“Anyway, Dupaul said he thought he remembered going up in an elevator and going into this apartment. He said he remembered sitting on a bed while the woman undressed him, and he remembered feeling very dizzy—”
Ross said, “Do you have his direct testimony there?”
“Right here. Do you want it?”
“No. Just give Sharon the page numbers. I may want to check it out later.”
“Right,” Steve said. He dug through one of the stacks, checking page numbers. “Pages 116 through 122. It starts — the part I’m describing now — on line 5 of page 118. Okay?”
Sharon nodded and marked the footage on the recorder meter. Steve went back to his notes.
“Well, to sum up his testimony, he said he wasn’t feeling well, but this woman obviously wanted to make love and he figured she was a prostitute, and then all of a sudden she let go of him and made this funny noise and there was a man with a suitcase standing in the doorway. The man started to swear at him and dropped the suitcase and started to go through a dresser drawer looking for a gun—”
Ross interrupted. “How could he know what the man was looking for?”
Steve reddened slightly.
“Well, actually he didn’t say that; he said the man was going through the dresser drawer and brought out a gun, and then the woman was pressing another gun into his hand and telling him the man was going to shoot them both, and when the man raised the gun he’d taken from the dresser drawer, Dupaul didn’t think, he just pulled the trigger.”
“And then?”
“The man fell down, bleeding, and Dupaul proceeded to get sick. He went into another room and threw up. When he came back the man was unconscious, lying on the floor and bleeding badly from the mouth, and the woman was gone. He started to get dressed and then ran out of the place with the rest of his clothes in his hands. He ran down the steps and right into the arms of the police. And that was that.”
Ross frowned. “What did he do with the gun he’d used?”
“He said he just dropped it after the shooting and before he got sick; he didn’t know what happened to it. The police later found it on the floor next to the bed.”
Ross studied Steve’s face. He said, “You’re not giving me all of it, Steve. On the basis of that testimony — a young boy, drunk, sick, scared to death, being handed a gun and told to use it for what he obviously considered self-defense — not only his own defense but that of a third person, and a woman at that — I’m surprised he received more than a suspended sentence. Even Al Hogan, drunk as a lord, should have been able to do better than that for the boy. But you apparently feel, from what you said before, that the jury was justified in finding Dupaul guilty on the basis of his story. So what are you leaving out?”
“I’m not leaving anything out,” Steve said with a grin. “I just haven’t finished putting everything in. Not yet, I mean. I still haven’t given you Neeley’s testimony, for instance.”
“True,” Ross conceded, and leaned back in his chair. “Fire away.”
“Well,” Steve said, “Neeley, to put it in a nutshell, says that Dupaul’s whole story is a fairy tale. Neeley says there is no Mrs. Neeley and there hasn’t been since they were divorced ten years earlier, and that her name isn’t Grace but Rose, and if he had come home and found his ex-wife entertaining a stranger in bed he would have given that stranger a prize, because it would have gotten him off the hook on the alimony payments he was making—”
Ross smiled. “Whatever gave him that idea?”
“I’m merely reporting what he said. Anyway, the ex-Mrs. Neeley was brought to court and denied ever having seen Dupaul, and Dupaul was equally emphatic that this was not his pretty, sexy Mrs. Neeley.
“The prosecutor more or less hinted, without coming right out and saying it, that Dupaul’s story had been composed, words and music, by Al Hogan — probably in one of his drunken states — and was patently ridiculous. He pointed out that even Mr. Hogan should have remembered that the police had found only the one gun in the room—”
Ross sat a bit more erect, interrupting.
“They only found the one gun?”
“Yes, sir. The one Neeley supposedly had taken from the dresser drawer was gone. Incidentally, the suitcase he supposedly had brought into the room also was not there.”
“How did they know the gun found beside the bed was the gun used in the shooting?”
“Actually, they never had to prove it. Dupaul never claimed it wasn’t.”
Ross shook his head. “Al Hogan should have done better! Well, go on.”
“Yes, sir. Hogan claimed the woman must have taken the second gun away, but the prosecutor pointed out that even Mr. Hogan would have to admit puzzlement that the woman — had she existed and had she taken a gun from the room — would almost certainly have taken the gun she gave Dupaul, rather than the unfired gun belonging — supposedly — to Neeley. Actually, the prosecution had a lot of fun on that score.
“Neeley further not only denied having walked into the apartment with a suitcase, but claimed he didn’t own a suitcase. He—”
“The woman could have taken it away, as well as the gun,” Ross pointed out.
“I suppose she could have, if there would have been any reason for her to do so,” Steve acknowledged. “But why on earth, in a panic situation, would a woman stop and pick up a suitcase before running out?”
“I have no idea,” Ross said flatly. “Go on.”
“Anyway, I’m merely giving you the testimony as it appears in the transcript. We can draw our conclusions later. Neeley said what actually happened was that he was on his way home—”
“From where?”
“He said he’d been to a movie. The defense questioned him about that and the details seemed to fit, but nobody made a big point of it.”
“It seems there were lots of points nobody made a big point of,” Ross said sourly. “Go on.”
“Neeley said he was passing the Mountain Top Bar when young Dupaul came staggering out and collared him the way drunks do, telling him what a miserable, lousy place New York City was, they wouldn’t sell a man a drink, and so on and so on. Neeley said he could see it was just a big kid in his teens and he felt sorry for him, so he told him to come up to his place and have some coffee and sober up.
“He said they walked — no taxi — on to the apartment on West Sixtieth Street, and when they got there, he went into the kitchen and put up some coffee — incidentally, there was fresh coffee on the stove when the police got there, whatever that proves — and when he came back the boy had wandered into the bedroom, taken off his jacket, tie, and shoes, and was stretched out on the bed, sound asleep.
“He says he woke the boy up and the kid wanted a drink, and when Neeley told him there wasn’t any liquor in the house — Neeley said there was, of course, but not for the kid — the boy didn’t believe him and started to get abusive.
“And when Neeley threatened to call the cops and throw him out, the boy got real nasty and started to tear the place apart, starting with the bed. Neeley grabbed him to try and shove him out of the apartment, at which — according to Neeley — the boy pulled a gun and said something to the effect of, ‘Do I get a drink or do you get shot?’ Neeley says he insisted there was no liquor in the place, at which the boy said something like, ‘I’ll find it easier without you,’ and shot him down in cold blood.”
Ross scribbled a note on the pad before him. Sharon looked at him, surprised he had not asked her to include it in her notes. Ross smiled at her.
“Just something that strikes me as being a bit odd,” he said, and turned to Steve. “By the way, what was the exact nature of Neeley’s wound?”