“That’s fine.” Quirt hesitated a moment; when at last he spoke he seemed a bit embarrassed. “Look, Hank — anything that Billy says...” The deep voice trailed away to silence.
Ross frowned at the instrument.
“Yes? Go ahead, Charley.”
“Well,” Quirt said diffidently, “I just meant, maybe it would be better if — well, if he doesn’t know that I’m — I mean the club, that is — is paying your fee...”
Ross stared at the telephone in amazement.
“Do I understand you correctly, Charley? Do you mean that I’m going down to the Tombs in an hour or so to see this boy, and you haven’t seen to it that he knows I’m representing him?”
“What the hell, Hank! He’ll be damned glad you’re representing him,” Quirt said forcefully. “They have newspapers in prison, and radios and television, too. I’m damned sure he knows who you are — every prisoner in the state knows who you are. And a hell of a lot of them undoubtedly wish you’d been defending them instead of whoever did.”
“Well, thank you very much for the plug, Charley. If I ever need a PR man, I’ll be in touch. But it just strikes me as a bit odd. You didn’t seem to be so shy as far as telling the newspapermen goes; I naturally assumed you’d have let the client also know.”
“The newspapermen? Well, maybe a couple were standing around when I was talking to you, but what the hell, Hank! It won’t hurt our case any to have the public know you’re handling the defense. And I didn’t think it was any great secret, anyway.”
“I guess not,” Ross said, and sighed. “I just don’t want to spend half of my life trying to select a jury the prosecution objects to because they read papers. However...”
“You mean Gorman can do it but we can’t?”
“I mean I don’t think anyone should do it,” Ross said. “Let’s get back to business. What did you start to say before with that ‘Anything Billy says’? You let it drop.”
“I just meant—” Quirt sounded uncomfortable. “Well, Hank, the truth is I guess he doesn’t particularly like me. He was pretty vindictive because the club didn’t stand back of him more, eight years ago.”
Ross’s voice was completely innocent.
“But he shouldn’t take that personally, should he? After all, you were the one who signed his contract, weren’t you? There was a picture in the papers of the signing, as I recall.”
“That’s right. I was always on the kid’s side; I was the one who pushed for that high a bonus, but, well, like I told you — I was out of the country. There was nothing I could do...” The embarrassed tone strengthened. “All I’m trying to tell you is to take some of the things he might say — especially about me — with a grain of salt.”
Ross smiled faintly, an enigmatic smile, but his voice remained expressionless.
“I take everything anyone tells me with a grain of salt, Charley. But thanks for the tip.”
“And let me know what happens, eh?”
“You’re paying the bills,” Ross said noncommittally. “I’ll be in touch.”
“And Hank—”
“Yes?”
“Nothing,” Quirt said. He hesitated a moment more, his breath clearly audible in the telephone, and then abruptly hung up.
Ross placed the telephone back in its cradle and looked at Sharon thoughtfully. He said, “I wonder what Charley was about to say there at the end?”
“Probably nothing very important,” Sharon said, “or he would have said it.”
“I wonder,” Ross said. “The fact is I just learned that he fought against signing Billy Dupaul eight years ago, fought very hard. He only gave in under heavy pressure from above. So why would he suddenly want to help the boy?”
“That’s not what he said.”
“I know it’s not what he said.”
“But — are you sure of your information?”
“I got it from Mike Gunnerson.”
“Then you’re sure.” Sharon shrugged. “I can’t imagine why, then.”
“Nor can I,” Ross said, and dropped the subject, returning to an earlier one. “As I was saying when we were so pointlessly and unsatisfactorily interrupted, have you ever met Molly’s new boyfriend, Jimmy Carter?”
“Just the first day he came wandering in here like a lost lamb. Or a lost sheep would be closer, I guess, at his age.” She looked at him closely. “Why?”
“I’d hate for Molly to make a mistake...”
Sharon studied him shrewdly. She said, “You never worried much about Molly’s many loves before, H.R.”
“Maybe I’m just getting sentimental in my middle years,” Ross said with a smile. “Still, why don’t you double date with Molly and Jimmy one evening? To get a better opinion of him; just to make sure he isn’t leading our Molly — or anyone else, as far as that goes — down the garden path. What do you say? You can put it on the expense account.”
Sharon said, looking at him steadily, “Using who for an escort?”
“Steve,” Ross said easily. “He’s been working extremely hard these days. A little relaxation at the firm’s expense should be both enjoyable and beneficial for both of you.”
There was a moment’s hesitation, then Sharon said, “Well, all right, Mr. Devious, but it’s going to be a very good restaurant, followed by a very good show, followed by a very good night club. And no complaints about the size of the tab.”
“It’s a promise.”
“And exactly what excuse do I give Molly for being — or rather, for Steve being — so generous?”
“You’re celebrating your birthday.”
“Or Steve won the lottery. I like that one better,” Sharon said. “Someone might ask me ‘Which birthday’ and the evening would be off to a poor start. Which account do I charge it to?”
“Make it an open account,” Ross said, and thought a moment. “You know, it just might end up on Charley Quirt’s account before we’re through.”
Sharon frowned at him in silence a moment.
“In that case, change that ‘very good restaurant, show, and night club’ to the most expensive in town.” Her frown changed to a puckish smile. “Maybe spying isn’t such bad work after all.”
“It’s like everything else,” Ross said with a smile. “The object is not to get put up against a wall and shot.” He shuffled through the papers neatly arranged on his desk, put them back in their original order, and came to his feet. “Well, I’m off to meet Mr. Billy Dupaul. Do me a favor; type me up a standard retainer agreement, will you?”
“With pleasure.” Sharon reached for her copy of The Complete Manual of Criminal Forms, opened it to the proper page, and started typing. She finished quickly, zipped the paper from the machine, folded it and slipped it into an envelope, handing it over. “Well, good luck.”
“Everyone keeps wishing me good luck,” Ross said with a smile. “This time I may very well need it.”
Sharon looked at him. “What do you mean, H.R.?”
“Well,” Ross said, “I suppose that Billy Dupaul could really report me to the Bar Association for ambulance chasing. An attorney — unsolicited — offering himself as defense counsel to a client he’s never met? That’s considered to be very naughty...”
He winked at her and went out the door, his attaché case in hand, the envelope tucked in his jacket pocket.
Chapter 7
The visiting room at the Tombs Prison in New York City is as gloomy as the long rows of dingy cells that make up the interior of most of the multiple floors of the gloomy building. Ross, no stranger to the place, signed the lawyer’s register and then waited patiently in the lawyer’s visiting room for Dupaul to appear.
The door on the far side of the room opened and Ross found himself watching a tall, heavy-set, blond young man being led in. There was a wary expression in his deep blue eyes. Although he no longer looked much like the youngster who had signed the Mets contract years before, there was a familiarity about him. The correction officer accompanying the prisoner turned away and went to sit beside the door through which the pair had entered; his billy club, his only weapon, lay carelessly across his lap. Dupaul walked over to the small cubicle allotted to Ross for the interview; he sank into a chair across from the lawyer and stared at him coldly.