Death Sentence

42

A week later he left the office at six o’clock and put the Pontiac up Lake Shore Drive through a gentle snowfall; he was at Harry Chisum’s house by half past the hour.

He’d stopped by two days ago but Irene’s car had been parked at the curb and he’d gone by without stopping; he’d had a very bad time of it that night but he knew he had to face the old man and it was better to get it done.

There was no sign of Irene’s car. He rang the doorbell and took a vague satisfaction in the surprise with which Harry Chisum greeted him.

“I’d like to talk to you.”

“By all means, Paul. Come in.”

“Are you alone? I don’t want to disturb—”

“We’re quite alone.” Harry led him into the parlor and Paul glanced at the ancient television set. Not long ago he’d have hated it for betraying him.

“Would you like a drink? Sherry perhaps?”

“Scotch if you’ve got it.”

“How are things at Childress Associates?”

“They keep me jumping.”

“It’s probably good for you to have a lot of work to do.”

“Yes, it’s a life saver.”

Harry made the drinks and they returned to the parlor. “Well then.”

Paul said, “There’s something I want you to know.”

“I’ve pretty much figured it out for myself.”

“I tried to talk to him. He wouldn’t let me finish. He pulled out that goddamned Luger and started shooting at me. It was blind luck as much as anything else. It might just as easily have been me. I had no intention of shooting the man, Harry.”

“Yes.”

“I’ve got to know you believe that.”

“Is there any reason why I shouldn’t?”

“When I planted the thirty-eight on his body it was an afterthought. I hadn’t planned that.”

“All right, Paul.”

“If he’d only listened to me I could have talked him out of it. It would have worked.”

“He was an impatient man, I suppose. His son a heroin addict...”

“He panicked, that’s all.”

“Yes.”

“Harry, I get a feeling you don’t believe me.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

Paul looked down at his drink. “I don’t deserve much consideration. I can’t ask you to keep my secret. But I want you to believe this — it’s important.”

“Paul, I believe it. I’m utterly convinced you had no intention of killing that man. What more can I say to you?”

“You seem awfully listless.”

“Have you listened to the radio today? Seen this afternoon’s newspaper?”

“No. Why?”

Harry waved vaguely toward the table beyond the television set. There was a newspaper on it. “You’d better have a look.”

Paul walked toward it. Behind him he heard the old man’s voice: “We both thought it was ended. We didn’t realize you’d started something that couldn’t be stopped.”

The headline slammed him in the eyes. He glanced at the columns beneath it. Phrases caught his eye:...three separate incidents in the past forty-eight hours... The same .32 caliber pistol appears to have been used in all three shootings... Captain Victor Mastro was quoted as saying... victims all had criminal records...

He stared in unbelief at the headline: