Anatomy of a Murder by Robert Traver

Author:Robert Traver
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2011-10-20T16:00:00+00:00

chapter 6

Parnell and I drove down along the lake shore to an outlying drive-in so that we could eat and talk undisturbed. Most of the tourists had already flown the U.P., winging southward like migratory birds, and I parked so that we could watch the cold glittering lake. We had left Maida home to mind the office and to type up some work or other Parnell had given her—and, I hoped, perhaps take in some money.

“I’m slowly falling in love with that judge,” Parnell said. “He seems more and more like our old Judge Maitland—he runs his court like a courtroom, not a popcorn-strewn double feature. And I loved that jab he took at the morbid onlookers.” Parnell chuckled. “‘Zealous students of homicide’ indeed. Best of all, I think he’s all lawyer; I’m sure he’ll at least understand if not follow our requested instructions.”

I nodded and puffed meditatively on my cheroot.

“You’re sure you gave him all the instructions,” Parnell went on, “including our newest ones on private arrest and irresistible impulse?”

Parnell had worked up these latest instructions all by himself; they were his pets, his special pride. They were also model statements of terse, understandable and accurate law. “I dumped the whole works on his lap, Parn,” I said. “He’ll now at least know what we’re driving at.”

“How do you like Mr. Claude Dancer?” Parnell said archly, looking at me sideways out of the corners of his glasses.

I grunted. “He’s going to make us a lot more work,” I said. Parnell broke into a smile. “Say, you old goat,” I accused him, “I actually believe you’re glad Mitch got him in the case.”

Parnell’s grin broadened. “Well, I like a good fight, boy, and I’ve got me a fine ringside seat.” He continued more soberly. “As a matter of fact, Polly, I’d been a little worried over you and this Mitch.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, this young Mitch fellow is a good boy and will doubtless make a good prosecutor some day if he sticks at it. But as of now you two are so clearly mismatched that I was afraid you’d either not come awake or, if you did, that there might be built up in the jury a sort of unconscious under-dog reaction in favor of Mitch. There’s no danger of that now.”

“No, Parn,” 1 said, “there’s no danger of that now. And I won’t likely fall asleep. In fact I’ve got a hunch—a trained intuition, as the Judge said—that we’re in for a real slugging match.”

Far out on the gently heaving lake I watched an ore boat slowly hove over the horizon trailing its long tail of smoke like a great floating marine bird, a bird smoking a big cigar. Pretty soon all the boats would be diesels, I thought, and then they would all look like barges on a grimy canal. They’d already doomed the old haunting steam whistle, whoever a sinister “they” might be. Wasn’t science wonderful? Pretty soon we’d doubtless have mechanical trout … .

“Mitch didn’t even make a try for a psychiatric examination,” I said, almost ruefully.

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