Beware the Curves

Chapter 21

Barney Quinn was pacing the floor of his office.

“I’m beginning to think we can make it, Donald,” he said. “It’s a good jury, and I think we’ve aroused their sympathy.”

“All right,” I told him. “Here’s what you do. Tomorrow Irvine finishes with the ballistics expert. On the strength of finding Ansel’s gun in the hedge, he tries again to bring in the testimony of Helen Manning.”

Quinn laughed. “That won’t get him any place. Judge Lawton has kicked her testimony out of court, and he’s going to—”

“Hold everything!” I told him. “When Irvine moves to reinstate the evidence of Helen Manning on account of the corroboration furnished by finding the gun, you tell the Court that, under the circumstances, Irvine’s point appears to be well taken and you’re withdrawing your motion to strike Helen Manning’s testimony from the record.”

“What?” Barney exclaimed incredulously. “Are you crazy?”

“Then,” I said, “Irvine walks into the trap. He goes ahead and puts on the rest of his case consisting of Nickerson and Cooper Hale. Hale will tell a convincing story. Then the district attorney will rest and throw the case in your lap.

“At that time you call the attention of the Court to the fact that Helen Manning was withdrawn from the stand and you have never had a chance to cross-examine her.”

Barney Quinn said, “That would be sheer suicide.”

“And,” I went on, “you get Helen Manning back on the stand for cross-examination. Then you lower the boom on the district attorney.”

“What do you mean, lower the boom?”

I tossed the signed statement on his desk.

Barney Quinn sat down to read the statement. He read the first few lines, then suddenly snapped bolt upright in his chair. His eyes raced through the rest of the statement down to the signature and the date. He looked at me with awed admiration, got up and shook hands. Then he went to a bookcase, swung back the false bindings of half a dozen books, disclosed a liquor closet, took out a bottle and two glasses.

“Not for me,” I said, “I’m driving a car.”

Barney Quinn held the neck of the bottle over the glass until the gurgling sounds changed from the low-pitched gloog-gloog to a high-pitched cluck-cluck-cluck.

“Co ahead and drive back,” he said. “I’ve got a load off my mind and I’m going to get the first good night’s sleep I’ve had since I started this damn case. Boy oh boy! What a smear! Wait till I see Irvine’s face when he walks into this one.”

“Now wait a minute,” I cautioned him. “Don’t be too damn sure. That boy Irvine is smart, and this Manning girl is keenly aware of his soulful eyes, his wide shoulders and his slim hips.”

Quinn picked up the signed statement. “Let me slap her in the face with that, and I don’t give a damn if she’s sleeping with the guy.”

I said, “Then you’d better get finished by tomorrow or she will be.”

He raised the glass and tossed off about half of the big drink of whisky. A slow smile suffused his features.

“Damn, but that feels good!” he said.