The Juarez Knife by Richard Deming

Author:Richard Deming
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, detective, pulp, hardboiled, handicapped
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2018-02-05T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER VI

Mathilda Zell

Alvin Christopher and I were the only witnesses called before the coroner’s jury. Joan, at Eddie Duncan’s advice, refusing to testify on constitutional grounds. I felt mild irritation at this, knowing the reporters would embrace it as further evidence of Joan’s guilt. While the jury was out I asked Eddie what he thought he was doing.

“They think she’s guilty anyway,” he said. “Unless you turn up new evidence, nothing we do or say will keep her from the grand jury. And nothing we say there will keep her from being indicted. I’m not letting her open her mouth until she finally goes on trial.”

The jury took ten minutes to arrive at the routine opinion that, “The deceased met death by homicide at the hands of person or persons unknown.” The district attorney had Joan scheduled to appear in police court at one o’clock that afternoon. He was definitely rushing things, and I suspected the cantankerous urging of Inspector Warren Day in the background.

I stopped Joan at the door as she was being escorted out.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” she said.

Except for a faint darkening beneath the eyes, she showed no sign of the strain she must have been under.

“I hoped they wouldn’t rush things so,” I said. “That’s why Eddie didn’t pull a habeas corpus or try to post bond. We thought if we didn’t prod them any, we’d have more time to work. Looks like we guessed wrong.”

“That’s all right.”

“I haven’t found much yet, but if it helps any, I know you’re innocent.” She gave me a depressed but grateful smile and passed on through the door back to her cell.

I took a taxi to the University Building. In Lawrence Randall’s outer office I found Alvin sitting behind his desk shuffling papers, he, too, having come here direct from the inquest. He glanced up without friendliness. I sat on the edge of his desk and lit a cigar.

“Have one?” I offered.

“No, thanks.”

I watched him thumb through check stubs and enter figures on a ledger sheet.

“Why are you working today? I supposed a lawyer’s business just stopped when he died. If a grocer dies they put someone else in charge and go on selling apples. But a lawyer sells knowledge. When he’s dead there’s nothing left to sell.”

“I’m checking Mr. Randall’s accounts for the executor.”

“Find anything interesting in the safe?”

“We haven’t opened it,” he said. “Mr. Randall never gave the combination to anyone. We’re awaiting a court order to break it open.”

“What appointments did Randall have yesterday?”

Alvin stopped working, leaned back in his chair, and grasped the edge of his desk with both hands. He opened his mouth as though preparing to deliver a dissertation, closed it again, and picked up a fresh stack of check stubs.

“Ask the police,” he said.

Leaning over, I picked up a notebook inscribed, “Appointments” from the corner of his desk.

“Hey!” said Alvin. “Put that down!”

I looked at him steadily until he dropped his eyes.

“Stop fooling yourself,” I said. “You are going to answer questions.”

He tried to meet my eyes again, failed.

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