“Fuck that,” Taylor said. “In the meantime, what do you want me to do?”
“We’ll get you a phone as soon as we can,” Steve said. “In the meanwhile we’re all kind of on hold. What we do depends on what the cops do. So far they haven’t charged anyone. If they do, it only concerns us if it’s Timberlaine.”
“Will it be?”
“Sure looks like it. It was his gun. He can tell all the fancy stories he wants about it being stolen, the cops are only gonna half care. Right now the cops are down the hall listening to fifty witnesses telling their stories. All of ’em are going to testify Timberlaine came to the auction this afternoon wearing a cowboy suit and a gun. At least half of ’em will testify Timberlaine stalked out of the auction in a huff. Some of ’em will testify later they heard a shot-that was nothing, that was down on the pistol range, but still it was Timberlaine firing off the gun.”
Steve held up his hand. “Now, Mark, that is not the murder weapon. It’s the substitute gun. The one you bought.”
“Oh, shit.”
“But it is not the murder weapon. Now, the cops may try to claim it’s the murder weapon.”
“How can they do that? Ballistics will prove it wasn’t.”
“Right,” Steve said. “That’s not what I mean. They won’t claim the gun you bought was the murder weapon. They’ll claim the gun Timberlaine was wearing at the auction was the murder weapon. See what I mean?”
“Right. Will they do that?”
“I don’t know. But if they did, who could disprove it?” Steve waved it away. “Anyway, that’s a side issue. The problem is a lot of people will be able to testify that Timberlaine was angry about the auction.”
“Why?”
Steve gave Taylor a rundown of Timberlaine’s attempt to fool Burdett by having Crumbly bid on the cavalry piece. “That’s the motive,” he said. “The cops will claim Timberlaine figured Potter was the one who tipped Burdett off, confronted him, made him confess and shot him.”
Taylor frowned. “Is that sufficient motive for murder?”
“Not at all. It’s thin as all hell. But if the cops can’t come up with any other obvious suspect, what do you bet they go for it?”
“No takers.”
“What makes the whole thing really stupid is the odds are no one tipped Burdett off at all.”
“Whaddya mean?”
“I mean Burdett may be obnoxious, but the man is no dope. And Timberlaine’s plan of having Crumbly bid for him was transparent as glass. In the second half of the auction, there was only one gun of any import, Timberlaine’s a sucker for a gun with a history and this gun had one, and yet he sits on his hands and doesn’t make a bid, but his buddy Crumbly does. Even without a tipoff, it wouldn’t take a genius to see through that one.”
“Which blows the cops’ motive?”
“No, because Timberlaine was angry. Which means he was acting like he believed there was a tipoff. I can show it’s stupid, but in the end it’s really my client I’m showing who’s stupid.”
“Right,” Taylor said. “So that’s the worst case scenario? The cops grab Timberlaine and make a case he shot this guy out of spite?”
“Oh,” Steve said.
Taylor looked at him sharply. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Well,” Steve said. “Actually, there’s a slightly worse scenario, Mark.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
“Well, Timberlaine’s been shooting off his mouth a lot.”
“Yeah. So?
“And he’s claiming the gun found next to the body was stolen from him a week ago.”
“I don’t think I wanna hear this,” Taylor said.
“Probably not. Anyway, to back up his claim, Timberlaine whips out the test bullets you had your expert compare. The one he gave us matches the murder weapon just fine. But the one fired from the gun he gave us doesn’t happen to match the gun he’s got now, and the cops want to know why not.”
Taylor thought that over. He nodded glumly. “I was right. I didn’t wanna hear that.”
16
Mark Taylor consulted his notebook, punched in a number. “Never seen such a big house with so few phones,” he said.
His claim was justified. There were no phones in any of the guests rooms, hallways, or public rooms of the mansion. They were using the one Tracy had used to call him, which was located in a small office alcove on the first floor.
“Hello, it’s me,” Taylor said. “You got anything?” He listened a moment. “When’d you talk to him? … Uh-huh. Give me the number … O.K., good work.” He broke the connection, punched in another number. “Got a lead,” he said.
“Oh?” Steve said.
“Yeah. It’s indirect. Operative who knows a reporter.” Into the phone Taylor said, “Fred, it’s me. What you got?” He listened a moment, said, “Aces, where’s he now? … He gonna call you back? … How soon? … Fine, hang in there, I’ll get back to you.” Taylor hung up the phone, said, “That’s a break.”
“Oh?”
“We got a crime reporter for the Daily News, covers this county. Fred tipped him off to the murder. TV crews haven’t got here yet, so it’s still a hot tip, the guy’s gotta be grateful. Even though he didn’t need it.”
Steve frowned. “What do you mean?”
“The guy already had the tip when Fred called. Guy’s got a source, you see. Inside track.”
Steve grinned. “No shit.”
“None. The guy got the tip, was just fixin’ to leave when my man caught him. Anyway, he promised to call back.”
“Who is this guy?
“Reporter named Harold Coleman.”
“You know him?”
“Never met him, but my man says he’s all right.” Taylor leaned back in the chair and stretched. “So what you wanna do now?”
At that moment the door was flung open by a uniformed officer. The officer was young, aggressive and not taking any chances. He had his gun out. “All right,” he demanded. “Who the hell are you?”
“Unarmed civilians,” Steve said. “At least I think we are.” He turned to Tracy. “You aren’t carrying a gun tonight, are you, dear?”
The officer flushed slightly, but was not about to be put off. “What are you people doing here?”
“Making a phone call,” Steve said. “There’s no phone in the dining room.”
“You’re not supposed to be making phone calls.”
“Is that right?” Steve said. He smiled. “We’re sorry. We didn’t know that.”
“You were told not to leave the dining room. Now come on. Let’s go.”
“Certainly,” Steve said. “Mark. Tracy. Come on. Let’s not argue with the man. After all, he has a gun.”
They went out the door and walked down the long hallway to the dining room. Steve tried to lead Mark and Tracy inside, but the young officer wasn’t falling for it. He stopped them at the door.
“Wait here,” he said. To the officer at the door he said, “Keep an eye on these three.”
He turned and walked off down the hallway in the direction of the gun-examining rooms. A few minutes later he was back with Lieutenant Sanders.
Sanders raised his eyebrows. “So,” he said. “These are the people making the phone calls? What a surprise.”
“You have no reason to hold us,” Steve said.
“Material witnesses to a murder? I beg to differ.” Sanders’s eyes fixed on Mark Taylor. “And who, might I ask, are you?”
“Mark Taylor,” Steve said. “Mark, let me introduce Lieutenant Sanders.”
“This is hardly a social situation,” Sanders said. “I wasn’t asking for an introduction. I want an explanation. I haven’t seen you before. Who are you? Are you one of the guests?”
“Mark Taylor happens to be my detective,” Steve said.
“Your detective? You brought a detective along for the weekend?”
“Of course not.”
“I didn’t think so. You just arrived, didn’t you, Mr. Taylor?”
Taylor frowned. “That depends what you mean by just.”
“Yeah. Right,” Sanders said. “Fulton,” he barked.
The officer at the dining room door looked up. “Sir?”