The D.A. Calls It Murder

Chapter XXI

Madison City was shaken to its foundations as two newspapers made simultaneous appearance on the street. The Blade demanded the immediate recall of the district attorney on the ground of complete incompetence, upon the ground that he had been influenced by the monied interests of Hollywood, that his head had been turned by the wiles of a clever actress, and that he had proven himself utterly unfit to discharge even the routine duties of his office.

The Clarion, in an “extra” which had evidently been printed and held in readiness to hit the streets at the same time as The Blade, carried great screaming headlines:

The newspaper carried complete details, even to a verbatim copy of the marriage record of the Riverbend Methodist Church, as the contents of that record had been transmitted over long distance telephone at the request of the sheriff’s office. It contained an interview with the fingerprint expert of the sheriff’s office, stating there could be no doubt as to the identity of Dr. Perry’s fingerprints, which appeared on the space-bar of the typewriter. And it contained a boxed-in paragraph giving a last minute flash announcing that Dr. Perry had confessed.

Sylvia Martin sat in the district attorney’s office, reading the newspaper.

“A damned good story, Mr. District Attorney,” she said, “even if we did write it.”

He grinned across at her. “We had to save our jobs,” he said.

“Say, Doug, know something?”

“What?”

“One of the big Los Angeles papers rang me up and offered me a swell job. Gee, Doug, the city editor was where he could hear my end of the conversation. He knew what it was. Gosh but he was worried.”

The district attorney’s forehead showed furrows of concern. “Did you accept, Sylvia?”

“No,” she said, “I told them I liked the local environment... How about your Hollywood contacts, Doug? Going to play around with the movie crowd?”

“No,” he told her. “I did the same thing you did.”

“What’s that?”

“Told them I liked the local environment.”

She looked at him, gave a quick intake of breath.

“Really, Doug?”

“Really.”

“Did... did you mean what I meant?” she asked.

“The question,” he told her, “is: Did you mean what I meant?”