by Parnell Hall
Rancroft and Steinway both lunged to their feet, ready to object.
Richard took no notice, went on as if there had been no interruption. “Because, in the event that they don’t, the police will undoubtedly drag their clients down here and simply ask them instead. And being hauled into the police station’s probably not the swiftest move for anyone attempting to control publicity.”
The attorneys shifted uncomfortably, looked at each other.
“However,” Richard said, “it’s entirely up to you. If you don’t want my client to say anything about your clients, just say so, and I will advise him not to answer any questions.”
At which point Richard sat down, took a newspaper out of his briefcase, and began reading it, as if he had lost all interest in the proceedings.
The two attorneys looked at each other, looked at me, went off in the corner, huddled for a few minutes, then came back and did exactly what Richard wanted. They instructed me to tell anything I knew about my dealings with their clients.
So I did. I told them the whole schmear. The crank phone calls. The caller ID. The tracking down the new number.
“So, that’s very interesting,” Frost said. “Only a handful of people had access to the new number. One of them is Sherry Pressman, and Sherry Pressman is dead.”
“I’m not willing to concede that,” Barney K. Rancroft said.
“It’s not a concession,” Frost said. “It happens to be a fact. You can argue whether or not it means anything. But it is certainly true. Now then, is there any connection whatsoever between the crank phone calls and the death of Sherry Pressman?”
“Only one I can think of,” I said.
All heads turned to me. I must say, the looks the lawyers gave me were not kind.
“Well?” Frost demanded.
“Me,” I said. “I’m the connection. I called on the woman, asked her about the phone number. Right after that she was killed. Holding a piece of paper with my name on it. There’s your connection right there.”
“Obviously,” Frost said. “But is there any other connection?”
“How can there possibly be?” Rancroft said. “It simply makes no sense. The woman was a harmless publicist. So what if she had my client’s unlisted phone number? Is it your theory now that she was killed before she could divulge who she gave that number to?”
“It’s not that far-fetched if that person was contemplating murder,” Frost said.
“Yeah, but you heard what he said.” Rancroft jabbed a chubby finger in my direction. “She didn’t give the number out to anybody, and the only people she saw were two aspiring writers who came to discuss their manuscripts.”
“Right,” Frost said. He turned to me. “I don’t believe you mentioned their names.”
I fished my notebook out of my pocket. “One’s Wilber Penrose, the other’s Linda Toole.”
“There you are,” Rancroft said. “These are the people you should be investigating.”
“I assure you we will,” Frost said “For the moment I’d like to continue this discussion. Now then, Mr. Hastings, you called on Sherry Pressman yesterday afternoon at approximately three o’clock?”
“That’s right.”
“And before that, where had you been?”
“Haven’t we been over this?” Rancroft said.
“Yes, but I’d like to work backward now, if you don’t mind. Now, where was that, Mr. Hastings?”
“I’d been at the editor’s. Elizabeth Abbott.”
“Uh-huh. And prior to that?”
“With the agent. Abe Feinstein.”
“Yes. And you met him in a deli?”
“That’s right.”
“And prior to that?”
“I was at my client’s apartment. Getting the names and addresses of these people.”
“Uh-huh,” Frost said. “And the reason for that was your plan to track the anonymous phone caller through Caller ID had failed, due to the caller using pay phones, so now you were attempting another line of inquiry.”
“Exactly.”
“I find that rather interesting.”
“Really,” Rancroft said. “Frankly, I find it remarkably dull. In point of fact, I haven’t heard a fresh idea in the last half hour. When are you going to let us leave?”
Obviously Barney K. Rancroft had never dealt with Baby Face Frost, or he would not have made such a deliberately inflammatory statement. I had dealt with Baby Face Frost, and figured the odds of Rancroft leaving anytime soon had just sunk to zero. But aside from a slight crinkling around the eyes, Frost gave no sign.
“Oh, don’t go just yet,” Frost said. “Let me tell you what I find interesting. Mr. Hastings began calling on people yesterday due to the failure of Caller ID. That failure became clear yesterday morning, when a phone call was identified as coming from another phone. It was at that point that Mr. Hastings went to Mr. Winnington’s apartment, to discuss the fact that Caller ID was not working, and that he should go at it from a different angle. It was then—and correct me if I’m wrong, Mr. Hastings—but it was then for the first time that you heard of the existence of the decedent, Sherry Pressman. Is that right?”
“Yes, it is.”
“You see why that’s interesting?” Frost said. “Sherry Pressman doesn’t even come into this until yesterday morning. Assuming there’s a connection. Yesterday morning, when all else failed, Mr. Hastings gets a lead to Sherry Pressman. He calls on her by three o’clock yesterday afternoon. Immediately after that, she is killed. If there is a connection—more to the point, if there is a cause and effect, that Sherry Pressman has the number and is being investigated for having the number, and that is why she is silenced—well, in that event, the killer not only knew that Sherry Pressman had the information, but also knew that Mr. Hastings was after it.”
“That’s incredibly far-fetched,” Rancroft said.
“Maybe so,” Frost said. “But it’s probably true. Because if it isn’t cause and effect, then it has to be the most monumental coincidence. And I, for one, do not believe in coincidence.”
I suppressed a smile, wished MacAullif had been there to hear that. Not believing in coincidence was one of his pet sayings.
Rancroft’s face retreated behind two of his chins, gave him the look of a turtle pulling his head into his shell. “Say that’s true,” he said. “So what?”
Frost beamed. “Well, then. We would have something to go on, wouldn’t we? Because whoever killed Sherry Pressman would have to be aware of what Mr. Hastings was doing. And there would be a very limited field, since Mr. Hastings didn’t know what he was doing himself.”
“Thanks a lot,” I said.
“What I mean is, you had no intention of doing so until the very day. Will you grant me that?”
“Yes, of course.”
“So there you are. Hastings huddles with his client and her husband, decides to track down the number by calling on these people. He spends the day calling on three of them. The last one he calls on dies. Almost immediately after his visit. If we assume the killer was someone who knew what Mr. Hastings was doing, then we have a very narrow field. And one we must investigate.” He turned to me. “Mr. Hastings, who was present when you had this discussion yesterday with your client?”
“My client, her husband, and his secretary, David Pryne.”
“The secretary knew the new number?”
“Yes. In fact, he was the one who supplied it to the various parties, including the decedent.”
“Okay,” Frost said. “Let’s have ’em in here.”
Barney K. Rancroft and Morton Steinway were on their feet at once, spouting objections.
“Now see here,” Rancroft said. “We’ve given you our full cooperation, precisely because this is the situation we wished to avoid. It’s why we cooperated.” Jabbing his finger at me. “It’s why we had him cooperate.” Jabbing his finger at Richard. “It’s the stick he beat us with to make sure we’d cooperate. Controlling publicity, keeping ou
r clients out of it, not having them dragged in here. And now you propose to do precisely that.”
Frost smiled. It was a beatific smile, dimples forming on his chubby baby face. Only the eyes were hard.
“Sorry.”
19.
IT WAS A ZOO.
First you had. Kenneth P. Winnington and his lawyer. Then you had Maxine and her lawyer. Then you had me and my lawyer.
David Pryne didn’t have a lawyer, but that didn’t stop Barney K. Rancroft or Morton Steinway from interceding in his behalf at any given opportunity.
Had I been ADA Frost, I would have taken these people one by one. Apparently, that wasn’t Frost’s style. So, instead, we had a zoo.
“You have no right to drag me in here,” Kenneth P. Winnington asserted, a typical, pompous, windbag declaration that showed how much he knew about it—ADA Frost not only had the right to drag him in there, it happened to be his job. The fact that he refrained from saying so showed great restraint on his part.
“I’m sorry to inconvenience you,” Frost said, “but we do have this crime. Cooperate and I’ll have you out of here as quickly as possible. And, I might add, as quietly as possible. I’ve been told you’d all like to control publicity. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no reason for you to get your names in the papers. Unless of course you refuse to cooperate, and things become complicated.”
“I will not have my client threatened,” Barney K. Rancroft said hotly.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Frost said. “And if anyone threatens him, I’ll be the first to instruct them not to. Now then, if we could move on, I’d like to go back to yesterday morning when you had the discussion of the anonymous phone call. As I understand it, Mr. Hastings had been out in the field, staking out a suspected phone, but it proved not to be the one used that morning. You called him in and had a conference. Present at the conference were you, your wife, your secretary, and Mr. Hastings. Is that right?”
Mr. Winnington, not about to give Frost the time of day unless pressed, looked at his attorney.
“I think you can answer that,” Rancroft said.
Grudgingly, Winnington said, “That is essentially correct.”
“Essentially?” Frost said. “What’s wrong with it?”
“If you want to be technically correct—which I’m sure you do—then I take exception to the suggestion that I called him in. And the implication that I was the one who precipitated the discussion. In point of fact, Mr. Hastings came in on his own accord, and tracking down these people was his idea.”
“Now that’s very interesting,” Frost said. “Talking to these people was his idea?”
“That’s right.”
“Can you tell me how the subject came up?”
“Simple enough. He admitted his plan of using Caller ID wasn’t working, and suggested we try something else. Figuring out who had access to the new number.”
“Uh-huh,” Frost said. “And what did you think of the idea?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Did you think that was a good idea?”
“Certainly not. It was an absurd idea. No one I know would be involved in such a thing.”
“And yet someone was making the calls. And your publicist is dead.”
“I didn’t know that then.”
“You know that now. Does that change your opinion of the matter?”
“I still can’t understand how this could have happened. I can’t believe she had anything to do with it.”
“Uh-huh.” Frost turned to Maxine. “And you, Mrs. Winnington? Does your recollection coincide with your husband’s?”
She smiled. “I don’t see where there’s any matter to dispute.”
“How about your opinion? Do you also feel it’s ridiculous this woman might have been involved?”
“It seems far-fetched. But the idea anyone might threaten me seems far-fetched.”
“Good answer,” Frost said. He turned to the secretary. “What about you, Mr. Pryne? I understand you were there for the discussion. What did you think of the idea?”
David Pryne cleared his throat. “Frankly, I found it ludicrous. Of course, in light of what has happened ...”
“Exactly,” Frost said. “We have to reassess. So now, I understand you were the one who supplied the phone number to the decedent?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And did you do that in person?”
“No. Over the phone.”
“You called her and gave her the number?”
“That’s right.”
“And when was that?”
“It was Thursday afternoon.”
“How do you fix it in your mind?”
“Well, for one thing, I was the one who arranged for the new number. The number was changed Thursday morning. I gave it out Thursday afternoon.”
“And who did you give it out to?”
“Sherry Pressman. His agent, Abe Feinstein. His editor, Elizabeth Abbott. The maid. The video store where we rent tapes. The cleaner that does his shirts. And my girlfriend.” David Pryne took a piece of paper from his pocket. “I have a list of names and addresses here.”
“Thank you,” Frost said, taking the paper. “Now then, what time did this conversation take place? The one where you gave Mr. Hastings the names and addresses.”
“Yesterday morning, sometime between ten and eleven.”
“Uh-huh,” Frost said. “And what time did Mr. Hastings leave?”
“As to that, I’m not exactly sure.”
“Can you approximate?”
“Perhaps eleven. At least between eleven and twelve.”
“Uh-huh,” Frost said. “And what did you do then?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You supplied the names, the conversation broke up, Mr. Hastings left. And what did you do then?”
“I went back to work. I had some typing to get done.”
“Would that be before lunch?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Then where did you go to lunch?”
David Pryne frowned. “Now see here. Am I a suspect in this case?”
“I’d certainly like to eliminate you as one,” Frost said. “Where’d you go to lunch?”
“I didn’t. I had work to do, so I had lunch brought in.”
“Brought in?”
“Yes.”
“You mean you had lunch delivered?”
“Sure. I called the deli, had them send up a sandwich.”
“Was that unusual?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“To work through lunch?”
“Not at all. When I’m busy, I like to keep working. I call for lunch maybe half the time.”
“From the same deli?” I said.
All heads turned to me.
ADA Frost looked peeved. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Hastings, I’m asking the questions here.”
“Then you might ask him that one.”
“Why?”
“Most places that deliver food ask for the address and the phone number.”
One look at David Pryne’s face showed that shot had hit home.
“Is that right?” Frost said. “Did they ask for the phone number?”
“As a matter of fact, I believe they did.”
“And was that the first time you’d ordered from them since the number was changed?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then why didn’t you mention it before?”
“I didn’t think of it.”
“You thought of the cleaners and the video store.”
“Yeah, but that was different.”
“How is it different?”
“I was there. I went there to do business. During the course of which, I gave out the number. This calling for a sandwich—it wasn’t business, it was personal, and it just slipped my mind.”
“But the fact is, you gave out the number?”
“The fact is he ordered a sandwich,” Kenneth P. Winnington put in hotly. �
�There’s no need, to browbeat my secretary. You really think my publicist was killed by someone from a deli?”
“At this point I have no idea,” Frost said calmly. “I’m asking questions to try to find out. I’m interested in anything that sheds light on the situation. The suggestion that I not ask certain questions does not really advance things.” He turned back to David Pryne. “Is there anyone else you gave the number out to that you’ve neglected to mention?”
“No, there isn’t.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Good. On the other hand, should anything come to mind, do speak up. At any rate, you had lunch brought in?”
“Yes, I did.”
“So you didn’t go out to lunch. Did you go out for any other reason?”
“Yesterday afternoon?”
“Yes, of course.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You worked straight through?”
“That’s right.”
“From when to when?”.
“From the time Mr. Hastings left till the time I went home.”
“What time was that?”
“Five thirty. That’s when I usually get off.”
“Usually?”
“Sometimes if there’s more work I’ll stay later.”
“Yesterday there wasn’t?”
“No, I left at five thirty.”
“So you were there all afternoon?”
“Yes, I was.”
“I assume your employer can vouch for this?”
David Pryne blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Do you have any corroboration? Anyone can vouch for the fact that you were there?”
“I was typing. In my office.”
“Your office?”
“Yes. I suppose technically it’s a maid’s room. It’s set up as my office. It’s a room in the back hallway where I can work undisturbed.”
“The back hallway. Then no one would see you and know you were there?”
David Pryne gulped. His eyes were wide. He actually ran his finger inside of his collar. “I don’t know what you’re getting at,” he said. “I swear I had nothing to do with this. I spent the whole day typing. I can even show you the work.”
