"At the Nineteenth Precinct, at the moment."
"What evidence do you have?"
Duvivier counted off on his fingers. "First, motive-money; he knew about the jewelry in the safe; second, opportunity-he had complete access to the scene, had his own keys; third, physical evidence-his fingerprints on the doorjamb of the storage room and on several places in the room. Finally, no alibi."
"If you had all that, why didn't you arrest him immediately?"
"We didn't know about his background. All the interviews we conducted agreed with your assessment of the man, but then we got a tip from a good source about his real identity."
"Is there anything else you have to tell me about this?" Sandy asked.
"No, sir."
"Then I'll have to ask you to excuse me, detective; I have some work to do."
"Of course."
Sandy walked him to the door, shook his hand and put him into the elevator. Then he went straight to his study, got his phone book and called his lawyer.
"Jim Barwick," a sleepy voice said.
"Jim, it's Sandy Kinsolving; I'm sorry to disturb you on a Saturday."
"That's all right, Sandy; if it's about your sales agreement, Sam Warren expects to have it on Monday morning. I've already read the fax, and it looks good to me."
"No, it's something else. An employee of our co-op, whose name is Thomas Wills, has been arrested for the murder of my wife."
"Excellent!" Barwick said. "I'm delighted to hear it."
"No, it's not excellent; he didn't do it."
"You know that for a fact?"
"No, not exactly," Sandy said, "but if you knew the man, you'd know he couldn't possibly have done it. He's one of our most trusted employees in the building."
"Sandy, the police know what they're doing," the lawyer said. "They don't arrest people for murder precipitously."
"Of course they do, Jim; they do it all the time."
"All right, Sandy, what can I do to help?"
"I know you don't handle criminal cases, Jim, but I expect you know somebody who does, and I want you to get the man a lawyer. Send the bills to me."
"How much do you want to spend?"
"I want him to have excellent representation; it doesn't have to be F. Lee Bailey."
"I know a young guy, Murray Hirsch."
"Is he very good?"
"He is; he used to be an assistant district attorney. He's only been in private practice for around five years, but he's very smart, and I think he'd do a good job."
"Fine."
"Do you know where-what's his name?"
"Not from somebody like Jock. You always knew exactly what you wanted to do. You resisted the idea of joining the compa-
Thomas Wills. The police told me he assumed that name after serving time for voluntary manslaughter many years ago. His real name is, apparently, Morris Wilkes. He's at the Nineteenth Precinct, but I don't know which name he's being held under."
I'll get right on it, Sandy."
Sandy said good-bye and hung up. He walked slowly back into the bedroom, where Cara was buried in the Times.
She looked up at him. "What's wrong? You look awful."
He sank onto the bed. "They've arrested one of the building's employees for Joan's murder," he said.
"That's wonderful!" she exclaimed.
"No," he said, "it's not wonderful."
CHAPTER 30
Sandy sat on a bench in the Nineteenth Precinct and waited. He'd have much rather spent Sunday morning in bed with Cara, but he felt an obligation to be here.
A young man wearing sweatclothes and carrying a legal pad under his arm walked into the precinct house. He looked to be in his late twenties and very fit; he was carrying the latest in graphite squash racquets. He walked over toward Sandy's bench. "Mr. Kinsolving?" he asked, choosing the only person in the room who could possibly be Sandy.
"Yes," Sandy said, standing up.
"I'm Murray Hirsch." The two men shook hands. "Let's sit down here for a moment, before we see Mr. Wills."
Sandy sat back down. "How is Thomas?"
"Somewhat distressed," Hirsch replied. "That's understandable."
"Under the circumstances," Sandy agreed.
"I saw him yesterday for more than an hour."
"And?"
"He's very nearly convinced me that he's innocent."
"As he most certainly is," Sandy said emphatically. "We've all known Thomas for a long time, and he's not the sort to kill anybody."
"I've told him that you and the other occupants of the building feel that way," Hirsch said, "but we're going to have to deal in reality here."
"Explain the reality to me," Sandy said.
"The reality is that the police have enough evidence to get Mr. Wills indicted for the murder of your wife and the battery of the chauffeur. But, if Mr. Wills decides that he doesn't want to plead, that he wants to go to trial, then I think I have a pretty good chance of getting him off."
"Only a pretty good chance?" Sandy asked.
"Mr. Kinsolving, a criminal trial-especially one involving a black servant accused of murdering a popular socialite-is a fluid thing. Tides run one way, then another, and a conviction or an acquittal will depend a lot on the jurors we get and a dozen other factors that I can only partially control."
"I'm perfectly willing to testify on Thomas's behalf," Sandy said.
"That could be very helpful, if we get that far," Hirsch replied. "What I'd like to do is to try and get the charges dropped before the matter comes to trial."
"And how will you do that?"
"Mr. Kinsolving, you say that the other occupants of your building all support Mr. Wills. Have you actually talked to them about it?"
"Well, no," Sandy admitted, "but I have no doubt that they will."
"The first thing to do is to write a letter to the district attorney, resoundingly supporting the innocence of Mr. Wills, and get every occupant and employee of the building to sign it. Do you think you can do that?"
"Yes, I think I can."
"Good. What we want to do is to put as much pressure as possible on the D.A. to drop charges. I know a couple of people at the newspapers, and I think I can get some space for him there along the lines of, 'High-class co-op residents, the rich and famous,' as it were, 'support innocence of old retainer. Husband of murdered socialite agrees, says man is innocent.' You get my drift?"
Sandy got it all too well; he was going to have to get this letter signed before stories like that appeared in the papers. The other occupants would shrink from that kind of publicity. "If you think that's the way to go," Sandy said.
"I do. This way, if it works, will also save you some major money. I understand you're footing my fee."
"That's right; and now that you mentioned it, what is your fee?"
"If I can get the charges dropped prior to trial, twenty-five thousand dollars; if we have to go to trial, fifty thousand. Appeals, we can discuss later; I hope they won't be necessary."
"Agreed. Can you get Thomas released on bail?"
"Are you willing to put up bail?"
"Of course; what is it likely to be?"
"A hundred thousand, or so; that's if I can demonstrate your support, show roots in the community, steady employment, etcetera."
"You may say for publication that the widower of the murdered woman is putting up bail, and I will state, as president of the co-op board, that Thomas still has his job."
"That will be a big help. There'll be a bail hearing tomorrow, and I'll put all that before the judge. Now, shall we go and see Mr. Wills?"
"First, I think there's something you ought to know," Sandy said.
"What's that?"
"From the very beginning, I mean since my wife was murdered, I've had the impression that the investigating detective, Duvivier, thinks that I may have had something to do with the murder of my wife."
Hirsch's eyebrows shot up. "I've read the clippings; as I understand it, you were talking on a car phone at the time of the murder and that was verified by a number of witnesses."
"I think Duvivier thinks I hired someone to kill her."
"Why?"