman named Patricia Connely. Which of course I didn’t know. On the other hand, since I’d refused to talk to the police, they didn’t know I knew her as Marlena. Hence the total mix-up.

  “Well, that’s a fine state of affairs,” A.D.A. Frost said. He looked very much like a sulky child. “So what have I got to do now, drag you down to identify the body?”

  “Oh, come on,” Richard said impatiently. “He’s seen the body. All you have to do is refer to the body he found last night at the address on Prince Street. That’s the body in question, he saw it, let’s not waste each other’s time.”

  “Right,” Frost said. “Referring to last night, October 12. Did you have occasion to go to apartment 2A at 89 Prince Street?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “What, if anything, did you find there?”

  “I found the body of a woman lying on the floor.”

  “Was she alive?”

  “She was dead.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I left and called the cops.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  “I didn’t want to touch anything in that apartment. I didn’t want to use that phone. Actually, I don’t think there was a phone in the apartment, but I didn’t find that out till later. But if there had been, I wouldn’t have used it. Anyway, I went out, found a pay phone, and called the cops.”

  “Okay. We’ll come back to that. Referring to the woman you found in the apartment—had you ever seen her before?”

  “Yes, I had.”

  “When and where was that?”

  “Actually, the first time was two days before in my office, about nine o’clock in the morning.”

  “The woman met you there?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “You’d never seen her before that?”

  “No, I had not.”

  “Did she have an appointment with you?”

  “No, she did not.”

  “She just showed up?”

  “That’s right.”

  “She didn’t call first?”

  “No, she did not.”

  “Just came and knocked on your door?”

  “Actually, she was waiting outside my door when I showed up at the office.”

  “And where is this?”

  I gave him my address on West Forty-seventh Street.

  “What name did this woman give you at the time?”

  “Marlena.”

  “No last name?”

  “Smith.”

  “She referred to herself as Marlena Smith?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did she ever refer to herself as Patricia Connely?”

  “No, she did not.”

  “Had you ever heard that name before?”

  “Not before we began this discussion.”

  “Did you have any reason to believe Marlena Smith was not this woman’s name?”

  “No real reason. Except for Smith being a common alias.”

  “I see. And what did this woman ask you to do?”

  “She asked me to deliver a package to a man named Barry and to pick up another package in return.”

  Richard cleared his throat. “I think I should step in here. We want to be absolutely clear and correct about this. What the woman stated at this time was that she was being blackmailed. What she asked my client to do was to take an envelope containing blackmail money and pay it to the blackmailer, in exchange for another envelope containing the evidence.” He looked at me. “Isn’t that substantially correct?”

  I gulped. “Yes, it is.”

  “Fine,” Richard said. “Proceed.”

  Frost seemed perfectly happy with that answer. “And you did that?” he asked.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “What did you do, exactly?”

  “I went to the appointed place. Which was a motel on the Saw Mill River Parkway I don’t recall the name, offhand, but I could find it all right. I went there. Unit twelve. And met this man Barry.”

  “Can you describe him?”

  “Yes. He was somewhere in his late twenties, early thirties. About six feet, stocky, with red hair.”

  “Long or short?”

  “Medium length. Curly.”

  “Freckles?”

  I frowned. “He had a ruddy complexion. I’m not sure if it was freckles.”

  “Glasses? Mustache? Beard? Sideburns?”

  “No. Clean shaven. No glasses.”

  “How was he dressed?”

  I tried to think, but my mind was mush. “Slacks and a sleeveless shirt. Light blue. Leather jacket.”

  “Yes?”

  “Yes, what?”

  “Can you give us any more than that?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “Will you cooperate with the police sketch artist?”

  I looked at Richard.

  “Yes, he will,” Richard said.

  “Fine. Then let’s move on. What happened when you met this man Barry?”

  I described the scene in the motel, including Barry ripping the envelope open and dumping the money out on the bed and then showing me the blackmail pictures.

  Frost seemed quite interested in them. “Had you seen the people in the pictures before?”

  “No, I hadn’t.”

  “You have no idea who they were?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “But the woman in the pictures was not Patricia Connely, the woman who came to your office and gave the name Marlena Smith, the woman you later found dead?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “You say these were eight-by-ten, color glossy photos?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And in your opinion, they were posed?”

  “That’s right.”

  At least he didn’t shake his head and tell me that didn’t make any sense.

  “And all this was on the day before you found the body?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And did you deliver these photos to the woman?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “When?”

  “The next morning.”

  “And what did she have to say about it?”

  “She was upset that the envelope was opened.”

  “Besides that. Did she make any comment about the pictures? Anything that would indicate who they were?”

  “No, she did not.”

  “You didn’t discuss the pictures with her?”

  “Not as such.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well, I brought up the fact that she only bought the pictures and not the negatives.”

  “What did she say to that?”

  “That I was to mind my own business.”

  “She wasn’t concerned that she hadn’t gotten the negatives?”

  “No.”

  “What happened then?”

  “She took the pictures and left.”

  “And was that the last time you saw her before you found her dead?”

  “Not at all. I saw her later that day.” I jerked my thumb at Richard. “She called his office, asked them to beep me.”

  “Beep you?”

  “Page me. On my beeper. They beeped me, I called in, and they told me she called.”

  “And left you a number to call her?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did you call her there?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And got her?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have that number?”

  “It would be in my notebook. You want me to look it up?”

  “Please.”

  I fishe
d my notebook out of my jacket pocket, located the page, and read the phone number into the record.

  “So what did she want you to do?” Frost said.

  “I was In Brooklyn, she was in Manhattan. She wanted me to drive in and meet her.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Where?”

  “Sheridan Square. On the corner by the cigar stand.”

  “You met her there?”

  “Yes.”

  “At what time?”

  “It was late afternoon. I spoke to her on the phone around four-thirty. Then I had to call on a client. By the time I got finished, I got back to Manhattan somewhere between six and six-thirty.”

  “You met her then?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And what did she want?”

  “The negatives. Now she wanted the negatives.”

  Frost frowned. “She told you she wanted to buy the negatives?”

  “That’s right.”

  “From this guy Barry?”

  “Yes.”

  “She sent you back to the motel?”

  “No.”

  I told him about the runaround Barry had given me on the phone. He seemed to find that quite interesting.

  “Are you certain of the identity of the man you were talking to on the phone?”

  “No, I’m not certain,” I said. “In the first place, I have no idea who this Barry was—I only met him once. I assumed I was talking to the same person on the phone, and he certainly sounded like him. And he identified himself as him. But whether he actually was, I couldn’t swear to it.”

  “But it was this voice that eventually sent you back to the motel. You found a note on the door of unit twelve with the address of the loft on Prince Street?”

  “That’s right.”

  A.D.A. Frost reached into his briefcase, pulled out a plastic evidence bag, and slid it across the table toward me.

  “Is this the note you’re referring to?”

  I looked. It was indeed the piece of paper I’d found in the crack of the motel door. I’d completely forgotten about it, but it had been in my jacket pocket. The cops had taken it last night when they’d booked me and never given it back.

  “Yes, that appears to be it,” I said.

  “You went to this address, walked in, and found the woman dead?”

  “That’s right.”

  “How did you get in?”

  “The door was open.”

  “Are you referring to the downstairs door or the upstairs door?”

  “Both were open. Or, rather, both were unlocked.”

  “And you went in and found the body?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And then proceeded to call the police?”

  “That’s right.”

  Richard held up his hand. “I’d like to interject something here. If we could go off record for a moment.”

  Frost motioned to the stenographer. “Don’t take this.” Then to Richard, “Yes? What is it?”

  “Before you ask any more questions pertaining to the finding of the body and the arrival of the cops, I’d like to make sure everything is entirely kosher here.”

  Frost frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I notice you just presented my client with a piece of paper with an address written on it. I believe you stated that it is a piece of paper that was taken from his person.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, I was not aware that that had happened. That the paper had been taken from his person and was being held in evidence.”

  “You have a problem with that?”

  “I have no problem with that. I concede that the paper may be held in evidence. After all, it has no intrinsic value other than as a piece of evidence.

  “However, this is not necessarily true in every case, and I would like to bring the matter up now.”

  “What matter?”

  “I believe my client was in possession of an envelope, which was taken from him at the time of his arrest and has not been returned.”

  “I see. Would you be referring to the envelope your client has already testified the decedent gave him on the night of the murder? The envelope he was supposed to turn over to this gentleman named Barry?”

  “That is correct.”

  “I’m not certain I follow this. Exactly what is your contention?”

  “My contention is that the envelope was taken from the person of my client. As such, it must be considered my client’s property. And he is entitled to it.

  “Now, insomuch as it may be considered evidence, it may be opened, inventoried, and processed as such. And it is conceivable you could wish to cross-examine my client on it and even ask him to produce it in court.

  “However, if, unlike the address you produced of the loft on Prince Street, the contents of this envelope should turn out to have some intrinsic value, it belongs to my client and it should be returned to him.”

  Frost’s smile was somewhat smug. “That is your present contention?”

  “It is.”

  He reached into his briefcase once again, removed a second plastic evidence bag. Inside was a fat envelope which had been slit open.

  “Is this the envelope you are referring to?”

  Richard looked at me. “Stanley?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. The envelope I had was sealed. This one appears to be opened.”

  “It was opened to examine the contents,” Frost said. “However, I assure you it is the envelope that was taken from your possession.”

  I looked at Richard.

  He said, “On your assurance that it is the same envelope, my client, without identifying it as such, states that it certainly appears to be.”

  “Fine,” Frost said. “And your contention is that it should be returned to your client on the basis of the fact that its contents are valuable?”

  “That is correct.”

  Frost opened the plastic evidence bag and took out the envelope. He turned the envelope upside down and dumped the contents out on the table, just as Barry had done on the motel-room bed.

  I looked at it and gasped.

  It was a thick packet, held together with rubber bands.

  It consisted of pieces of newsprint, cut in the shape of dollar bills.

  15.

  I GAWKED AT THE TABLE.

  “That can’t be right.”

  “Stanley!”

  I looked up to find Richard holding up his hand.

  “Thank you,” Richard said. “We may be off the record, but there is no reason for you to make a statement at this time. A.D.A. Frost has assured us this is the envelope you had in your possession. He stated that it was sealed when it was taken from you and then cut open. Under the circumstances, it would be highly inadvisable to make any statements concerning the envelope.

  “Now, then, I suggest we go back on record and clear these matters up.”

  “Suits me,” Frost said:

  “Before we do,” Richard said, “I would like to point a few things out. The contents of this envelope caught my client by surprise. As you observed. This happened while we were off the record. When we go back on record you are going to present my client with this evidence again. It will naturally not catch him off guard. However, you just saw what happened here. And since we’re just talking off the record and it binds you in no legal way, I ask you to consider the fact that my client’s astonishment at the contents of this envelope appeared genuine to me, and I’m sure it appeared genuine to you. In light of that, I would be extremely unhappy if a transcript of my client’s statement was used at any later date to show that he did not appear surprised by the contents of this envelope—if it was used either explicitly or implicitly to imply that this was due to the fact that he himself had placed that newsprint in there.”

  “I assure you that is not my intention,” Frost said.

  “I’m glad to hear it. Because I would consider such action tantamount to brea
king our agreement. And then other matters might come out.”

  Frost’s eyes narrowed. “Such as?”

  “Police brutality. False arrest.”

  “You waived those rights.”

  “Not in exchange for testimony,” Richard said. “You and I would never be a party to that. My client is testifying in exchange for immunity. In the matter of the blackmail. We happen to have waived our right to sue, as a show of good faith. It was an oral stipulation, naturally, but I have no intention of reneging on it.

  “However, the stipulation was only not to sue. It was not a gag order. If my client wants to tell what happened, he may.”

  Frost’s eyes blazed. “That’s dirty pool.”

  Richard matched his tone. “Is it?” He pointed his finger at me. “This man asked to call his lawyer before he talked. In return for this, he was savagely beaten and thrown in the drunk tank. I would say that went somewhere beyond Miranda/Escobedo. The ways things stand, Sergeant Thurman will not be charged and the police department will not be sued. But we expect some consideration at this point, and I should say we richly deserve it.”

  A.D.A. Frost had regained his composure. He smiled slightly. “I don’t see what we’re arguing about. You stated you would be very upset if I implied your client put those papers in that envelope. I assured you I had no intention of doing so. At which point, you got very upset anyway. Perhaps just to show me what would happen. At any rate, this is not the time for threats, promises, or what have you. I suggest we move on.”

  “Yes, let’s,” Richard said testily.

  “Fine,” Frost said. He sat back in his chair and folded his hands. He still looked like a baby wearing glasses, but his smile was rather smug. “However,” he said, “I can quite understand an attorney being upset to learn his client didn’t have five thousand dollars he thought he had.”

  That may have been the first time I’ve ever seen Richard at a loss for a comeback.

  16.

  RICHARD SEEMED PERFECTLY SATISFIED. “HEY,” he said. “Could be worse.”

  We were sitting in a small sandwich shop near the courthouse after our session with A.D.A. Frost. I was chugging down coffee and trying to keep my eyes open. Not that I was falling asleep. With everything that had just happened, my mind was going a mile a minute. But my eyes kept closing. It was as if my body was smart enough to know what my mind refused to grasp.

  “Oh yeah?” I said. “Perhaps you could explain that to me. From where I sit it looks like a fucking disaster.”