“Not true!” Goldberg snapped. “We had the same accountant. Mike was in default only fifty thousand dollars, and he had bonds to back that up.”
“I told Masuto what Mike told me,” Ranier protested lamely.
“Then, gentlemen and ladies, if Mr. Barton was not in default, we must look for another reason for his participation in so stupid and unworkable a scheme. Perhaps I can enlighten you-I mean those of you who are not already aware of what I am going to say. The woman, Angel Barton, had undergone a process of what is called sexual reassignment, a process which through hormonal treatment and surgery turns a man into a woman. This was the secret with which she blackmailed and controlled Mike Barton for two years.”
Masuto watched the faces. McCarthy’s face was full of disbelief. Goldberg was untouched. He knew. Della Goldberg burst into tears. Netty Cooper shook her head in disbelief, and Hennesy sat with his mouth open. Ranier’s face was unchanged, set tight. Masuto turned to look at Elaine Newman. She was staring at the floor.
“So the kidnapping now stands in a somewhat different light,” Masuto said. “Mike Barton was blackmailed into it, as he was blackmailed into remaining with Angel Barton, as he was controlled and manipulated-”
“I pleaded with him,” Della Goldberg burst out. “I begged him to let the world know and be damned. Joe offered him an unbreakable five-picture contract if he would divorce that devil, but he wouldn’t. He said it would be the end of his life, the end of his career.”
“The plan,” Masuto said, “as Mr. Ranier laid it out to Mike Barton, was for Angel Barton to meet him at San Yisidro, take the money, drive to downtown Los Angeles, park her car, and take a taxi back here. Instead, she altered the plan-with or without Mr. Ranier’s approval, we have yet to discover-and when she met her husband, she sat down next to him in his car, diverted him somehow, took her gun from her purse, and shot him.”
“Without my knowledge or approval, if there’s a shred of truth in what you’re saying, which I doubt!” Ranier shouted, and then turning to McCarthy, “Jack, can he do this? Stand there and slander me?”
“If he’s slandering you,” McCarthy said coldly, “it’s actionable. You’re not required to say anything or even to remain here.”
“I damn well intend to remain here while he’s spouting this garbage!”
Without appearing to respond to the interruption, Masuto continued. “Then, her husband dead, Angel put the suitcase in her car, drove downtown, and then took a cab back here. When she arrived here, she told Mr. Ranier what had happened, and he asked her what she had done with the gun. To his horror, she had forgotten to dispose of it. She gave it to him and he probably hid it for the moment behind some books in the library.”
“I won’t even dignify this fantasy with a denial,” Ranier said.
McCarthy rose, one finger hooked on his belt. “You, sir,” he said to Masuto, “have concocted a story which points directly to a man who is a client of mine. You have offered not one shred of evidence. Indeed, if you had any such evidence, you would not have provoked this charade, and since you cannot arrest Mr. Ranier, you have chosen to slander him. Let me be precise. You accuse him of conniving with Angel Barton to steal a million dollars, a hundred thousand of which was his own money-”
“Or his clients’ money,” Goldberg snapped. “The man’s a business manager.”
“I’ll thank you not to interrupt me, Joe. But to get back to Sergeant Masuto’s actionable accusations. You charge that the money was placed in Angel’s car. You say shedrove downtown, left the car, and returned here by cab. But when she returned, she had no money, no suitcase-”
As McCarthy spoke, Masuto nodded slightly at Beckman, who left the room.
“-which makes the first hole in your incredible concoction. And if Mike was being blackmailed so readily-” He stopped in mid-sentence as Beckman entered the room carrying what was unquestionably a very heavy suitcase. He placed the Gucci bag on the floor in sight of the group and opened it. The sight of the open bag, filled with what were apparently neatly stacked bundles of twenty-dollar bills, drew a collective gasp from the audience, the response of people to a magician who takes a very large rabbit out of an empty hat. Masuto watched Ranier, whose tight, controlled face revealed nothing. The silence was drawn like a stretched rubber band, until Netty Cooper said shrilly, “Is that the ransom? Good heavens, did you have it all this time?”
“I didn’t have it,” Masuto said.
Coldly and angrily, Ranier said to McCarthy, “I want you to witness the fact, Jack, that my home was entered and searched illegally. I had no knowledge of the fact that Angel had put the ransom money in my house. I only discovered it an hour before coming here, and I intended to take up the matter with Captain Wainwright.”
“Did you have a warrant to search his house?” McCarthy asked Masuto.
“No.”
“Then I’m afraid you’re in for trouble, Sergeant.”
“Possibly.” He nodded slightly at Beckman, who closed the suitcase and latched it.
“No, sir. Not possibly, but indubitably. Your conduct of this charade has been both disgraceful and actionable. You have read too many mysteries, sir. What fiction allows, the law prohibits-”
Still, Masuto watched Ranier.
“-and I am absolutely amazed, Captain Wainwright, that you could lend yourself to this. However, this is not the end of the matter, only the beginning.”
“May I finish?” Masuto asked sharply.
“I see no reason why this slander should be continued,” McCarthy said.
“Your client is free to leave,” Wainwright said with annoyance. “He was not forced to come here.”
McCarthy looked at Ranier, who rose but made no move to leave. “Let’s hear the rest of what this turkey has to say,” Ranier said bitterly. “We might as well get all of it.”
“Joseph Kelly,” Masuto said, “was, as you all know, Mr. Barton’s chauffeur. He was a man with a long prison record. Barton gave him a chance and employed him. Last night he was murdered. He was murdered because, standing in the butler’s pantry, he overheard the conversation between Angel Barton and Mr. Ranier when she returned here after the kidnapping.”
“Just hold on!” McCarthy interrupted. “You’re digging your own grave, sir! You’re accusing my client-”
“Let me finish!” Masuto said harshly. McCarthy paused. “I’m not making any accusations that can’t be backed up. There were two women in this house last night, Lena Jones, the maid, and Mrs. Holtz, the housekeeper, and both of them were awakened by a loud gunshot. Miss Jones looked out of her window and saw Mr. Ranier leaving Kelly’s quarters.”
It came like a bombshell. Even Wainwright and Beckman had not been ready for this. Only Elaine Newman appeared not to be surprised, sitting relaxed, a tight smile on her lips. The others were staring at Ranier, who shouted, “That’s a damned lie, Masuto! That’s a concoction out of the whole cloth! You set out to frame me here tonight! Loud gunshot! You son of a bitch, you said yourself that the gun had a silencer and that no one heard anything!”
“Wrong, Mr. Ranier,” Masuto said. “No one except Captain Wainwright here and Detective Beckman knew about the silencer. How did you know, sir? How did you know that Kelly was killed with a gun that had a silencer?”
“You told me.”
“I did not.”
Ranier looked about him, stared at the three policemen who were standing calmly, then reached into his jacket, drew a gun, and stepped clear of the couches, covering the three policemen, who did not move.
“Nobody moves,” Ranier snapped. “Just put your hands up and keep them there.”
Just the slightest nod on Masuto’s part to Beckman and Wainwright. They put up their hands, as Masuto did.
“Bill, you’re crazy!” McCarthy cried. “What in hell are you doing? Can’t you see that this is a frame? You’re playing into their hands.”
“You-Newman!” Ranier said. “Pick up that suitcase and set it down by my side.”