Steve smiled. “Hey! There’s a reasonable hypothesis other than that of guilt. We got there after all.
“And you know what? There is absolutely nothing to contradict that hypothesis. There’s no evidence that the gun on that night table was the gun worn by Russ Timberlaine at the auction. No witnesses whatsoever. The only assertion that is true is the unsubstantiated word of the prosecutor, District Attorney Robert Vaulding. And how much credence may we place in that? Well, the man is not omniscient, he’s not a psychic, and he’s not a witness. He’s expressing his opinion. What he’d like to have be true. But for a real assessment of how much his opinion’s worth, consider this: if the gun found next to the body had turned out to be the murder weapon, Mr. Vaulding would now be claiming that was the gun Russ Timberlaine was wearing at the auction.”
Steve paused and let that sink in. He shrugged. “He’d like that much better. See, that gun he can tie to Timberlaine. That gun, he can prove Timberlaine owned. But the murder weapon he can’t.”
Steve tugged open the cuffs of his jacket one at a time, a nothing-up-my-sleeves gesture. He smiled. “Keep your eyes on the gun, ladies and gentlemen.” He held up his hand. “Mr. Vaulding says, I hold in my hand the murder weapon.” Steve snapped his fingers. “He snaps his fingers, poof, the gun disappears. He walks across the stage to the table where he’s left his top hat, reaches in and, voila, pulls out a gun. This is where you the audience are supposed to clap because it’s the same gun.”
Steve shrugged. “Wanna bet if it is? Keep your eyes on the gun, ladies and gentlemen. As I said, the prosecution is going to put on a host of witnesses to testify about the gun. Well, consider this: if I were to introduce evidence that any one of them had purchased a Colt.45 at some time before the murder, the prosecution would have no way whatsoever to prove that gun was not the murder weapon.”
In the back of the courtroom, Mark Taylor coughed and nearly gagged.
Steve Winslow took no notice. He smiled at the jury. “So keep your eyes on the gun, ladies and gentlemen. Keep your eyes on the case.”
Steve rubbed his hands together, then suddenly broke them apart and spread them wide, palms out.
Steve smiled.
“Poof.”
25
Mark Taylor was fit to be tied.
“Jesus Christ, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Steve smiled. “Don’t pull your punches, Mark. If you’re upset with me, just say so.”
“Keep it down, guys,” Tracy said, looking around apprehensively.
Steve, Mark and Tracy were catching lunch at a small sandwich shop near the courthouse. They’d chosen a table in the far corner, but the place was fairly crowded, and in a place like that there was no telling who might be listening.
“Fine,” Taylor said. “I’ll keep it down. I’ll talk low. I’ll even fucking whisper. Just tell me what the hell you think you’re trying to pull.”
“You mean about the gun?” Steve said.
Taylor stared at him in exasperation. “Yes, I mean about the gun. I’m sitting there in the back row, I almost had a heart attack. I mean, you practically out-and-out suggested to Vaulding that he start checking on who bought Colt.45s in the last few days.”
“I had to.”
“Why? You got a death wish? You wanna be killed by a really pissed off private detective? Or you wanna go to jail? I tell you, I sure don’t. I go out and buy a gun for you, the next thing I know you’re sicking the district attorney on my case.”
“Not on your case, Mark. I didn’t mean you.”
“So fucking what! What do you wanna do, tap Vaulding on the shoulder, say, ‘Excuse me, when I told you to check out who bought guns before the murder, I meant everybody except Mark Taylor?’”
“I admit that part of it’s unfortunate.”
“Unfortunate? You scared the shit out of me. Why the hell’d you do it?”
“I’m fighting for my client, Mark, and I had to do something.”
“Why?”
Steve picked up his cup of coffee, took a sip. He shook his head, exhaled. “Because, frankly, Vaulding’s good. He’s much better than I expected. His opening statement caught me by surprise, I felt I had to do something to get back. I started making my opening statement, it was going nowhere, I found myself up in the air, I had to say something. I’m just sorry it was that.”
“You and me both.”
“But come on, Mark. Checking up on gun purchases is not such an original idea. You think Vaulding hadn’t already thought of it?”
“Yeah, I know. But you don’t have to throw it in his lap. I mean, you practically challenged him with it, for Christ’s sake.”
“I know.”
“So what’s the bottom line?” Tracy said.
Taylor looked at her. “Huh?”
Tracy shrugged. “I mean, come on, boys, we can squabble over who did what to whom. What’s done is done. Now how much did it hurt, and what’s going to happen next?”
They both looked at her. Taylor shrugged. “O.K. You’re right, as usual. But will you grant me cause for bein’ pissed?”
“All day long, Mark,” Tracy said. “Now how bad does it hurt?”
“Right,” Steve said. “What is the bottom line? If Vaulding starts looking, what’s he going to find?”
Mark Taylor took a sip of coffee. If it agreed with him, Steve and Tracy couldn’t have told from his expression. He sighed. “Hopefully, not that much.”
“You buy from a dealer?”
“Yes and no.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I bought from a collector.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Big difference. Collector doesn’t run a gun shop. Doesn’t keep an arms register. The gun’s registered, yeah, but it’s registered at the shop where he bought it.”
“And where’s that?”
“I don’t know,” Taylor said irritably. “That’s what’s killing me. That’s what’s pissing me off. I mean, I try to be discreet, sure. I take precautions. But Jesus Christ. I mean, how the hell am I supposed to know there’s gonna be a murder?”
“No way you could know, Mark. But just what are you saying?”
Mark Taylor looked around the coffee shop, grimaced, lowered his voice. “All right. You show me a Colt.45, tell me you want a duplicate of the gun. I got an operative knows a dealer. So I pass along the word. No problem, made the buy. Gives me the identical gun I gave you.” Taylor grimaced again. “You know. The murder weapon. The one you filed the serial number off of.”
“Yeah, Mark. What’s the point?”
“The point is, I don’t know. I should know, but I don’t. It just wasn’t that important at the time. The gun came from the collector. But did the collector have it in stock, or did the collector have to buy it for us?”
“Wouldn’t the operative know?”
“Sure.”
“So why don’t you ask him?”
“You’re a sexist pig.”
“Huh?”
“The operative’s a woman.”
“Fine. Why don’t you ask her?”
“Because she’s on vacation and I can’t find her.”
Steve looked at him. “And you don’t know what collector she bought from, only she knows that?”
“Bingo,” Taylor said. “Right on the button. See why I’m goin’ nuts?”
“Yeah, I do. But there’s a saving grace.”
“What’s that?”
“If she’s on vacation and you can’t find her, the cops can’t either.”
“Right. So instead I just gotta sit here peein’ in my pants wondering if they’re gonna stumble over the collector.”
“Why should they?”
“Because some collectors are dealers too, and who’s to say this collector isn’t.”
Steve frowned. “I see.”
“Do you? Good. Then you know why I’m going nuts. So tell me, what’s the point? I mean, aside from wanting to compete with Vaulding, what are you trying to prove?”