by Parnell Hall
“Yeah, but it did. And if we don’t talk about it, it’s gonna eat you up all day.”
MacAullif shook his head. “Fuck.”
“I didn’t give you the punch line, either.”
“Punch line?”
“Yeah. There’s a punch line. And you haven’t heard it yet.”
I let that sit there. Fuck him. If he wanted to hear it, he was gonna have to ask.
MacAullif glowered at me. Because of the position I’d just put him in. If he asked, he’d have a hard time griping. It was almost worth not asking.
Almost.
“All right,” he growled. “What’s the fucking punch line?”
“Speaking strictly hypothetically ...” I said.
“Fuck you. Get on with it.”
“Sorry,” I said. “But hypothetically speaking, suppose this woman’s husband was a cop?”
MacAullif’s eyes widened. He blinked. “Connected to the case?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Suppose he was from out of state?”
“Is he?”
“We’re talking hypothetically here. If you stopped to think about it, you’d know that was best.”
“Damn,” MacAullif said. “If her husband’s a cop, that opens up a lot of possibilities.”
“Hypothetically, of course,” I said.
“Fuck hypothetically. We’re talkin’ here. You got a cop, his wife used to be a porn star. Long time ago. Now she’s not. Now she’s a wife and mother.” He broke off, looked at me. “Does he know?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“No shit. What an interesting can of worms that opens up.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“According to the woman, her husband still doesn’t know. According to her, no one’s given him a tumble. If the guy has any idea at all, he hasn’t let on.”
“Cops are pretty strong. They can hide a lot.”
“She says no. I believe her.”
“You’d believe in the fuckin’ Tooth Fairy.”
I shrugged. “For what it’s worth. And if her husband really doesn’t know, then maybe him being a cop has nothing to do with it.”
“You mean it’s just coincidence?”
“Right. You don’t believe in coincidence. Well, it’s not coincidence. He just happens to be a cop. Coincidental to nothing. It’s just what he is. He could be a plumber.”
“But he happens to be a cop?”
“You don’t like that?”
“Do you?”
“Not much. But it’s what I’m stuck with.”
MacAullif squinted at me. “You’re sayin’ the woman in the pictures isn’t important, and her husband isn’t important?”
“That’s the problem. That’s the way it looks.”
“Which leaves you with what?”
“I have no idea.”
“Great.”
“That’s why I’m here, basically. I thought you might.”
“Thanks a heap. Come here, make me an accessory to a crime. Feed me with a heap of garbage don’t make sense, and ask me to interpret it for you.”
“Could you?”
“Fuck you.”
“Well, that’s a frank answer.”
“You got a lot of balls.”
“That’s what Thurman said.”
“Is that why you’re acting this way? Because of the drunk-tank bit? You’ll remember I didn’t throw you in there.”
“I know that.”
“So how come I’m the one catching the shit?”
“You think I should be talking to Thurman?”
“Bring him this, you’re lookin’ at twenty years to life.”
“For withholding evidence?”
“No, but you piss him off enough, he’ll get you for murder.”
“He’s got nothing on me.”
“Fuck it. He’ll frame you.”
“I thought Thurman was straight.”
“Yeah, but he thinks you’re guilty. So anything that nails you is fair.”
“He doesn’t think I’m guilty of murder.”
“Let’s not quibble. Guilty is guilty. And jail is jail. The charge is rather immaterial.”
“Hmm,” I said. “It would seem my only defense would be to figure out who did this. Too bad you don’t want to help.”
“You’re pissing me off.”
“You’re pissed off already. I might as well get something out of it.”
“I got nothing for you.”
I nodded. “Maybe not now. But maybe you get something that, based on what I told you, adds up.”
“How the fuck is it gonna add up? You didn’t give me any names. All you did was play what-if.”
“Names don’t matter. I’m convinced of that.”
“Then how the hell am I gonna hear something that adds up?”
“It doesn’t have to tie into a person. Just the general scheme of things. That fits in with the facts as we know them.”
“But we don’t know them. All we got is a porno photo you won’t admit has anything to do with the case, and the woman in the photo and her cop husband, who you say don’t mean shit. And what the hell does that do for us?”
“I don’t know. But assume that’s true. Then how does the case add up? That’s all I’m asking, really. You’re usually real good at putting a spin on the facts so they make sense. All I’m saying is, whether you want to trust my judgment or not, let’s assume the woman in the pictures and her cop husband don’t mean shit. Then how does the evidence look to you? What sort of slant does that put on it?”
“It fucks it up the ass.”
“Could you be more explicit?”
“If the woman doesn’t mean anything, the key has to be the man. In the original blackmail photos. He has to be the target, the focus, the one setting this in motion. What fucks things up is, by rights, one of the people in the pictures should be the target, and the other should be the instigator. Or at least the tool of the blackmailers. See what I mean? The person supplying the pictures. Giving the blackmailer the leverage. You say the woman’s out, that leaves the photographer. As the most likely source. But when you’re talkin’ twenty years ...” MacAullif shook his head. “It’s hard to imagine a porno photographer hanging on to something that long.”
“If he was planning blackmail?”
“For twenty years? How would he know? It’s just dumb luck if one of the people he shot twenty years ago gets famous enough to be blackmailed. There’s no way for him to know which one it’s gonna be, so you gotta figure this guy hung on to all the pictures he ever took, on the off chance someday some of them might get valuable.” MacAullif shrugged. “Well, it’s a possibility. I think you should try to find the photographer.”
“The woman doesn’t remember the photographer. She doesn’t have a clue. My wife questioned her at some length on the subject. A lot better than me, actually. Put her at her ease, got her to remember back. And she doesn’t remember who shot the film. It wasn’t important to her. She was young, scared, more concerned with what she was doing. The whole thing’s a blur. One she’s tried to blot out of her mind. Fat, thin, old, young, she hasn’t got a clue.”
“Great,” MacAullif said. “And the man in the pictures—the real ones, I mean—what does she remember about him?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. Nothing at all. She didn’t even recognize the man in the picture I showed her. Wouldn’t have remembered him if she hadn’t seen it, couldn’t remember the others. In that regard she was absolutely no help.”
“If she’s telling the truth.”
“Yeah, but I think she is.”
MacAullif grimaced. “Okay. So you gotta figure the man’s the key. Most likely blackmail victim, most likely killer.”
“Except for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
&n
bsp; “The pictures are twenty years old. How the hell does this happen with the pictures that old?”
“It doesn’t matter how it happened. The point is, it did. If the woman ain’t the answer, the man’s gotta be.”
“What if he’s not?”
“Then the whole thing makes no sense.”
“I know that. That’s what I keep coming back to. That’s where I need your help. So take it one step further. Say the guy isn’t the answer. What then?”
“Then the pictures are worthless,” MacAullif said. “Which we know isn’t true. Because someone tried to pay a lot of money for ’em. At least once. The second time they gave you funny money.” He frowned. “Now there’s a concept. You got a packet full of newsprint to buy a packet full of worthless blackmail photos. That would fit. The photos are phony, just like the money. But that’s the only way it would fit, and it fucks up everything else. We know the photos mean something. Why? Because everyone who touches them dies. Which brings us back to square one. Who wanted those pictures enough to kill for ’em? Or rather, who wanted to suppress those pictures enough to kill for ’em. Or who cared enough about those pictures one way or another to want to kill for ’em. It all comes down to that.” MacAullif picked up a cigar and leveled it at me. “Now, you,” he said. “What you gonna do with that picture?”
“What picture?”
“Don’t fuck with me.” He pointed to where it was lying on his desk. “That picture. The hypothetical, fucking, cocksucking picture you brought me and said ‘what-if.’ What are you gonna do with it?”
“Nothing. It has nothing to do with the case.”
“That’s the woman the cops are lookin’ for.”
I shrugged. “If you say so. But how would you know? We were talking hypothetically. So maybe I brought you another dirty picture just as a prop. Maybe this isn’t the woman at all. And even if it was, do you think I’d turn it in? If I had found the woman in the pictures, do you think I’d ruin her life by handing her over to Thurman?”
“Bullshit,” MacAullif said. “High and mighty motives. You’d withhold it from Thurman ’cause you’re pissed off at the son of a bitch. For purely selfish, personal reasons.”
“I’m sorry you think so poorly of me.”
I stood up, picked up the picture.
“Where you going?”
“I’m going to talk to my lawyer.”
“Good idea. You need a lawyer.”
“It’s not just that.”
“Oh?”
I shoved the photograph back in the manila envelope, stuck it briefcase.
“If I didn’t show him this picture, he’d never forgive me.”
50.
“INTERESTING,” RICHARD SAID.
I gave him a look. As a comment on the photograph, that seemed somewhat inadequate.
I’d told him the whole story before I showed it to him. Every twist. Every nuance. Even every speculation. In light of all that, I could have hoped for something more than “interesting.”
“Is that all you have to say?”
“I don’t know what there is to add. You seem to have covered the subject quite thoroughly.”
“To absolutely no avail. I’ve got a whole bunch of data that adds up to absolutely nothing. I was hoping you might suggest a new slant.”
“Well,” Richard said, “from a legal point of view, if this woman is the same woman you saw in the blackmail photos, then this is a material piece of evidence, and you are guilty of withholding it from the police.”
“But it isn’t evidence,” I said. “Since it isn’t one of the original blackmail photos.”
“If it’s the same woman, it’s evidence,” Richard said. “There’s no getting away from that.”
“I don’t believe this,” I said. “You’re my lawyer. I thought a lawyer always found a way to interpret the evidence in his client’s favor.”
“Oh, naturally,” Richard said. “But the facts are the facts.”
“Are you telling me I have to turn the picture in?”
Richard looked at me in surprise. “Don’t be a damn fool,” he said. “Of course you’re not going to turn the picture in.”
“So I’m guilty of withholding evidence.”
“In a manner of speaking,” Richard said. “But that’s just between you and me. Who gives a shit about that? But from a legal standpoint, I’m sure you’re in the clear.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“If you would let me continue,” Richard said. “I was merely exploring possibilities. Now, as I said, if this woman in the picture is the same woman who was in the blackmail photos, then you’re guilty of withholding evidence.”
“So?”
“So say she isn’t. Take the position she’s not the woman in the blackmail photos.”
“But she is.”
“How can you be sure of that?” Richard said. “I mean really sure. Surely there must be room for doubt.”
“I talked to the woman myself. She admits it’s a photo of her.”
“Did she see the blackmail photos?”
“Of course not. I don’t have them.”
“Who has them?”
“Whoever stole them.”
“Really? What are the chances of getting them back?”
“I have no idea.”
“So,” Richard said. “You didn’t have one of the blackmail photos to compare this with.”
“No, of course not.”
“So when you say it’s the same woman, you’re relying solely on your own memory.”
“Yes, of course.”
“The woman you spoke to never saw the blackmail photos, so she can’t identify them. She can’t swear that she’s the woman in them.”
“I guess not. No, of course not.”
“Did she look like the woman in the blackmail photos? If you bumped into her on the street, would you have said, ‘Hey, that’s the woman in the blackmail photos!’?”
“No, of course not. She didn’t look anything like her.”
Richard spread his hands wide. “Well, there you are. She can’t identify herself as the woman in the blackmail photos. And you can’t recognize her as the woman in the blackmail photos. So there’s no reason to assume she is. At the present time, I would have to take the position that she’s not. If she isn’t, this picture you have is totally irrelevant, and there’s no reason to turn it in to the police.”
“Are you advising me not to turn it in to the police?”
“Absolutely. As your attorney, I advise you to hang on to that picture. To turn it in now would be very misleading. The facts being what they are. This is a situation which would seem to bear investigation. But you don’t want to do anything rash.”
“Of course not. Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Taking the responsibility. Advising me not to turn in the picture.”
Richard shrugged. “Oh, yes. Oh, well, that’s just between you and me. I could always deny giving you that advice.”
My mouth dropped open. “Richard!”
“Not to fear,” he said. “I won’t do that. I just don’t want you getting too complacent.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” I said. “Anyway, I thank you for the advice. Aside from that, do you have any clue as to what all of this means?”
Richard considered. “No, I don’t,” he said. “And that’s significant.”
I gave him a pained look. “That’s one of those annoyingly enigmatical statements. What do you mean by that?”
“Enigmatical?” Richard said.
“You don’t know what enigmatical means?”
“No, I’m just amazed you can pronounce it. I’m also not sure it’s a word.”
“Richard.”
“All I’m saying,” Richard said, “is that all the facts you’ve given me don’t add up. Not at all. I can’t make head nor tail of them. And that is significant, because in some way or another they should. This happened, after all. Three pe
ople are dead. And there’s got to be a reason for it. And nothing I’ve heard sheds any light on that reason.”
“That’s not very helpful.”
“Maybe not, but that’s how I see it. When you’re putting facts together, ideally you want to make them add up. If they don’t add up, the best you can do is try to come up with a theory for why they don’t.”
“You have one?”
“Not at all. After all, I’m digesting most of these facts for the first time. I’m merely suggesting a line of inquiry.”
“Fine. Of whom should I inquire?”
“That was a figure of speech.”
“Great.”
“Hey, don’t be such a grouch. After all, I said you could hang on to the photo.”
“I know.”
“All right, so you’re not any closer to solving the crime. But look on the bright side.”
“Which bright side?”
Richard shrugged. “No one’s been killed for weeks.”
51.
FUNNY HOW SEEMINGLY IRRELEVANT THINGS will add up and eventually make sense.
Richard’s statement that no one had been killed for weeks didn’t really strike me at the time. It wasn’t till later, when I was out of his office and driving up to the Bronx to do a sign-up, that the implications of that actually occurred to me.
Right. No one had been killed in weeks. Not since Jack Fargo.
What did that mean?
One interpretation would be that I must be on the wrong track. When I’d gotten the lead to Fargo, he’d immediately been killed. Since then, no leads I’d gotten had resulted in anyone’s death. Hence, they must be worthless.
Including Mrs. Gardner, the middle-aged porn star from New Jersey. She was still alive, and therefore unimportant.
Except.
It had been weeks since the killings when I’d found her. Say Jack Fargo got killed because I led the killer to him. Was it reasonable to assume Mrs. Gardner hadn’t been killed because by the time I found her the killer considered himself safe and was no longer paying any attention to my investigations? Or more simply, if the killer knew I’d uncovered Mrs. Gardner, would she be dead?
That opened up avenues of speculation. With that as a premise, would it be possible to devise a trap? Let the killer know I’d found Mrs. Gardner, and see if he’d try to eliminate her. Of course, not knowing who the killer was, I’d have to let everyone know I’d found Mrs. Gardner.
