Manslaughter (Stanley Hastings Mystery, #15) Read online

  “See,” Thurman said. “He’s going to squirm out of it. I told you he would.”

  Kinsey put up his hand to silence the officer. “Mr. Rosenberg, I understand you’re very successful in civil court. This is a criminal matter. We do things somewhat differently.”

  “I hope you still do them according to law.”

  “Oh, we do. We just require that perpetrators do also.”

  “Are you referring to my client as a perpetrator?”

  “Certainly not. I’m just stating a principle. Now I’m going to state some facts. Your client was apprehended at a crime scene. He is being charged with criminal trespass, obstruction of justice, and conspiring to conceal a crime. He has made no explanation whatsoever and demanded an attorney. He certainly has that right. And if you would like to accompany him while he is arraigned and arrange for his bail, you certainly have that right. But if you’re here merely to make empty threats about police brutality and false arrest, I, for one, do not care to listen.”

  Richard clamped his lips together in a firm line. “Fine. Arraign him, then,” he snapped.

  I was taken downstairs to a holding cell. Richard didn’t go with me. But then, neither did Sergeant Thurman. It was a private cell. I wasn’t sure why I warranted one, whether it was my suit, my attorney, or the nature of the offense, but I was glad. Sergeant Thurman had once thrown me into the drunk tank with the great unwashed. It was an experience I will always remember.

  About two hours later I was led, handcuffed, into court. Richard was there. So was ADA Kinsey. So were the judge, the bailiff, the court reporter, and a few dozen other people, most likely attorneys and clients.

  The judge, identified by the bailiff as the Honorable Judge Hobbs, presiding, had a gray beard and thick eyeglasses. He looked at the arrest warrant and said, “What have we here?”

  “This is Stanley Hastings, Your Honor. He was apprehended in the apartment in which Philip T. Grackle was murdered. He is charged with criminal trespass and obstruction of justice.”

  “Very well. Mr. Hastings, how do you plead?”

  Richard was on his feet. “Richard Rosenberg, Your Honor. Attorney for the defendant. I would like to ask that all charges be dismissed and my client be released.”

  Judge Hobbs smiled. “I’m sure you would, Mr. Rosenberg. But this is an arraignment, not a probable cause hearing. All I’m interested in is how you plead.”

  Kinsey grinned broadly at seeing his rival rebuffed.

  Richard whipped a paper from his briefcase. “Approach, Your Honor?”

  Judge Hobbs frowned, motioned him up to the bench.

  ADA Kinsey trotted up behind. “You’re not going to let him argue.”

  Judge Hobbs raised one eyebrow. “Thank you for instructing me on what I’m going to do.”

  Kinsey flushed.

  “Mr. Rosenberg,” Judge Hobbs said, “think twice before wasting the court’s time. The court would particularly not like to have technicalities argued. As it has already instructed you, this is not the time and place for such arguments. Should you persist in doing so, the court would feel that you were not listening to the court, that you were not heeding the words of the court, that you were, in fact, in contempt of court. Is that clear?”

  “Perfectly, Your Honor.”

  “Then what could you possibly have to tell me?”

  “I have a retainer here signed by Felicia Grant Starling, widow of Paul Henry Starling, empowering me to act as the conservator of her husband’s estate, which she stands to inherit.”

  Judge Hobbs looked at Richard as if he just revealed himself to be an attorney from another planet. “I’m thrilled for you. Am I supposed to be impressed by the fact you have managed to find gainful employment?”

  “No, Your Honor. You’re supposed to take judicial cognizance of the fact Philip T. Grackle is an alias of the late Paul Henry Starling. Felicia Starling is his widow. She has employed me to conserve his estate. It is therefore not only my right, but my duty, to take charge of her husband’s personal effects. Mr. Hastings is an investigator in my employ. He was in the process of inventorying Mrs. Starling’s apartment when he was illegally prevented from doing so by the police.”

  “Mrs. Starling’s apartment!” ADA Kinsey cried incredulously.

  Judge Hobbs held up his hand. “I do not wish to get embroiled in a property title debate.”

  “But that’s the whole point,” Kinsey said. “It’s not her apartment, and he knows it.”

  Judge Hobbs cut him off with a look. “One more comment and I’ll have you up for contempt. Mr. Rosenberg, you claim the defendant was in the apartment legally?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “How did he get in.”

  “I don’t know, Your Honor.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I haven’t had a chance to discuss the matter. I was called and advised that my client was in jail. I was astounded, of course. I rushed down here, to find myself confronted with hostility and suspicion. And, if I may say so, a rather bullying tone. My client, understandably, had declined to talk outside my presence. Once I arrived, no one wanted to hear anything outside of a complete confession. Naturally, they didn’t get one. Instead, my client was dragged off, placed in a cell, and brought here. So I have no idea how he got in the apartment, because I didn’t discuss it with him. However, my client, Mrs. Starling, was the wife of Mr. Starling, and undoubtedly retained her keys.”

  “How can you say that?” ADA Kinsey raged. “There’s no evidence they ever lived in that apartment together.”

  “That will do,” Judge Hobbs said. “I thought I made it clear I didn’t want the case argued now. Mr. Prosecutor, may I point out that a dismissal is not a bar to future prosecution. But, for the time being, your grounds for proceeding against the defendant are very shaky, at best. The charges are dismissed, and the prisoner is free to go.”

  32.

  OUTSIDE THE CRIMINAL COURT Building, Richard said, “Dare I ask?”

  “I’m not sure you want to.”

  “Yeah, but I better.”

  “How come?”

  “You’re going to be arrested again.”

  “You think?”

  “I know. That ADA’s pissed. Right now he’s on the phone to Philadelphia, getting some cooperation from the so-called widow.”

  “You might wanna call her first.”

  “Thanks for the suggestion,” Richard said. “I never would have thought of it. How did you get into that apartment?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  Richard grimaced. “That bad.”

  “Worse.”

  “I’m your attorney. Anything you tell me is privileged.”

  “Even if I confess to a crime?”

  “Are you about to confess to a crime?”

  “Not at all. I’m carefully not confessing to a crime.”

  “Don’t pull that shit. I’m the lawyer here.”

  “Glad to hear it. Suppose you can get a restraining order on the police stopping them from entering that apartment?”

  “Sure. Right after I balance the national budget and institute world peace. You were discovered in the apartment, and we know Grackle’s an alias and he’s got an ex-wife. They’re gonna search.”

  “I hope it’s Thurman.”

  “Why.”

  “He won’t search well.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Why?”

  “He’ll search everything.”

  “Maybe. Anyway, do we have the right to go back in?”

  “We have the right. Do we have the means?”

  “You might ask the widow for a key.”

  “I did.”

  “And?”

  “What do you think? Starling left her. My phone call was the first she knew of the place.”

  “Judge Hobbs isn’t going to like that.”

  “No shit. Try and see he doesn’t hear it.”

  “I’ll do my best. Okay, Richard
. Thanks for bailing me out.”

  Richard looked hurt. “You’re keeping me in the dark.”

  “For the time being, it’s the best place for you.”

  “Okay. Tell me this. Is what we want in that apartment?”

  I grimaced.

  “Yes and no.”

  33.

  MRS. BALFOUR WAS QUITE fetching in a blue scoop-neck sweater and short black skirt. Her hair bobbing loose on her neck gave her a girlish look.

  “Going out?” I said.

  She recognized me, but didn’t try to slam the door. “What’s this I hear?” she demanded. “You were in court.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “None. It’s just rather interesting. My court appearance wasn’t news. I wonder how it got around.”

  “My husband has connections.”

  “I bet he does, to get off the hook and leave his daughter on.”

  Her face flushed. “Damn you.”

  “Why don’t you ask me in and close the door. That way when you hurl me against it I’ll still be inside.”

  “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “Actually, you do. I was in Grackle’s apartment. The police wonder what I found. I bet you do too.”

  She glared at me defiantly a moment. Then her eyes faltered. “Come in.”

  I walked in, looked around. From the inside the house looked perfectly normal. I don’t know what I expected. An octagonal dining room, perhaps. A circular ramp.

  “Let’s go in and sit down,” I said. “We have something to discuss, and it’s not going to be easy.”

  She faltered again and led me into a living room furnished with a glass table, leather couch, and butterfly chairs, tremendously uncomfortable-looking furnishings for one with money. I sat on the couch, found it not as hard as I’d imagined. She continued to stand.

  “Okay,” she said. “What’s your pitch?”

  “I know you were there that night, and I know why. Paying Grackle off, just like everybody else. What I want to know is, how much money did you bring him, was he alive when you got there, was he alive when you left, and did you pay him off?”

  “That’s all you wanna know?”

  “Figure of speech. That’s all I wanna know for starters.”

  She sat down in one of the butterfly chairs, crossed her legs. Seemed to be considering the question. Her mouth opened slightly. She ran her tongue around her lips.

  I hoped she was considering the question. I shifted somewhat on the couch.

  Abruptly she reached a decision. “He was dead. Lying there in the middle of the floor. I walked in and found him.”

  “The door was open?”

  “The door was ajar. I knocked on it, got no answer. So I peeked in.”

  “Peeked in, or went in?”

  “Peeked in, went in, what’s the big deal? I pushed the door open, took a few steps.”

  “That’s when you saw him dead?”

  “That’s right.”

  “No chance he was alive?”

  “Not at all. His eyes were open. Staring. It was horrible.”

  “I’m sure it was. How’d you get in the downstairs door?”

  “Huh?”

  “Don’t you have to ring up and get buzzed in?”

  “Yeah, but the buzzer was broken. So the door was left unlocked.”

  “All the time?”

  “I don’t know about all the time. But it was then.”

  “Had it ever been before?”

  “No.”

  “So you’d been there before?”

  “I don’t wanna discuss it.”

  “How’d you know it was broken?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Grackle was dead. You buzz the buzzer, get no answer. Of course not. The guy’s dead. What made you think it wasn’t working?”

  “He said it wasn’t.”

  “When?”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “Humor me. When’d he tell you? It wasn’t when you were there before, because you say it was never broken before.”

  “What are you, a lawyer? What’s with the questions?”

  “Just trying to understand. You claim you never buzzed the doorbell, because you knew it wasn’t working when you got there. You just pushed the door open and went upstairs?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “How’d you know?”

  She sighed in exasperation. “He called me, okay? Said the buzzer was broken, but the door would be unlocked.”

  “He called you here? When? That afternoon?”

  “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

  “Okay,” I said. “So you walked in, saw Grackle on the floor. When you saw he was dead, you searched his files.”

  “Who says I did?”

  “Don’t be silly. You were paying blackmail. The blackmailer was dead. Of course you’re gonna take the evidence. So did you find it?”

  She said nothing, glared at me.

  “You didn’t, did you? That must have been frustrating. So you gave up. Good thing, or your daughter would have found you in there.”

  “Do you have a point, Mr....?”

  “Hastings. Yes, I do. The police found me searching the apartment. That’s got them thinking. Odds are, they’re searching the place right now. What do you think they’ll find?”

  “What did you find?”

  “Evidence of blackmail.”

  “They caught you with it?”

  “No.”

  “It’s still there?”

  “Unless they found it.”

  She took a breath, said, bitterly, “Why couldn’t you leave things alone?”

  “Why couldn’t you talk to me the first time I came out here?”

  “Why should I? What’s so special about you?”

  “You’re talking to me now.”

  It was one of those remarks, the minute it slips out, you wanna kick yourself in the head.

  Her eyes flashed. “Yeah. Because you said you found something. Well, maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. So far, I haven’t heard a thing to convince me one way or another.”

  “I found the evidence. I couldn’t take it. It’s still there.”

  “Oh, yeah,” she challenged. “What evidence?”

  “Nude pictures.”

  Her mouth fell open. She blinked, stammered, “Nude ... nude pictures?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You mean ... you mean ...” Her face twisted in horror. “... of Jenny?”

  I frowned.

  Time out.

  Reality check.

  Either Mrs. Balfour was one hell of an actress, or she really was afraid the pictures were of her daughter.

  I shook my head. “No. Not Jenny. Pictures of you.”

  She stared at me a moment. Then her lips twisted in a grin. “Get out of here. No, I mean it. You get the hell out. Come in here, running a bluff. I thought you had something, but I guess you don’t. I can’t believe I let you pump me for information. What a dope I am. What a fool. You get out of here, or I’ll call the cops.”

  “That’s probably not a good idea,” I warned. “It’ll just get ’em interested in you.”

  She snorted. “You’re a piece of work.”

  “So Grackle wasn’t blackmailing you over dirty pictures?”

  “What is this, Twenty Questions? Come on! Come on! Let’s go.” Mrs. Balfour was on her feet, trying to get me up from the couch.

  I folded my arms. “What were you paying him for?”

  “Go on! Get up!”

  “If I can find the evidence, I’d like to get it out of there. It would help to know what it was.”

  “Yeah, sure. Like you’re really gonna find something the police can’t.”

  “You’d be surprised. What is it?”

  Mrs. Balfour looked disgusted. “I knew you didn’t know anything. I should have trusted my instincts. You had me going. You just seemed so
sure.”

  “Now who’s kidding who? Look here, Mrs. Balfour. I saw the pictures. Don’t you wanna talk?”

  “You don’t give up, do you? Nice try, but it didn’t work. I admire your persistence, but you’re running a bad bluff.”

  That was annoying.

  I wasn’t bluffing. I’d seen the pictures. She was bluffing, pretending they didn’t exist.

  There was also the bit about finding Grackle dead.

  According to Jenny, her mother left Grackle very much alive.

  It occurred to me I was not having much luck with these Balfour women.

  34.

  MACAULLIF DROPPED TWO bicarbonate of soda tablets in a huge glass of water, stirred them around. He leaned back in his desk chair and regarded the frothy mixture with displeasure.

  “You don’t have to drink it,” I said.

  He cocked an eye. “You gonna tell me what you’ve done?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I gotta drink it.”

  “Pepto Bismol might be more soothing. That stuff just churns it up.”

  “Now you’re a doctor?”

  “Not at all.”

  “You’re advising against Alka-Seltzer?”

  “No. I’m just suggesting you take Pepto Bismol first. Then the Alka-Seltzer won’t burn through your stomach lining.”

  MacAullif grimaced. “God save me.”

  “Advil might help that headache.”

  “You want a fat lip?”

  “Just a suggestion.”

  MacAullif downed the Alka-Seltzer in a series of mighty gulps. One might have thought he was drinking poison. He put down the glass, belched tremendously, and groaned.

  “Ever think of doing commercials?” I asked.

  “There’s a desperate tone to your joking,” MacAullif said. “Like whatever this is is so bad it’s blown every fuse in your nervous system. Come on, let’s have it. What’d you do this time?”

  “Thurman caught me at the crime scene.”

  I told MacAullif what had happened. His incredulity was comical, his sarcasm unsurpassed. I think the only thing that stopped him from leaping over his desk and strangling me was the fact it was so bad he couldn’t really believe what he was hearing. Which was even more remarkable in that I left a lot of details out.