“About what?” Kettle asked.
“Her clothes. The woman was wearing a mink coat worth several thousand dollars. Her dress was obviously expensive too, yet it didn’t fit. At that time I passed it off by guessing she had lost weight, either as an attempt at disguise or from worry over being a fugitive from justice.”
Foley said, “They had to switch clothes, I suppose, in case someone just happened to check with Erie to ask what Grace Emmet was wearing when the transfer took place. They wouldn’t want their careful plans to fizzle on a small point like that.” Then he rubbed his chin. “But how’d they manage to fool Doc Harmon by getting a positive lab test?”
Both Saxon and Kettle looked at him. Saxon said patiently, “Aren’t you being a little naïve, Ben? Ann Lowry was a call girl and Morrison was her procurer. They pulled off on a side road somewhere on the way back from Erie.”
The plump lawyer turned red. He changed the subject. “Where was Grace Emmet all the time her substitute was in the local jail and Morrison was at the hospital having coffee and cake?”
Saxon said, “Probably bound and gagged in the trunk of either Morrison’s or Ann’s car. When they started on again, Morrison must have had the two women switch back to their own clothing so that Grace would be properly dressed when her body was found in his wrecked car. He took the precaution of making her face unrecognizable before pushing the car over the bank.”
“A hell of a fine representative of law and order he is!” Foley said with disgust.
The district attorney said, “You should be back in office tomorrow, Ted.”
“I’d rather not break it just yet,” Saxon said quickly.
Kettle looked at him as if searching for a hole in his head. “Why not?”
“What will it get us? Harry Morrison on a murder charge, providing we can find Ann Lowry to help prove our case. Ann Lowry for conspiracy — again providing we ever find her, which is doubtful. While the guy who planned the frame-up goes free.”
Kettle said doubtfully, “Morrison might implicate him, once he realized he was in for the rap.”
Saxon shook his head. “His best bet would be to deny the whole thing and make us prove it. Which might be tough if we can’t turn up Ann. Even in the face of four disinterested witnesses who saw the prisoner in her cell and are willing to testify that she wasn’t the woman in this picture, a smart lawyer might be able to establish reasonable doubt if we can’t produce the woman who actually was in the cell. You’ve both seen what a good lawyer can do in the way of discrediting identification in court. In fact, both of you have probably been guilty of it.”
“I know what you mean,” Kettle said glumly. “All he’d have to do is get one witness to admit the mug shots resembled the woman in the cell, then stress to the jury that police photography is notoriously poor. We’ll have to get hold of Ann Lowry in order to build an unbreakable case.”
Saxon said, “Cutter already has her under wraps. She’ll probably end up at the bottom of the lake if we have Morrison arrested.”
“Hmm,” Kettle said. “What do you suggest?”
“Let’s quietly ask the Buffalo police to hunt down Ann Lowry. And just sit on what we have until she’s safely in custody.”
“That sounds sensible,” Ben Foley said.
“All right,” Kettle agreed. “I’ll give the Buffalo police a ring. Temporarily we won’t take any other action.”
Saxon said, “Even if the Buffalo cops manage to pick her up, I wish you’d discuss it with me before you move against Morrison, Arn.”
The district attorney raised his eyebrows. “All right. But why?”
“Even if Morrison breaks and tries to implicate Cutter, I doubt that we could get Cutter on conspiracy to murder in Grace Emmet’s case. He could admit the whole plot to frame me and still deny knowing anything of Morrison’s plan to kill his prisoner after she had served her purpose. I suspect we’d end up, at most, with my getting a civil judgment against him for defamation of character. And I want him in the electric chair for conspiracy to murder.”
“How are you going to get him there? You just argued down your own case.”
“Just so far as Grace Emmet is concerned. You forget that Cutter’s guilty of arranging another murder.”
When Kettle looked at him blankly, Ben Foley said, “Andy, Arn. It’s obvious that Ted’s father was murdered on Cutter’s order.”
Saxon said, “Let’s not settle for the small fry. I’d rather hold off until we can build ironclad cases against everybody who had a part in both crimes. And that means not only Larry Cutter, but the gunman who actually killed my dad.”
Chapter 21
Aside from Ben Foley and the district attorney, Saxon discussed the new evidence he had uncovered with no one except Emily. And he impressed on her the need to keep it to herself.
“Don’t even mention it to Julie,” he said. “You know what a hotbed of gossip the hospital is. She’ll impart it in confidence to one of the other nurses, and in twenty-four hours it will be all over town that we know the woman in jail New Year’s Eve wasn’t really Grace Emmet. The moment Adam Bennock hears it, Larry Cutter will know. And Ann Lowry will probably end up on the bottom of the lake.”
“I won’t say a word to anyone,” she promised.
This conversation took place at her apartment Sunday evening before she went to work. Saxon was nursing a beer and Emily had his overcoat spread across her lap, mending the bullet hole near the lower hem.
“I don’t think it will show unless you look close,” she said, taking a final stitch, breaking the thread and smoothing the cloth. “Is it all right?”
Setting his beer down, he rose from his chair and crossed to the sofa to examine the job. She had stitched it from the inside with blue thread of the same shade as the overcoat and he had to search closely to detect the small dimple in the cloth.
“A professional seamstress couldn’t have done better,” he said, leaning down to kiss her on the nose. “Just for that, I’ll stay long enough to drive you to work.”
“You’ll have to,” she said, dimpling. “When you phoned that you were coming over, I canceled my taxi.”
When he got home at eleven that night, he looked at the mending job again. And suddenly a thought struck him. After he was in bed, he brooded over the thought for a long time.
Monday morning he phoned his insurance agent to report the car accident. Then he drove downtown to police headquarters. Sam Lennox was on the desk.
“Morning, Chief — uh, Ted,” the veteran patrolman said.
“Morning, Sam. Art’s still keeping you on regular day duty, is he?”
“Yeah, he ain’t changed anything yet.” Lennox looked a trifle embarrassed. “I never did have a chance to thank you for what you did last week, Ted.”
“What was that?”
“Covering up for me that day I got drunk.”
Saxon frowned. “I didn’t exactly cover up, Sam. I just didn’t press it. I told you it was the last time I’d put up with it.”