Bill Dunbar, the attorney who had been appointed by the court to represent James Crandall, was plainly flattered that he had been invited to dinner aboard the yacht.
Sidney Zoom’s craft was far too beautiful and trim not to have attracted much attention among the inhabitants of Dellboro when it swung into dock at the river bank. And Bill Dunbar was far too shrewd an attorney not to recognize the advertising value of being the first citizen of the town to set foot aboard.
With a good dinner under his belt, a glass of cordial at his elbow, a lighted cigarette between his fingers, Dunbar talked calmly and frankly about the case.
“Of course,” he said, “there are some things that I can’t tell you. My professional obligations, and my duty to my client require that I use discretion. Crandall was without funds. The court appointed me to defend him. I’ll do it to the best of my ability. It’s a part of the duties of my profession.
“The facts in the main are as reported. Three years ago Frank Strome, who was then the county attorney, tried a case in which James Crandall was the defendant. The charge was forgery. Crandall claimed he was innocent, but Strome secured a conviction. Crandall was very bitter.
“A year ago Crandall was released. He dropped out of sight. Where he was and what he was doing are mysteries that the police have never been able to solve. He simply keeps his mouth shut and won’t say a word.
“On the eighteenth of April, at about three o’clock in the afternoon, Frank Strome was found dead in his private office. There were a lot of legal papers scattered over the floor, also some mail. It looked as though papers had been thrown broadcast.
“There was an automatic with one shell discharged. It lay on the desk. The door from the private office into the hallway was open. Strome always kept it locked. That showed that someone had left by that door, and, probably had entered by it.
“Carl Purcell, the present attorney for the county, was chief deputy at that time. He had been in to see his chief upon some matter of business, and found that some papers were required. He went out into the outer office and enlisted the aid of the stenographer in finding the files.
“Strome was alive at that time. He called to Purcell as the chief deputy left the inner office. The stenographer heard his voice plainly. It didn’t sound excited in the least, nor did it sound as though there was anyone else in the room, for he was referring to some very confidential papers. They related, I understand, although it’s being hushed up, to a charge that was being investigated against Sam Gilvert, a banker here.
“Anyway, the papers were gone. The deputy and the stenographer searched for them high and low. They were occupied for some half hour in the search. The papers were important. They dreaded to tell their boss about the loss.
“Finally, Purcell decided there was nothing else to do. Afterwards they wondered why Strome had been so patient. He had evidently expected the papers to be brought to him within a matter of minutes. But he sat in his office and said nothing.
“Purcell went in — and came running out. He yelled that Strome was dead. Subsequent events showed that he’d been dead for some fifteen or twenty minutes. In fact, there’s one way the exact time the shot was fired can be told...”
Sidney Zoom interrupted.
“You mean to tell me that the shot wasn’t heard?”
The lawyer shrugged his shoulders.
“One of the peculiar facts of the case,” he said. “Yet it’s one of those things about which there can be no doubt. The shot was fired from that private office, and yet no one heard it. That leads up to what I was going to tell you about the time of the murder. There was only one moment when that shot could have been fired, yet not heard.
“That was when a machine was going past, setting off heavy bombs. It was a part of the drive that was being waged to find employment for some of the needy workers in the city. The car had a lot of publicity stuff pasted on the sides, and was setting off bombs at regular intervals.
“The sound of those bombs would have drowned the noise of the gun. The man must have managed to get Strome to let him into his private office, through the hall door, then shot him when the machine went past.”
The lawyer sipped his cordial, stretched out his legs, puffed at his cigarette.
“That, of course, is a telling point in the case against us. It shows premeditation. Otherwise I’d try to claim that there was an argument, that the murder must have been committed in the heat of the argument...”
Sidney Zoom’s voice was impatient.
“The letter?” he said.
The attorney shrugged his shoulders.
“After all, that’s a matter for the handwriting experts and for the jury. It was received through the mail. There can be no doubt about its receipt. The stenographer remembers when it came in, remembers when Strome opened it and took out the letter. He showed it to her. He remarked at the time that it was the second threat he’d received from the same party.”
Sidney Zoom was scowling.
“And Crandall signed that letter?”
The lawyer was cautious.
“It purports to bear his signature,” he said, “and handwriting experts employed by the state are prepared to swear that it’s Crandall’s handwriting.”
“The gun?” asked Sidney Zoom.
“Same story,” said the attorney. “The police claim they can show where the defendant purchased this gun, claim they can show his handwriting on the register that the retailer kept. He purchased it in another state several years ago.”
“Any chance this evidence is faked?”
“That’s something for the jury to decide. Personally, I wouldn’t trust George Frink any farther than I could throw the courthouse by the cornerstone.”
“Frink? Who’s he?”
“He’s the head of the county attorney’s secret staff. He has all the drag around here, acts like a tin god.”
“Anything else you know about the case?” Zoom inquired.
“Plenty,” agreed the lawyer, “but I can’t tell it.”
“And no one knows where the defendant’s been since he left the big house?”
“No. That’s one thing he won’t tell, even to me.”
“If he doesn’t tell on the witness stand he’ll go to the chair,” Zoom remarked.
The lawyer sighed.
“That’s what I’ve told him. He says that he’ll go to the chair, if that’s the case. He won’t open up about where he’s been.”
Sidney Zoom dropped one of his long arms. His strong, tapering fingers massaged the dog’s ears as the animal sprawled at the side of his chair.
“Do you know,” he remarked casually, “I’m glad I came down here, after all?”
“Why?” interrogated the attorney.
“Because,” said Sidney Zoom, “that crime never happened the way you and the county attorney seem to think it happened — never in God’s world.”
The lawyer sipped his cordial, and said: “Well, I’m glad you feel that way. I wish you could inspire me with some of your confidence.”
“When will the case go to the jury?” snapped Zoom.
“The latter part of the week, maybe sooner.”
“Could you get a continuance if we uncovered something interesting?”
“Not a chance. I’ve tried twice for a continuance.”
Sidney Zoom’s lips clamped in a thin line.
“If the defendant had been wealthy, could you have secured a continuance?”
“Why ask?”
“Nothing. Do have some more cordial, and we’ll quit talking shop and let you get a little relaxation.”
Chapter III
The Girl in the Park
The city of Dellboro quieted down early at night. After the second picture show there were a few stragglers who debouched upon the streets. But they dissolved almost at once. Cars roared into motion, pulling away from the curb, running with purposeful speed toward the residential section.