“Before we start,” Ross said, “I have a cassette tape recorder in this attaché case. It has been recording since I arrived here.” He saw the frown on Dupaul’s face and smiled. “I want your permission to continue recording. Or, if it bothers you, I’ll erase what I’ve recorded so far. Which will it be?”
There were several moments of silence as Dupaul’s eyes went from the attaché case to the calm man patiently awaiting his answer. At last he sighed.
“In for a dime, in for a buck,” he said. “Where do we begin?”
“With that baseball game,” Ross said evenly as he folded the agreement and put it away. “Was the riot fixed?”
“If it was, I wasn’t part of the fix,” Dupaul said, and shrugged. “Anyway, if I had a hand in it, would I admit it, even to you? Three guys killed, what do you think? But the truth is, I wasn’t.” He frowned. “Anyway, like I asked before, what’s the ball game got to do with the Neeley charge?”
“It is probably going to have a lot to do with the attitude of the jury,” Ross said. “The public gets their attitudes from newspapers, radio and television, and a jury is chosen from the public. Besides, I like to have more, rather than less, information, whether I use it or not. What about the game?”
“What about it?” Dupaul shrugged. “The umpire was a blind screw. He calls four wide ones, they’re right down the alley.”
“And you didn’t complain?”
Dupaul smiled, a grim, humorless smile.
“Back in high school, on a call like that, I probably beat him to death with my resin bag. But you learn, up in Attica. That umpire carries a loaded cane when he’s tramping past your cell at night...”
“I see,” Ross said. “They were really right down the alley?”
“Well, maybe on the corners, but definitely over the plate. Ask Millard, he was catching me. He called for the pitches and I gave him what he wanted. I was hot that day; strong, real strong! And as far as being right down the alley, no pitcher in his right mind throws them that way unless he wants the ball back in his teeth.”
“Even if he’s throwing to a batter like Ryan?”
Dupaul suddenly tensed. Ross interpreted the gesture instantly.
“No, I’m still your lawyer and not part of an investigating committee, but obviously I have a few facts of the matter. Why don’t you relax and just answer the question?”
“You mean, I already signed the paper, so shut up and keep swimming, huh?” Dupaul grinned. “What about Ryan?”
“He’s pretty slow, isn’t he?”
“So what?”
“Look, Billy,” Ross said patiently, “I’m only asking questions a lot of other people have been asking and are going to be asking. They’re going to question the necessity of throwing fancy corner breaks, or pitches the umpire might consider doubtful, to a batter as slow as Ryan.”
“Why, for chrissakes?”
“Because those four pitches were the reason for a riot, that’s why. And during that riot three men including a guard were killed. You know why. Just answer the question.”
Dupaul leaned over, his face close to Ross’s, his voice earnest.
“Mr. Ross, first of all I only pitched what Millard called for, but don’t go laying anything off on Millard because he was dead right on his calls. I’d have argued every inch of the way if he’d have signaled for any fast, straight ball. Sure, some hitters are slower than others, but nobody is so slow you can shove three straight fast balls past him in a row. Not and play on that team!”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, slow is relative. Ryan’s got a .270 average. If he’s so slow, how does he rate that average? Especially when he has to practically walk down to first base he’s so fat? Remember Ernie Lombardy? He was before I was born, but he was slow. He had to hit a home run to get to first. But did anybody throw them right down the alley to him?” He shook his head. “Nobody with brains. Remember Herb Score? He threw one right down the alley to a slow hitter one day... What are you smiling at?”
“Not at what happened to Herb Score,” Ross assured him instantly. “It’s just that I think you’ve given me the answer to a certain wise-guy newspaperman.” He straightened his face. “All right. Then what caused the riot? Nobody is going to believe it was just a coincidence that the men rioted over a bad call just at the moment an escape attempt was being made.”
Billy Dupaul considered the other a moment before answering.
“Look, Mr. Ross. I may not be the brightest guy in the world, but I’m not the biggest dummy, either. I know the riot looks fixed and that I had to be in on it. But I wasn’t, and that’s all I can tell you.” He shook his head in disgust. “Hell, you don’t need four balls to start a riot during a ball game. A guy slides into base and whether he gets called safe or out, there’s enough for anybody to start a rumble!”
“Except for the timing,” Ross pointed out. “In this case, that was very important. They couldn’t wait for a man to reach base. The riot started just a few minutes after the game started.”
“If the game had started on time,” Dupaul said disgustedly, “there’d have been all the time in the world to rumble about anything.”
Ross became alert. “The game didn’t start on time?”
“Hell, no. We were set to begin at one o’clock, right after noon chow. We actually didn’t get started until damn near one-thirty. The key to the equipment room was missing.”
Ross leaned forward, his eyes bright with interest.
“Whose responsibility is the equipment room?”
“Father Swiaki,” Dupaul said. “But you can’t think he was in on any deal like that? That’s crazy!”
“I told you before, I’m just getting facts,” Ross said. He moved on. “Let’s drop the riot for the time being. I think I’ve got enough to work on there so we shouldn’t have too much to worry about. Let’s go back eight years to the Neeley case. All set?”
“All set.”
“All right. I’d like to talk about that twenty-two-caliber pistol that was used in shooting Neeley. I know what the transcript says; what I want is your opinion. How do you think this woman, Grace, got hold of it to give to you?”
There were several moments of silence. When Dupaul answered at last he sounded more curious than anything else; even more curious than relieved.
“You sound like you believe my testimony at the trial.”
“I have to believe it,” Ross said. “If I didn’t I wouldn’t be here, because there wouldn’t be a chance in a million of getting you off. Now, how do you think she got hold of the gun?”
Dupaul shook his head slowly, staring down at his hands.
“Mr. Ross,” he said at last, looking up, “I spent the first two years at Attica trying to figure that one out.”
“Only the first two years?”
“That’s all,” Dupaul said quietly, “because after that a guy can go crazy. I almost did, anyway. There just wasn’t any way at all she could have gotten hold of the gun. Or rather, I suppose what I’m trying to say is that there were about a million ways.”
“How’s that?”
“Well,” Dupaul said, “I guess at one time or another most of the team were in my room. And the mob up there at the time of the signing...”
Ross frowned. “The contract signing was in your hotel room?”
“Yes, sir. It was supposed to be out at the stadium, but the afternoon papers wanted to make the late edition, and my hotel room was in town, and so—” He shrugged. “That’s where it was.”
A sudden thought came to Ross, unrelated to anything.
“Was the Daily Mirror represented?”
“The Daily Mirror?” Dupaul looked at him. “What’s that?”