Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 9, No. 2, February 1964

Second Verdict by Henry Slesar

Ironically, when “liberty plucks justice by the nose”, the verdict may rebound to haunt the principals of the case.

They were coming back. I didn’t try to read the verdict in their faces, not even when I caught the split-second smile from Juror Number Eight, the lady with the silver-blue hair who had paid so much motherly attention to my summation. I guessed that she was in my pocket from the third day of the trial, but I couldn’t be sure if her smile was one of reassurance or maternal sympathy. Anyway, what was the use of speculating? Another thirty seconds and Rydell was either free or dead. I turned my eyes to the Judge’s bench.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury...”

On the seat beside me, a chip came off Rydell’s stony composure. I tried to imagine what he was feeling, what it was like to stare out of his eyes at the puckered lips of the jury foreman, to hear with his ears the throat-clearing hack and the slow-spoken words, that would promise him — what? The right to breathe, sleep late in the morning, drink cold beer, walk in the park? Or a shaved skull, a slit in the trousers, a last shuffling walk down a gray corridor? No, I couldn’t imagine what Rydell was feeling. Nobody could. All I knew about was the throb in my own chest. Let it be all right, I thought; please God, let me have this one, I need it bad. A lawyer who loses two to the hangman doesn’t need his name on the door, because nobody’s going to knock. Call me hardhearted, but that’s what I felt right then, facing a jury that had made up its mind.

“You will please read your verdict to the court.”

Please, God, I thought. I will be kind to animals, generous to charity, and never, never take another drink.

“We find the defendant, Lewis Rydell, not guilty.”

Well, hardly ever.

I was spun around by the arm, first by Schwartz, the assistant counsel, who wanted to shake my hand, and then by old man Ostrim who must have leaped the railing to get at me. Everybody was whooping and hollering in my ear, and I could see Rydell’s lips, moving but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. I swear I thought Ostrim was going to kiss me out of pure exultation, but that was a privilege reserved for his daughter. Karen had stayed home, but there would be plenty of time for private felicitations later. I got a kiss anyway, from Rydell’s wife, and for a guy who was supposed to have killed for jealousy, Rydell took it like a sport. But maybe the biggest boot of all came from the Judge himself. I’d known judge Lincoln Arthur since I was a kid, when my late father had been Linc’s benchmate on the First Circuit. Not that it ever made any difference in a courtroom, because Linc was as hidebound as a law library and never played favorites. Nevertheless, I caught his congratulatory wink.

The five of us left the courtroom together, but we lost Schwartz in the corridor. Ostrim went next, pumping my hand again and reminding me about the victory celebration he had scheduled for that evening; then he vanished into the rear seat of his car and chauffeured off. That left the Rydells, and Lew Rydell said:

“I suppose we ought to settle up now, Mr. Murray, huh? Shall we go back to your office?”

“No hurry,” I grinned. “If I were in your shoes, all I’d want to do is get drunk. Not that I’m recommending it.”

“Lew doesn’t drink,” Melanie Rydell said cooly. “Lew doesn’t have any vices, do you, Lew?”

“I’d like to settle this fee business,” Rydell said. “I’d just as soon do it now, Mr. Murray, if it’s okay with you.”

“Sure,” I said. “If that’s what you want.”

“We’ll drop you off at the house,” Rydell said to his, wife. “You look tired.”

“I am tired,” Melanie said, but she didn’t look tired. She looked beautiful. Melanie was one of those lynx-eyed blondes who couldn’t ask for the time of day without making it sound like an invitation. Just the way she stood or sat or walked made men look at her lingeringly. It wasn’t any mystery why Lew Rydell might have suffered jealous pangs at times.

I hailed a cab, and we dropped Melanie off at the Morton Street brownstone where the Rydells had spent the two years of their marriage, where a wide-eyed young grocery clerk named Yost had ended his life at the bottom of a flight of cellar steps, his thin neck twisted and broken...

“I’ll be home in a couple of hours,” Rydell said. “We’ll go out to dinner, huh? Lasagna and wine and everything. We’ve got a lot of celebrating to do, Melanie.”

“Sure,” she said wearily, and kissed him on the cheek. Then we drove downtown to the offices of Ostrim, Wright and Morgan, Attorneys-at-Law.

For some reason, my own office, two doors down the hall from Ostrim’s, seemed peculiarly small. Its single window was dirty, and the desk surface was insufficient to hold the stacks of documents and reports accumulated there. It hadn’t looked so small to me at the conclusion of my last case. I’d come back from the court that day with the foreman’s “guilty” ringing in my ears, and felt grateful for the smug security of that little room. But it seemed too small now, no question. I’d have to tell Ostrim that.

“I’ve been thinking over your suggestion,” Rydell said, “about the method of payment. I figured out that I can pay a hundred and fifty a month until the debt’s settled. Would that be okay?”

“I’m sure that would be fine.”

“You want me to sign a paper or anything?”

“That’s not necessary,” I said. “We didn’t have to come to the office to settle that. I told you so in the cab.”

“I wanted to come here,” Rydell said. “I guess I just didn’t want to face Melanie for a couple of hours. I needed an excuse to get away. Do you understand?”

“Sure,” I said, and looking at his drawn, ashy face I discovered that I did. Rydell was a plain-looking man who might have had some boyish charm ten years ago, but had lost too much hair and gained too many creases since. He had a dead-flesh look, except for his eyes, bulbous eyes with an oily shine.

“How about that drink?” I said quietly. “I keep a bottle here.”

“Swell,” he said. “I’d like a drink now.”

I poured one for both of us and proposed a toast to something innocuous, like happy times. Rydell suggested that we toast Melanie and I agreed. He knocked back the whiskey in nothing flat, and the effect of the lubricant seemed to make his eyes glow brighter than before.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” he said.

“Mrs. Rydell? Yes, a very lovely woman.”

“She can’t help herself, you know, the way men bother her all the time. They look at her and get the wrong idea. It’s not her fault.”

“No,” I said.

“She’s not bright about it, she doesn’t know the way men think. Like the way she answers the door sometimes, in that sloppy housecoat of hers. She gives people ideas, like that kid Yost. I feel sorry for that kid, you know that?”

“I know you do,” I said. “It’s just too bad he had to get himself mugged the day after you threw him out of the house. You wouldn’t have gone through all this.”

Rydell got his own second drink. He sipped it this time, brooding into the glass.

“Yeah, I feel sorry for him. But I’d do the same thing again, that’s the way I am. I get a red fire in my brain and I can’t stop myself.” His head came up slowly. “I owe you a lot, Mr. Murray. More than money.”

“Forget it. Just learn to keep your temper.”

“I really killed that boy, you know.”

I put down my glass. A buzzer went off in my head and the taste of whiskey in my mouth went sour.

“Yes, I did,” Rydell said, smiling sadly. “I waited for him the next day and grabbed him. He was a scrawny kid; it was like wringing the neck of a chicken. I took all his money just to make it look like a robbery. It’s funny, you know? I couldn’t bring myself to spend that money, I threw it away, every nickel...”

“Shut up!” I yelled. “For heaven’s sake, shut up!”

“I’ll do the same thing again, if I have to. These men who bother my wife, they’ve got to learn...” He stood up. “I better go now,” he said. “Melanie’s expecting me.”

I beat him to the door.

“You lied to me,” I said. “Every stinking word you told me was a lie!”

“I couldn’t tell you the truth, could I?” He was still smiling, only the sadness was gone and he was enjoying my anger. “You were supposed to get me off, Mr. Murray. That’s, what you were hired for, and that’s what you did.”

“What do you think I am? You think I would have let you plead innocent when—”

“No, of course, you wouldn’t.” Rydell said reasonably. “So you see how right I was, don’t you?”

“Look, Rydell—”

“I have to go now, Mr. Murray.”

“You think it’s that simple?” My hand became a fist and I wanted to smash that smiling, oily-eyed face. “You think you can just walk out of here and—”

“Melanie’s waiting for me,” he said. “She likes to eat dinner early, Mr. Murray, I really have to go.”

I couldn’t think of anything to do but step aside. Rydell opened the door and went out. I could hear his footsteps in the corridor, the slow, measured tread of a man who wasn’t in any hurry.

I was sorry I hadn’t hit him. The release of anger would have been better than what I was feeling now. It had been a long drop from that height of elation, and I damned the compulsion that had made Rydell tell the truth. It was bad enough that he lied to me, bad enough that I had defended a killer and rescued him from the vengeance of the law.

“But why did he have to tell me?”

I went to Ostrim’s party anyhow. Don’t ask me why. My first thought was to call the old man and claim that I was sick, exhausted, running a fever. I didn’t want my victory celebrated. I couldn’t stand that much irony. But I went, mostly because Karen was there and I needed to see her.

Ostrim’s fancy duplex was filled with fancy-looking people, men in evening clothes and women in satiny dresses with pearl and diamond accents. It was a peculiar slice of society. Except for a few personal friends, and a handful of lawyers — they were the ones in the dark blue suits, looking sheepish and mumbling to each other in the corners — the guests were clients and ex-clients. Some couldn’t make the party, of course; they were too busy serving time in state or federal prisons. Those attending were the lucky ones. I wondered how many were “lucky” the way Rydell had been.

Ostrim’s houseboy took my coat and hat and grinned a couple of inches wider to let me know that he recognized me as the guest of honor. The old man bellowed happily when he saw me, and grabbed me by the nape of the neck. “Hold it, everybody, hold it,” he announced. “Here’s the man we’ve been waiting for. Ned Murray, folks, greatest trial lawyer since Clarence... no, since Harry Ostrim!”

They laughed and cheered and applauded, and I hated myself for being stupid enough to lap it up. Somebody shoved a drink in my hand and I was quickly surrounded by well-wishers. I got thumped on the back a dozen times, and the women rustled about me with adoring smiles as if I were a movie star after a successful premiere. I tossed off that first drink in a hurry and was promptly handed another. It was funny how soon the memory of Rydell’s office visit was obliterated, how simple it seemed to forget everything but the triumph. I was exhilarated again. I told myself that, guilty or innocent, I had done the job I was hired for, and done it well. I had earned all this; I deserved it.

Then Karen pushed her way through the crowd and gave them all a demonstration of her prerogative. She slipped her arms around me, and in the center of that laughing circle, we kissed. I stopped hearing their whistles and applause. For me, this was the only congratulatory message that meant a thing.

After a while, they left us alone and Karen steered me off into a corner.

“Father says you were terrific,” she told me. “He says you were everything he used to be in a courtroom. And there’s no higher praise than that, coming from him.” She giggled.

“Let’s forget about it,” I said. “The trial’s, over.”

“I don’t want to forget about it. I’m proud of you, Ned. You know how guilty that man seemed to be, and yet—”

“There’s too much fuss about it. Rydell wasn’t anybody special.”

“He was special to Father. Father said if you could win this case you could do anything, that it meant a lot in business to the firm. Do you know what I think? He’s not going to wait on that promise, about the junior partnership. I think it’s going to be sooner than you expect.”

That was what I wanted. I couldn’t be blamed for the way my pulse speeded up when Karen said that.

She put her lips next to my ear. “You’ll have to stop making excuses pretty soon, lover. You’ll have to name the day.”

Ten minutes, later, Tony Eigo came in. I’d never seen Tony at Ostrim’s before. He didn’t like parties. Tony’s tailor was probably better than Ostrim’s, but he didn’t look comfortable in his evening suit. He kept smoothing his hand over the crinkly gray hairs at his temple, and looking around nervously as if hoping to find a friendly face. He spotted mine, and his tanned features lit up with a white-toothed grin.

“Hey, Ned,” he said. “You still shake hands with ordinary people? Big celebrity like you?”

“Knock it off,” I said. “Karen, you know Tony Eigo.”

“Yes,” she said, with a frozen smile. “Excuse me, I’d better hostess a little.” She got up and left. That was one thing about Karen; college and everything, her manners weren’t the best. Tony didn’t notice, or pretended not to. He sat down in the seat she had vacated.

“I was in court today,” Tony said. “I been there the last four days. Bet you didn’t even notice, hah?”

“No,” I said. “That’s nice of you, Tony, a busy man like you.”

“I got a personal interest,” he said. That embarrassed him, and he lit a cigarette. “How do you get a drink in this joint?”

I went over to the bar and got him one. I saw Ostrim looking at me sideways, and not with approval. He didn’t like Tony Eigo, even if he always invited him, trusting to Tony’s sense of propriety to keep him away. Well, Tony didn’t want to keep away this night, and that was all right with me. Tony was more than an ex-client; he was my friend. I never boasted about the fact, but it was true.

I met him in 1959, my first year at Ostrim, Wright and Morgan. He wasn’t the kind of client they welcomed, an entrepreneur of the underworld, a man who couldn’t see the dividing line between criminal enterprise and legitimate business. Sometimes that line gets hazy, and the law steps in to define it.

In ’59 he was threatened with more than a rap on the knuckles. He was indicted for murder. Only Tony was innocent. He proved it to me, and I proved it to the court. I think even Ostrim was surprised. He’d foreseen a fat fee, and a guilty verdict, and no loss of reputation. I was the new boy, and I could afford to absorb the licking.

But I didn’t. I got Tony off, and Tony wouldn’t forget it, not if he lived to be a hundred.

I brought Tony his drink and he saluted me with it.

“Here’s health,” he said. “That guy Rydell was lucky having you.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“My wife, Angie, she didn’t like him. She didn’t like the look of him.”

“How’s Angie feeling these days?”

“Good, fine.” Tony squinted at me. “What’s the matter, Ned?”

“Matter?” I grinned. “Nothing.”

“Come on, I got eyes. For a guy who just won a case, you look like a loser. You look like somebody just dropped a four-horse parley.”

“I’m tired, I guess. The strain of the whole thing.”

“Yeah, sure,” Tony said. “Look, I’m sorry I scared your girl away. I can drift off and you catch up to her.”

“Plenty of time for that. I haven’t seen you in months, Tony.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” He blew smoke between his knees and shielded his eyes. “Look, Ned, you remember what I told you once, huh? You got any troubles you can’t handle, I want to hear about them. You got a favor coming from me, and it bothers me not to pay off.”

“That was a long time ago, Tony. You don’t owe me a thing.”

“I keep good books,” he said. “Don’t tell, me who I owe what.” He punched my arm, and grinned. “Go on, find that girl of yours. Maybe she can cheer you up.”

I was all right until the party was over, until I didn’t have people around to tell me what a great guy I was, and what a smashing victory I had won. When I was alone with myself, standing at the wall kitchen in my one-and-a-half rooms and warming a glass of milk, I couldn’t remember the words of praise and congratulations. All I could recall was Lew Rydell’s voice.

I really killed that boy, you know.

And I let him walk out. Easy as that. Rydell must have enjoyed himself, telling me that, knowing how it would make me feel. Maybe he was proud of it secretly, needing to boast of it, as long as he was out of danger...

Yes, he was out of danger. I suppose he realized that. The law of double jeopardy protected him from another trial; he couldn’t be charged twice with the same crime. Technically, I wouldn’t accomplish much by putting his confession on the desk of the district attorney. I couldn’t prove it, anyway. Hadn’t I just gone to court to prove the opposite?

No, I had to forget it. It was the only thing that made sense, a convenient case of amnesia.

I’ll do the same thing again if I have to. These men who bother my wife, they’ve got to learn...

That was the real problem. Yost, the grocery boy, nothing would put the roses back in his cheeks or the whistle back on his lips. But Melanie was still a beautiful woman, and there would be other men who might read the wrong idea in her violet eyes, as the boy had.

I had trouble falling asleep. The idea that finally permitted sleep to come was a resolution to see Melanie Rydell the next day.

“Come in,” she said. “Lew isn’t home, you know. He went to see Mr. Fleming about going back to the company. You don’t think he’ll have any trouble, do you?”

“I knew he wasn’t home,” I said.

I took a seat without removing my topcoat. The apartment was in disorder, and so was Melanie. There was one curler still hanging limply from the back of her hair.

“Do you think they’ll give him his job back?” she said, her eyes worried. “He was their best salesman before... before the trouble. They won’t hold it against him, will they?”

“I don’t know,” I said, “I don’t think they will.”

“We’re running awful short of money.” She bit her lip, perhaps recognizing me as a creditor. “Can I get you a soft drink or something? There isn’t any whiskey.”

“I don’t want anything. Would you sit down, Mrs. Rydell? I want to ask you a few things.”

“Sure,” she said.

I’d rehearsed my questions on the way up, but now I didn’t feel very glib.

“Mrs. Rydell, before the trial, you told me that your husband was the jealous type, didn’t you?”

“Yes. Lew’s funny that way, I told you.”

“But there was never any reason for his jealousy?”

She stiffened. “Look, I don’t see why we have to go through all that again. The trial’s over, isn’t it?”

“Please,” I said. “It’s more important than you think. This delivery boy, Yost... I tried to underplay Lew’s anger about him in court, but Lew was, really pretty sore about that pass he made, wasn’t he?”

“But I told you all that! Yes, Lew was sore. He went absolutely crazy, that’s how he is. I didn’t even want him to know about what the kid did, I was afraid he’d—” She pursed her lips. “Well, do what he did. Rough up the kid.”

I chose my next words carefully.

“Mrs. Rydell, the trial’s over, just as you said. Nobody could charge Lew with the crime again; that’s the law in this state. So you’ve got nothing to lose by telling me the absolute truth.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lew did kill that boy, didn’t he?”

I watched her face. It looked as if I’d just slapped it.

“That’s a dirty lie. How could you of all people—”

“All right, maybe you didn’t know the truth. But please understand what I’m telling you now. Lew murdered Yost. His anger got the better of him, and that’s what happened.”

“Get out of here!”

“Please sit down, I’m not through. The reason I’m so sure about this is because Lew told me himself. Yesterday, in my office. I don’t know why he decided to tell me the truth, but he did.”

“You’re a damned liar!” Melanie’s eyes filled, and she pointed a finger at the door. “You get out of here, Mr. Murray, you get out and don’t come back.”

“I asked you to please sit down!”

She must have been a little bit afraid of me. She sat down, slowly, and watched me like I Was a snake coiling to strike.

“I don’t enjoy telling you this,” I said. “When your husband told me, I wanted to shut my ears just the way you do now. But it’s too late. We know the truth and we have to face it.” I leaned towards her. “The important thing is this. He’s not going to change because of the trial. He’s an insanely jealous man, and he might very well do the same thing all over again.”

The tears spilled, but she made no sound.

“That’s why I had to see you. I had to let you know how it is with Lew. He got away with murder, and that makes me sick to my stomach, but there’s not much I can do about it. Maybe you can do something about it the next time.”

“The next time?” Her voice shook.

“You’ve got to be careful. Do you understand? You know him better than anybody, and you know what he’s capable of. You’ve got to make sure he doesn’t have any reason to be jealous.”

“Listen! If you think I—”

“I don’t think anything. But if Lew thinks you’re playing around, even if he misunderstands your behavior, somebody else might get killed. It might even be easier for him the next time. He got away with it once.”

“I’d never do a thing like that! I love Lew—”

“Sure,” I said. “Sure you do. And that’s why I thought I’d warn you, Mrs. Rydell. If you love Lew, then be careful. That’s all I wanted to say.”

I stood up and went to the door. I looked back at her and she wasn’t moving, not a hair.

I let myself out, feeling a little bit better about the way things were.

I came into the office the next morning and found a message on my desk.

Mr. Ostrim would like to see you. L.

I went into the old man’s office and found the window blinds drawn, all six of them. Ostrim was behind the desk, looking like a thundercloud. The leather chair in front was filled by Lew Rydell, his topcoat in his lap and a cigarette in his hand.

“Sit down, Ned,” Ostrim said.

I sat down, without looking at Rydell. Just the sight of him knotted my stomach.

“Mr. Rydell’s told me something I find hard to believe. I said he must be mistaken, but he swears it’s true. Did you go to see Mrs. Rydell yesterday?”

“Yes,” I said.

I heard Rydell breathe out smoke or relief, I didn’t know which.

“Why did you think it necessary to see Mrs. Rydell?”

“I had something to tell her,” I said. “It was strictly an unofficial visit.”

“You told her I was guilty,” Rydell said hoarsely. “You went up there deliberately, just to frighten her. I ought to sue you for what you did, Mr. Murray, lawyer or no lawyer.”

Ostrim’s eyes were almost pleading. “What kind of nonsense is this, Ned? You didn’t say any such thing, did you? I can’t believe it.”

“Yes, sir, I did. I didn’t go there to frighten her, just to warn her. Right after the trial, Mr. Rydell here obliged me with a nice little confession. A little late,” I added bitterly.

“A confession? What are you talking about?”

“It’s a lie,” Rydell said. “I don’t know what you’ve got against me, Mr. Murray. I never heard of a lawyer behaving like this. I didn’t kill that boy. The jury said so. You’ve got no right to persecute me or my wife.”

“Ned,” Ostrim said plaintively. “Ned, please, don’t make a mess of things now. If Mr. Rydell said something foolish, something that led you to believe—”

“Mr. Rydell put it bluntly. He said he killed Yost. He said he’d kill again if another Yost came along. That’s the way it was, Mr. Ostrim. You think I didn’t feel like two cents? I was ready to go to the district attorney—”

Now Rydell was on his feet, his dead-flesh face momentarily activated by anger, his oily eyes popping. “It’s over! The trial’s over! They can’t put me through that again, they can’t!”

“No, no,” Ostrim soothed, “of course they can’t, Mr. Rydell, there’s nothing to get excited about. Mr. Murray just misunderstood you, that’s all,” he assured.

“I read him loud and clear,” I said. “I knew I couldn’t get him back in a courtroom if I went to the D.A., not for killing Yost. But he’d be a lot more careful with his hands the next time.”

“I’ll sue you!” Rydell screamed. He whirled on Ostrim and shook his finger as if scolding a child. “You hear me, Mr. Ostrim? You don’t stop him from talking that way, I’ll sue this firm for slander!”

“Please, Ned.” Ostrim brushed sweat from his wide forehead. “Apologize to Mr. Rydell, tell him you didn’t mean it.”

“Apologize? Yes, I should apologize. To the state, for saving his skin—”

Ostrim came out from behind the desk and planted himself in front of me. The thundercloud was a storm now.

“Now you listen to me,” he said, in a threatening rumble. “I don’t know what went on between you and this man, and I don’t care. But he’s a client, understand, my client, even if you handled the case. Anything you do reflects on me, on the way I run this firm. Mr. Rydell got a fair trial—”

“Better than fair,” I said.

“Yes, and the jury acquitted him, that’s all we have to know. You don’t have any right to violate any confidences he made to you, I don’t care what they were. Didn’t they teach you that in law school?”

“They taught me something else,” I said. “They taught me that a lawyer’s main concern was for justice.”

Ostrim let me see his teeth. “You young cub! Are you trying to tell me about justice? What gives you the right to lecture me?”

“I didn’t mean it that way—”

“What do you think I’m operating here, some two-bit shyster club? Is that how you think I built this business?”

“Look, Mr. Ostrim—”

“You talk about justice, huh? Go talk to that hoodlum buddy of yours, that Tony Eigo. If there was justice, you think that crook would be walking around loose?”

My cheeks were burning, all the hotter because I could see Rydell’s face, and there was a grin on it a mile wide.

“All right,” I said. “I wasn’t trying to needle you, Mr. Ostrim. But what I told you was the truth.”

“I don’t care what you told me.”

I turned on my heel and went to the door. I didn’t want to see the faces I left behind me. I heard Ostrim bellow, “Ned!” but that didn’t stop me either. I went down the hall, past my own office, past my secretary’s bewildered stare, and left the building.

I was in the livingroom, working on the second third of the bottle, when the doorbell rang. I’d already hung up on three phone calls, one from Schwartz and two from Ostrim himself, but I should have known they wouldn’t let it go at that. This time, they sent a personal emissary, and the best they had.

“Hello, Ned,” Karen said. “Look what I brought you.”

She handed me a small oblong package, and I looked at it stupidly. “What is it?” I asked, my tongue thick. I hadn’t had lunch, and the whiskey was numbing me nicely.

“Open it,” she said. “It’s that pipe you told me you were so crazy about, the one with the ivory carving. I was saving it for some special occasion, but your birthday isn’t for six months.”

I went back into the room, fumbling with the package. Karen took it from me with a smile, and removed the pipe. Then she went over to the birch wood humidor I kept on my desk and filled it carefully.

“I know how to do this,” she said. “Pack a little tighter on the bottom, looser on top. I used to do it for Father all the time, even when I was a little girl.”

She brought the pipe to me on the sofa, and I said, “Forget it, Karen. If you’re going to bribe me, I prefer cash.”

“Really?” She slid down the sofa arm into my lap. “I thought I’d use my sex appeal. I understand that’s sure-fire.”

I kissed her, because I wanted to. Then I pushed her away and went to get another drink. She watched me, and then she started to laugh.

“What’s funny?” I said.

“The whole thing. You. Father. He told me about that scene in the office. I wish I could have been there. It must have been like Clarence Darrow and William Jennings Bryan.”

“It wasn’t,” I growled. “It was stupid and childish. And all because of that—”

“Yes, all because of that silly little man with the pop eyes. Men! Honestly! All that fuss over nothing at all.” She tucked her legs under her. “But don’t misunderstand me, darling. I think Father was just as much to blame, and I told him so. He feels just awful about the whole thing.”

“I’ll bet he does.”

“For heaven’s sake, Ned, why would you want to spoil things now? All right, so maybe that idiotic man did kill the grocery boy, I’m not saying he didn’t. You don’t think it’s the first time that a guilty man has—”

I slammed my glass down so hard that ice cubes flew. “It’s the first time for me! That’s all I care about!”

“But was it, darling? Was it really? That man Eigo—”

“Tony was, innocent! I defended an innocent man.”

“Innocent of that crime, maybe. But what about all the others? He might have killed a dozen men, or had them killed.”

“He wasn’t being tried for killing a dozen men, only one. And he was innocent of that.”

The amusement went out of her.

“I should know better than to talk to you when you’re drinking. Your stubborn streak just gets calcified.”

“Did your father ask you to come here?”

“It was my own idea.”

“Why?” I said. “Did you think you could change my mind? I’m going to the D.A. tomorrow, Karen. Even if it doesn’t do a bit of good, I’ll feel better for it.”

“Do you know what the D.A. will say? He’ll say you’re a fool. That’s what everybody will say.”

“I don’t care.”

“You haven’t got a shred of proof, not a shred. And all the proof in the world wouldn’t put Rydell back on the stand. You know that, don’t you?”

“I know it. Like your father says, Karen, I went to law school.”

“Do you know what else he says? He says that if you go to the D.A. tomorrow you can find yourself another connection.”

Drunk or sober, that stopped me.

“And what about you?” I asked. “What about the connection between you and me?”

She swung her feet to the floor, and looked at her pointed toes.

“I waited long enough for you to get serious about me, Ned. I can wait a little longer, until you come to your senses.”

“That’s the real bribe, isn’t it?” I sneered. “That’s what Daddy told you to say, huh?”

She flared up like a cheap match.

“He didn’t have to tell me what to say, counselor. I make up my own speeches. So put that in your pipe and smoke it.”

She picked up her wrap from the armchair and threw it over her shoulders. I’d seen Karen in a temper before, and you might as well try to stop a locomotive. She went out of the apartment at full steam, slamming the door.

I went to work on the second third in that bottle, because it seemed like the logical thing to do. An angry drunk is the worst kind, and the next thing I remembered was looking down at the white ivory pipe on the floor and wondering how it got there. When I bent down to pick it up, I saw the patent leather shoes and knifelike creases of Tony Eigo’s trousers. I didn’t know how Tony had gotten there either, or why he was sitting in the opposite chair with that small patient smile on his brown, Mediterranean face.

“That’s a nice pipe,” he said softly. “You shouldn’t treat it that way, Ned.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m an invited guest, remember?” He chuckled. “No, I guess maybe you don’t. You called me about half an hour ago, said to come up and have a drink with you. Well, here I am. You want me to cut out?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” I said blearily. “Have a drink, Tony. Here’s to crime.” I fumbled for my glass. There wasn’t anything in it but flavored ice.

“I don’t think I’ll join you,” Tony said. “You’re too far ahead of me. You want to start fresh, okay. I’ll put on some coffee and we’ll talk about it.”

“You know what?” I said. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Fifteen minutes later, Tony had a steaming cup of coffee under my nose.

“Celebration’s, going on a long time, Ned. What’s the matter?”

“Through celebrating,” I said. “Now I’m commiserating. That’s the word, right? Com-mis-erating. With that poor slob Yost, that dumb kid from the grocery store.”

My eyes were just coming into focus, and I could read the puzzlement on Tony’s face. It was the friendliest face I knew right then, maybe the only face that would react the right way to the story I had to tell.

So I told it. I told him about Lew Rydell, the popeyed crazy jealous killer who couldn’t keep his mouth shut. I told him about our little meeting in the office, about Rydell’s lie and Ostrim’s threats, and the kiss from Karen that was really a kiss-off. I was right. Tony’s face was understanding. His eyes reflected the pain I was feeling, and his mouth tightened in sympathetic indignation.

“And they can’t get him?” he said bitterly. “They can’t nail this crumb?”

“Double jeopardy, Tony, you know how it goes. One trial to a customer.”

“They’ve hung better guys than him. And he walks out free as air.”

“That’s how it is. That’s the law.”

“The law,” Tony said dryly.

“That statue of Justice, Tony, you know what’s wrong with her? She ought to be bending over a little backwards, that’s how she should look. We bent over so far backward that Rydell’s out on the street, just waiting to wring some other sucker’s neck.”

“He ought to be stopped,” Tony said. “A guy like that.”

“Sure, you tell me how.”

“He ought to pay the penalty. Like everybody else.”

“It’s too late,” I said, shaking my head. “Too late, Tony.”

“Too late for the law, maybe.”

I didn’t know what he was thinking. I was too fuzzy to comprehend the process of logic going on in his head. I just sat there, sipping the hot coffee and feeling sorry for myself.

Then Tony said, “I been waiting a long time, Ned. I never figured out what I could do for you, what kind of favor might be important. Now I know.”

“What’s that? How do you mean, favor?”

“It won’t be just for you,” he smiled. “I guess I’d be doing everybody a favor, the whole state. Only I mean it for you, Ned, remember that.”

I heard his footsteps, and realized that he was on his way out. I got off the chair as fast as my aching head would allow me to move, and went to intercept him.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” I said. “What the heck did you just say, Tony? What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing, kid, nothing.” He smiled sleepily. “Come on, I did my good deed for today. Let me out of here now.”

“Tony, where are you going?”

“On my rounds, where else? You know I’m a busy guy. I always got people to see and things to do.” He slapped my arm. “You get to bed. You’ll need your strength for that hangover tomorrow.”

“I want to know what you mean by a favor.”

I looked him in the eyes, and I knew.

“You’re thinking of killing Rydell...”

“You see too many movies, kid.”

“Tony, don’t be crazy! I don’t want that kind of favor, understand?”

“Yeah, sure. Just let him loose, huh? So what if he gets away with murder. Plenty of guys do that. You told me yourself, a nut like Rydell, he’s a sure thing to try it again—”

“Killing him’s no answer!”

“Sure, so let some other slob get knocked off, huh? That’s better?”

“I didn’t mean all those things I said, Tony. You got the wrong idea!”

“This guy didn’t just kill a grocery boy. He’s killing you too, buddy, and that’s what I care about. You don’t have to worry. Nothing’s going to rub off on you.” He grinned lopsidedly. “I know my business, Ned, just like you know yours.”

“Tony!”

But he was out the door, and down the hall, and into the elevator before he could hear another protest.

I looked at my watch, and it. said twenty minutes past seven. It was a long day.

I flopped into a chair and kneaded my pulsing temples with my thumbs. I went into the bathroom, shook three aspirins into my hand, and swallowed them.

I saw myself in the mirror of the medicine cabinet, and was shocked by the placid face that looked back at me. Eyes a little red-rimmed, hair mussed, but not the face I should have seen. It should have been drawn and haggard, suffering the pains of an anguished conscience.

But the face was placid, and I began to wonder how my conscience really worked.

“You can’t let him do this,” I said aloud.

My face looked back at me, and silently it answered, “Why not?”

Angrily, I switched off the light so I couldn’t see myself. Then I went back into the living room and headed for the telephone. I had alternatives. I didn’t have to let things stand this way. Not the police, that was out. I wasn’t going to sacrifice Tony for Rydell, not for anything. Ostrim? I knew what he thought of Tony.

The only sensible course was to call Rydell himself. A warning. I wouldn’t have to explain it, I wouldn’t even have to identify myself... But would he believe me, identified or anonymous?

I picked up the phone, and put it right down again.

But maybe Tony was right. It wasn’t murder, it was an execution, the carrying out of a delayed sentence. It wasn’t a meaningless killing, it was preventative war...

Suddenly, I knew the man I wanted to call. The only one I could talk to, who would give me the answer I wanted.

I dialed information.

“I want the number of Mr. Lincoln Arthur, 14 East Hamil Street.”

Linc wasn’t judgelike outside of a courtroom. In his billowing black robes, supported by desk and gavel, it was easy to conjure up a stern visage and indomitable jaw. Actually, he was round-faced and plump-jowled, more like a gentle schoolmaster than a dispenser of justice. He made me feel like a schoolboy, too, the way I was fumbling with my remarks like a kid who hadn’t done his homework.

“Let’s slow it down,” he said quietly, leaning back in his study chair. “I can’t follow this story of yours, Ned. Is it a parable or what?”

“It’s more like a riddle,” I said glumly. “A legal riddle. Only I already know the answer.”

“All right,” he smiled. “Let’s see if I know it.”

I took a deep breath.

“It’s about a lawyer,” I said. “A criminal lawyer, who defends somebody for murder and does it successfully. He’s convinced of his client’s innocence, understand, and his own conviction helps him in getting the acquittal. But right after the verdict, he makes a discovery. His client’s guilty, see?”

“How does he make this discovery?”

“Is that important?”

“It might be. Was it on evidence that had appeared in the trial? Evidence he had misinterpreted, or concealed unknowingly?”

“No,” I said. “It was a confession.”

“How does he obtain this confession?”

“It’s given to him, unsolicited, by his client.”

“Why?” Linc asked bluntly.

“I don’t know why! But there he is. He knows the truth about his client, and he knows something worse. That the man is more than capable of committing a similar crime, and he boasts of the possibility almost gleefully...”

“Any witnesses to this confession?”

“No. And when he’s confronted with it, the client denies having ever made it.”

Linc rubbed his chin. “You’re not asking a legal question, Ned. I’m sure you know where your — hypothetical lawyer stands legally. In the middle of nowhere. Is this a moral question?”

“You might say that. If you were that lawyer, Judge, what would you do?”

It had begun to rain, the first swollen drops thumping against the window behind the Judge’s desk. Linc stood up creakily and went to secure the latch. I’d forgotten what an old man he had become. I began to regret having bothered him with questions that couldn’t be answered.

“If I were that lawyer,” he said, after sitting down again, “and if I were your age, I suppose I’d do what you’re doing now, Ned. I’d get angry, with my client, with myself, even with the law. But if I were practicing now, I think I’d feel different.”

“How different?”

“I wouldn’t feel anger. Only pity.”

I couldn’t help showing my disgust. “Pity? For a man like that?”

“Yes, exactly for that kind of man. A man who feels a compulsion to confess must have felt a similar compulsion to kill. They are symptoms of the same disease. And if there’s one thing the law’s learned in this century, it’s the ability to feel compassion for the sick.”

“He’s sick, all right, but that doesn’t—”

“Ned!” He spoke so sharply that I looked into his face and saw courtroom sternness in his eyes. “This parable of yours. Are you talking about Rydell?”

“Yes,” I said.

“He told you that he murdered Yost?”

“He did, Judge, I swear it. In my own office, the same day of the verdict. I think he got a kick out of it.”

“Yes,” Linc said. “I suppose he did.”

“He knew he was safe enough, that he couldn’t be indicted again—”

“The rationale of the irrational...”

“What?”

“For God’s sake, Ned, use your brains! Can’t you see the man’s mentally ill? Everything points to it. He killed a boy just for putting an arm around his wife. He confesses when there’s no need to confess. Is it worthwhile venting all this anger against a sick man?”

“But he’s dangerous! He’ll do this again, Judge, if a man just looks cross-eyed at his wife it’ll be another excuse for murder!”

“If he had confessed to you before the trial was over, if he had been found guilty—”

“Yes, if! Then he’d be where he belonged. In the death house...”

“You’re forgetting something, Ned. I was the Judge at the trial. It was my prerogative to pass sentence, not yours.”

“It was first-degree murder! Premeditated!”

“Do you think that would make any difference? There isn’t any automatic death sentence. The right to determine the penalty was mine.”

“You mean you wouldn’t have—”

Linc stood up behind his desk, and suddenly, even without benefit of robes, he was the Judge again.

“No,” he said quietly. “If the jury had brought me a guilty verdict, Ned, I wouldn’t have sent Rydell to his death. I know just what I would have done. I would have recommended psychiatric examination with a view to confinement in an institution for the criminally insane...”

I felt nothing when Linc spoke. No pang of regret or flush of guilt. I didn’t feel the floor under my feet or the pressure of my hands on the arm of my chair. I sat there, staring blankly at Linc’s face, suspended in a vacuum of emotion, unwilling to come out of it and face my thoughts. I had gotten the answer I was looking for, from the only man qualified to give it. But there was another man, a smiling, brown-faced man carrying a burden of gratitude that would make Linc’s judgment meaningless...

“I have to go,” I said, forcing myself out of the chair. “Thanks, Judge,” I mumbled. “Thanks a lot.”

“Ned, you shouldn’t let this upset you so much.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “There’s something I have to do.”

The rain had become a downpour, and the streets of the city were black and glossy. Now that I knew what I had to do, it was as if God and the taxi company had conspired to prevent my doing it. I stood on the corner, whistling shrilly at cabs that, empty or occupied, rolled by heedlessly. I didn’t know the neighborhood, didn’t understand the intricacies of the local subway or bus lines, and the place I had to be was forty city blocks away. I thought of telephoning Rydell again, trying to frame the words that would convince him of his peril. I thought of calling Tony, too, but nobody reached Tony after nightfall. Those were his working hours. I walked through the wet streets, praying that Tony wouldn’t be working tonight, not on the job he had promised to do. I crossed my fingers.

I stepped off the pavement at an intersection and a cab almost ran me down. A woman got out, shrieked at what the rain was doing to her hair and ran for shelter. I grabbed the door handle and jumped into the back seat, shouting the address of Lew Rydell’s brownstone.

I was cold and miserable, and I was, in no mood for cab driver conversation. But he was a talkative one, and I had to listen to the complaints: Friday night traffic, the weather, the tipping habits of dames, the shortage of power hitters on the local ball club. I wanted to say, shut up, buddy, you want to hear troubles? I could tell you some.

We hit every light. We ran into a construction muddle in midtown that slowed us down to a crawl. Every tick of the meter was like a heartbeat. I kept thinking; maybe Tony won’t do it. Maybe he was bluffing. Maybe it wouldn’t be tonight, and there would still be time...

We headed crosstown at last. I leaned close to the streets, counting off the blocks.

Then we were there, at Morton Street, and my first thought was: Too late!

“Hey, what’s goin’ on?” the driver said. “Somethin’ must have happened, huh? Look at the cops.”

There were two police cars flanking the entrance to Lew Rydell’s brownstone, and an ambulance was parked across the street. Even in the rain a crowd had collected, pushing each other, jockeying for views, desperately trying for closer looks at whatever tragedy was available.

I dropped two bills in the driver’s lap and slammed out of the taxi. The crowd resisted my attempts to reach the entrance; they weren’t giving up their vantage points. I tried to flag the attention of the patrolman holding back the spectators, but I was just another face in the crowd to him. Then I spotted Dov Gerhart of Homicide West, and yelled at him. Dov ought to remember me, maybe not with pleasure, but he knew me. I shouted his name until he turned and looked in my direction.

“Wait a minute,” Dov said, coming toward me. “It’s okay, Phil, you can let this one through.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Listen, Dov—”

But Dov wasn’t listening. He turned to look at the open doorway of the building, at the white-coated stretcher bearers bringing out the night’s victim. They weren’t in a hurry, and it was understandable. The sheet went all the way.

“Dov, listen to me—” I repeated.

The detective grimaced, and said: “Yeah, I’ll be glad to, Ned. He was your pal, wasn’t he? Deepest sympathies.”

“My pal?”

“Tony Eigo.” He turned, and watched them load the ambulance with the corpse. “That’s something, all right. Probably a dozen guys wanted Tony Eigo knocked off, and how does he get it? From a jealous husband...”

“Tony?” I said. “Tony dead?”

“Your ex-client did it,” Dov said grimly. “That guy Rydell. He caught Tony hanging around the building, watching the place. Rydell claims he was after his wife. You know anything about that, Ned?”

“It’s not true,” I said, shaking my head. “He didn’t know the woman, Dov. I swear he didn’t. Rydell was crazy—”

“That’s the word for it, all right. When Tony came into the hallway, Rydell came downstairs and shot him dead. Fired five bullets into him, screaming like a banshee.”

“Where is he?” I said numbly. “Where’s Rydell?”

“Upstairs, answering questions. He won’t get away, not like last time, counselor.” He looked at me, his mouth twisted. “You think he can? Think you can spring him a second time?”

I started up the steps, and Dov put his hand on my arm.

“Wait a minute. Where do you think you’re going?”

“I want to see him, Dov. He’s entitled to talk to a lawyer, isn’t he?”

“You must be nuts yourself. Half a dozen witnesses saw him do it—”

“Can I go up?”

He pushed his hat back from his forehead. “You mean you’ll defend that screwball again? He’s out of his mind, don’t you know that?”

“I know it,” I said. “That’s what I’ll try and prove.”

Dov took his hand off my arm, and I went upstairs to see my client.