“Your Honor,” he said, “in all fairness, the court stated before that it would entertain a motion to strike if the testimony became irrelevant or remote. Your Honor, I have never heard testimony quite so remote, quite so unrelated to the case under consideration. The People, Your Honor, therefore do object, and do move to strike.”
Judge Waxler frowned. He looked down from the bench.
“Mr. Ross,” he said, “I must admit there is much justification in what the District Attorney has said. I have allowed you extra latitude, since I felt the defendant was not getting fully effective assistance of counsel earlier in this trial. However, we are certainly far afield from the indictment. You said you were about to connect this up, but if so, when?”
“Very soon, Your Honor. It is true that we’ve gone all around the barn to get where we are, but it was necessary. If you will bear with me a very short time, we shall soon be there.”
“Make it soon,” Judge Waxler said warningly. “You may proceed.”
Ross turned to Coughlin. “Were you married to Grace Melisi?”
Coughlin’s voice was almost inaudible. “Yes.”
“Were you living with her on July 20,1964?”
“Yes.”
“At 562 West Twenty-eighth Street?”
“Yes.”
“Then what was the necessity of taking an additional apartment, in her name alone, at 453 West Sixtieth Street, the same apartment building where Raymond Neeley lived? Especially when you were — as you put it — so broke?”
There was an excited buzzing from the audience. Judge Waxler banged his gavel once; the noise instantly subsided. The spectators were as interested in the drama before them as the participants.
Ross leaned forward. “Well, Mr. Coughlin?”
Coughlin looked around like a trapped animal. “She — she was leaving me for Ray Neeley.”
“So instead of moving in with him, she rented another apartment next door to him? Very moral, but a bit hard to believe.”
Coughlin gave a cry, a wounded bleat. “Damn it! She was leaving me!”
“I believe you,” Ross said in the quiet of the courtroom. “And that’s when you decided to get rid of Raymond Neeley, wasn’t it?”
There was an instant buzz again, as quickly cut off. Coughlin shook his head.
“No...”
“You loved Grace Melisi, didn’t you?”
“She was Grace Coughlin...”
“But you loved her, didn’t you?”
“Yes, damn it, I loved her!”
“She’s dead now, you know.”
“I know.” Coughlin’s eyes begged for understanding. “That’s why I was trying to get some money from you, to get away, maybe to start over again some place.” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t really have testified against the kid...”
“You started out to,” Ross said coldly. “Let’s move on. When did you get the idea of the swindle scheme?”
“I never had anything to do with any swindle scheme!”
“You mean it was just your wife’s idea?” Ross leaned toward him. “By the way, where did your wife meet Raymond Neeley?”
Coughlin’s jaw hardened. “In a bar. She was always meeting people in bars.”
“And you claim the swindle scheme was Neeley’s?”
“That’s right,” Coughlin said, his dark eyes reliving the past. “Grace said Neeley came up with this scheme, that it was just a business arrangement she had with Neeley, but I knew better. She said it was a chance to stick the kid and pick up some loot. She said the kid could spare the dough after signing with the Mets for all that loot. And she knew I never liked the kid, but she never knew why—” He stopped suddenly.
“And why didn’t you like the kid, as you call him?” Ross asked quietly.
Coughlin stared at him, not really seeing him, his face gathering itself into a mask of hate. He was no longer in the courtroom; his mind was back in the past completely.
“He should have been my kid, that’s why!” he said harshly.
“So you set him up—”
“The kid was nothing,” Coughlin said with a sneer. “Christ, can’t you see that?”
“You mean it was Neeley you set up?”
A crafty look came into Coughlin’s eyes. “Like I was dumb, or something! Grace and Neeley cook up this scheme, but Grace tells me they need a gun. Neeley could have gotten hold of a dozen guns if he wanted, but they wanted to stick me if anything went wrong. I knew that. But I knew where the kid’s twenty-two was; he talked about it around the Mets enough, so when I got a chance to grab it during the signing, I did. Everyone was so looped I could have walked out with the bed...” He grinned. “Smart, huh?”
“Smart,” Ross agreed. Everyone in the courtroom was holding his breath, not wishing to break the spell Coughlin was in. Coughlin looked at Ross, as if recognizing him for the first time.
“I pulled a dummy in your office that second time, didn’t I? I knew it as soon as I said it. I heard that tape your secretary was transcribing, and I said, ‘That’s Billy, isn’t it?’ or something dumb like that. Just because I heard the name ‘Marshall,’ I goofed.” He stared at Ross almost anxiously. “You caught that, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Ross said softly.
“I figured you would.” There was an unaccountable touch of satisfaction in the thin man’s voice, as if to demonstrate that losing wasn’t so bad when one lost to a good opponent. “But I’ll bet you never figured out how I got Billy to go over to the Mountain Top Bar, did you?” Coughlin laughed, enjoying himself. “Simple! I knew he wasn’t Dupaul’s kid any more than he was mine. I gave Jim Marshall fifty bucks to needle Billy with that bit of news, to get him started, and then I just followed the kid. When he hit this place on Lexington, I figured he was juiced up enough, so I simply handed some barfly five bucks to give Billy a message he was wanted at the Mountain Top right away. I figured as bombed as he was, he’d never remember. And he never did.”
“And that’s how you got Neeley, eh?”
“Well, hell — he was stealing my wife, wasn’t he?” Coughlin made it sound as if he considered it an ample excuse. “And he got shot in the commission of a crime, didn’t he? If he hadn’t been trying to steal money from the kid, he’d never have gotten scratched. And that’s the truth.” He looked at Ross earnestly. “You could defend me on that basis, couldn’t you, Counselor?”
“I’m afraid not,” Ross said. “What about Jim Marshall?”
“Oh, him?”
“Yes, him,” Ross said.
“Well,” Coughlin said reasonably, “after I heard that part of the tape in your office, I could imagine what the kid was talking about. And I knew you’d get up to Glens Falls and put Marshall through the wringer, so I had to get there first to kill him, didn’t I? I knew if you leaned on him hard enough he’d break and tell you all about the fifty bucks I gave him...”
He looked up, suddenly, startled by his own words.
“But, then, I just told you, didn’t I...?”
And he started to giggle.
And, Ross thought, even Al Hogan could probably get this one off on a charge of complete insanity...
Chapter 17
The long table in Hank Ross’s conference room was well laden with the varied bottles and glasses necessary for a victory celebration, but the atmosphere was anything but cheerful. The only one drinking seriously was Mike Gunner-son; Charley Quirt held a glass in his hands but he was not touching it. Sharon and Steve were sipping soft drinks, Ross had foregone his usual beer, and Billy Dupaul had also refused anything. “I never had the habit, and you sure don’t pick it up at Attica,” he had said. He sat, his face a mask, his feelings under tight control, staring at Charley Quirt as if seeing the man for the first time. His face was pale; his hands were tightly clasped in his lap.