The Wrong Gun

32

Mark Taylor caught up with Steve and Tracy in the corridor on their way back into court.

“Vaulding’s gonna drop a bombshell,” Taylor said.

“I know that,” Steve said.

“Oh, yeah?” Taylor said. “Then why am I getting it like it’s a hot tip?”

“What’s your source?”

“That reporter. He got the tip. Vaulding put out the word during recess to expect fireworks when court reconvenes.”

“I know that too,” Steve said. “It’s what Tracy and I were just talking about. I did a number on the ballistics expert. Which ordinarily would have been great. Except for the bit about roughing up the gun barrel. That’s where he turns around and kicks us in the teeth. But it’s no surprise, it’s just what we were expecting.”

“Yeah, well the word is the shit’s hitting the fan. And how does that add up? The press already has the scoop on the file. You know he’s gonna club you with it. The press knows he’s gonna club you with it. What’s the big deal?”

“There’s one possibility, Mark, and it’s just what we were discussing.”

“What’s that?”

“Timberlaine swears he found the file in his room. He has no idea how it got there. If that’s true, the worst Vaulding can do is call the cop who served the warrant and show the file was found in his room. Big deal. It’s incriminating, but old hat. No, the kick in the teeth, the hold-the-phone bombshell, is if Timberlaine is lying about finding the file in his room. And, instead of the cop who served the warrant, Vaulding’s next witness is some shopkeeper who will testify Timberlaine bought the file.”

“Oh, shit,” Taylor said.

“Right,” Tracy said. “Or maybe even asked him to recommend what to use to rough up a gun barrel.”

“Oh, come on,” Taylor said. “He couldn’t be that dumb.”

“Yeah,” Steve said dryly.

They pushed their way into the courtroom. Whatever word Vaulding had put out, people must have believed him, because the place was packed. Mark and Tracy couldn’t get their usual seats and wound up standing in the back.

Steve pushed his way through the crowd up to the defense table, where court officers had already brought in Timberlaine.

“What’s this all about?” he demanded as Steve sat down.

“I was hoping you could tell me. Vaulding’s got some sort of surprise. I don’t know what it is.”

“Hell.”

“You said it. You sure you told me everything about the file?”

“Sure. What else is there to tell?”

“That’s what I’m asking you.”

“Nothing. I found it in my room, I don’t know where it came from.”

“Great,” Steve said.

The jury was led in. Judge Hendrick took his place on the bench. When they were all in position, Vaulding made a star’s entrance, walking in from the back of the courtroom, pushing his way through the reporters and photographers gathered there. He strode up to the prosecution table and stood there, almost striking a pose.

Judge Hendrick regarded him with some irritation. “Well, call your next witness,” he said.

“Call Frederick Henson,” Vaulding said.

A middle-aged man with a sad-eyed, droopy sort of face made his way to the witness stand.

Confirming Steve Winslow’s worst fears. Not a cop. A shopkeeper.

As Henson passed by the defense table, Steve heard a sharp intake of breath. He turned to see that Timberlaine had gone white as a sheet. “Smile,” Steve said out of the corner of his mouth.

Timberlaine gawked at him. His lips trembled. His eyes blinked.

“No matter how bad it is, there’s nothing we can do about it now,” Steve said. “Just grin and bear it.”

When the witness had been installed on the stand, Vaulding said, “State your name.”

“Frederick Henson.”

“Mr. Henson, I ask you to look around the courtroom and tell me if you see anyone you recognize.”

“Yes, sir. Him.”

“Let the record show that the witness is pointing at the defendant, Russ Timberlaine. That is correct, is it not, Mr. Henson? It is the defendant, Russ Timberlaine, whom you recognize?”

“Yes, sir. That’s him all right.”

“Where do you know him from?”

“He was in my shop.”

“He was a customer in you shop?”

“That’s right.”

“When was this?”

“On July 16th.”

“Are you sure of that date?”

“Yes, I am.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“When you asked me, I looked it up.”

“I see. And just what was it the defendant bought from you on that occasion?”

“A Colt.45 revolver.”