The Wrong Gun

22

Russ Timberlaine looked utterly baffled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s perfectly simple,” Steve said. “The district attorney just held a press conference to release the information that the barrel of the gun had been tampered with.”

“That makes no sense.”

“It does and it doesn’t. If a murderer were going to hang onto the murder weapon, he’d naturally want to rough up the barrel so ballistics couldn’t match up the bullets.”

“Yeah, but why keep it at all?”

“Why, indeed?” Steve said dryly. “Don’t think I won’t be arguing that. I’m just telling you what the prosecution’s going to claim.”

“It’s absurd.”

“I’m glad to hear it. The point is the cops found a rattailed file in your room.”

“I can explain that.”

Steve stopped dead, stared at him. “You know about that?”

“Of course I do. Why?”

Steve closed his eyes, mentally shot himself. “Why? Why, you ask. Well, when I heard the cops found the file in your room, I said, fine, someone framed him with the gun, it follows someone would frame him by planting the file. But you know about it?”

“Yeah. I found it in my room.”

“Don’t tell me. Right after the murder. In fact, right after you took the shower. You found it while you were watching the baseball game and before the cops came.”

Timberlaine shook his head. “No. Before.”

Steve frowned. “Before what?”

“Before that. Well, anything you said, really. I found it a couple of days ago.”

Steve blinked. “What?”

“That’s right.”

“Let me get this straight. You found the file before the murder?”

Timberlaine nodded. “Oh, sure.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Hold on. Let’s pin this down. Just when did you find the file?”

“I’m not sure. Either yesterday or the day before.”

“The murder was yesterday.”

“Right.”

“And the day before was Friday. The day your guests arrived.”

“Yeah. So?”

“So which was it?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, if it was Friday, was it early Friday, or late Friday, after your guests arrived?”

“I don’t know. Why should I? It wasn’t important. I just looked on top of my dresser and there it was.”

“Your dresser?”

“Yeah.”

“You were getting dressed then?”

“I don’t remember what I was doing.”

“Try.”

“Hey. I’ve tried. I just don’t remember.”

“You understand why this is important?”

“Hey, I’m not stupid.”

Steve let that pass. “Fine. Then help me out. Concentrate. Think. Jog your memory. You think I’m asking you if you were getting dressed because I give a damn what clothes you were wearing? I’m trying to reconstruct the scene of you finding the file to jog your memory as to what time of day it might have been. A good clue would be, were you putting clothes on or taking them off?”

“I realize that,” Timberlaine said. “I also realize the significance of whether I found the file before or after my guests arrived in trying to figure out who could have planted it.”

“That’s wonderful,” Steve said, “but slightly incidental. Did you happen to catch the bigger picture, by any chance?”

Timberlaine frowned. “Huh?”

“You found the file before the murder. The actual time doesn’t matter, the fact is it was before the murder. That’s the killer. I gotta argue someone roughed up the barrel of the gun and then planted the file on you. That’s tough enough. It’s a hell of a stretch, but it’s still an argument.

“But once you’re in possession of the file before the murder, what the hell do I argue then? Someone stole the gun from you. Someone stole the file from you. Then they killed Potter with the gun, roughed up the gun with the file, planted the gun back in your holster and hid the file back in your room, and all while you were conveniently taking a fucking shower.” Steve blew out a breath. “Now, I may not be a bad attorney, but if I can get a jury to believe that, I should make Lawyer of the Year.”

Timberlaine frowned. “So what are you going to do now?”

“There’s a saving grace.”

“What?”

“The cops don’t know it.”

“Know what?”

“When you found the file. They got the file, they can prove it was found in your possession, but they can’t prove you had it in your possession before the murder. So I don’t have to explain why you did.”

Timberlaine’s eyes faltered.

Steve groaned. “Oh, Jesus Christ. Don’t tell me.”

Timberlaine shook his head ruefully. “Well, the cops came to me with this file.”

“When?”

“Just now. Just before you got here.”

“And?”

“Well, they told me that things looked bad, they just found this file in my room and-”

“Right,” Steve said sarcastically, “and they said if you could just explain how it got there they’d let you go.”

“How’d you know?”

“Give me a break. You told them you found it there?”

“Right.”

“Before the murder?”

“Well …”

“Well what?”

“I told ’em I wasn’t sure when.”

“That’s what you told me. But it was before the murder.”

“Yeah.”

“And you told ’em that?”

Timberlaine sighed. “Yeah.”

“Great,” Steve said. “You remember me telling you not to talk?”

“Damn it-”

“I hope you remember it. It was just this morning.”

Timberlaine’s eyes blazed. “I don’t have to take this.”

Steve shook his head. “No, that’s the problem. The fact is, you do.” He got up, headed for the door

“Hey,” Timberlaine said. “Where are you going?”

Steve stopped in the doorway. “I’m going to hunt up the D.A., tell him we’re not going to press for bail, and let’s start the trial.”