The Case of the Musical Cow

Chapter 22

Sam Joyner sat in conference with his lawyer.

The attorney counted the sheaf of hundred-dollar bills Joyner had given him. He nodded, pocketed the money.

“Don’t think you’re getting that for nothing,” Joyner said grimly. “That’s not for just being a mouthpiece. That’s for a spring.”

“Shut up,” the lawyer told him. “You know I can’t guarantee a case. But you do just exactly as I tell you and you’ll be okay nine chances out of ten. Now do you want to buy that or not?”

“I’ve bought it.”

“I just wanted to be sure you understood what you’d bought.”

“Go ahead.”

“I’ve rigged a deal for Gentry. They’ll give him immunity if he’ll sing.”

“If he sings? Why you dope, if he sings he’ll have both of us...”

The attorney interrupted. “Don’t be foolish. He’ll sing the tune I tell him to and I’m writing the words for the music.”

“What do I do?”

“You do just exactly as I tell you. First you talk to everyone. You tell them that you rented your boat to men who impressed you as being all right. When you began to realise there might be something fishy about it, you were afraid to accuse them of any wrongdoing because of laying yourself open to a suit for slander.

“So you decided to keep quiet but try to get some evidence that would enable you to take definite action. You got that straight?”

“That’s what I’ve told ’em,” Joyner said.

“Now get this. After you’ve told that story so that it gets well distributed, all of a sudden you clam up. I don’t want you to get where you have to answer questions about being seen with Trenton in the bus station until we can get a fix on that woman witness. You can say that you’re entirely innocent, but there’s a technical irregularity that’s worrying your attorney. Say your lawyer told you to refuse to answer any questions. Say, ‘I refuse to answer on the ground that anything I may say might incriminate me.’ Then you smile wistfully and say that it’s just a technicality, but nevertheless, when you have an attorney you have to do what he says. You say it seems a foolish precaution to you because the thing your attorney is afraid of is just a little irregularity in connection with an incidental matter. And then you squirm a bit and call me on the phone and tell me that you’re being questioned and you want to tell your story and plead with me to let you. I’ll tell you to sit tight, and you’ll get mad, but finally you’ll agree that you promised me you’d follow my advice.

“You hang up the phone, but you’re still mad. You want to talk the worst way, but you can’t. So you cuss me and make it look as if you’re sore as a boil... but you don’t talk. You don’t answer any question from anyone.

“You think you can do that all right?”

“I just refuse to say anything?”

“Yes. You read from a paper, ‘I refuse to answer this question on the advice of counsel and on the ground the answer might incriminate me.’”

A smile of relief spread over Joyner’s face. “That,” he said, “is the best legal advice I’ve ever had.”

The attorney nodded. “I’m glad you’re getting wise. They have a murder they’re going to have to clean up. They’ve elected Trenton as the one who did it. They want a conviction. They want a conviction right now. This is our chance to climb aboard for free. You get me?”

“I get you,” Joyner said, relief in his voice. “And,” he added, “I’m damn glad I got you.”