42
Steve Winslow couldn’t sit still. He kept flinging himself around his office, practically bouncing off the walls.
“Take it easy,” Tracy said.
Steve wheeled on her. “Easy? You’re telling me to take it easy? I just framed my own client!”
“It’s not that bad.”
“No? How is it not that bad? It’s exactly what happened.”
“You didn’t frame your own client.”
“Sure I did. I substituted guns on him and handed the murder weapon over to the D.A.”
“I don’t know how that happened.”
“You and me both. But the fact is, I did. It puts me in a hell of a position. Not to mention the position I put my client in. And what makes it worse is, he doesn’t even know it. He must suspect it. He knows something happened. I mean, the poor son of a bitch is sitting there in court. As far as he knows, People’s Exhibit Six is the gun he put in the safe-deposit box-a gun he knows for sure couldn’t have committed the crime, because it’s been locked in a safe-deposit box from the time I gave it back to him to the time I got it out of that box and brought it into court. From his point of view, there’s no way that gun could have anything to do with the murder. Then, kick in the chops, it does! And the one explanation as far as Timberlaine is concerned, is his attorney switched guns and framed him.”
“He can’t think that.”
“What else can he think? And he’s right. The fucker’s head must be coming off trying to figure out why I framed him, but he’s gotta know I did.”
Tracy shook her head. “Jesus Christ.”
“And there’s no way to straighten it out,” Steve said. “Even if I wanted to take the rap for this-which I sure as hell don’t-but even if I wanted to beat my breasts and come clean, march into court and say, ‘Pardon me, Your Honor. Excuse me, Mr. Vaulding, but I can straighten this out. The reason the gun and bullets match up is it’s not really Mr. Timberlaine’s gun, I switched guns on him’-well, nobody in the whole fucking courtroom is going to believe me. They’d think it was a stupid story I was making up in a desperate attempt to account for the fact that my client had the gun. They’d also think I was a total moron for trying to claim I had the gun. And I’d have to agree with ’em there.”
“Granted that is not the smooth move,” Tracy said. Steve gave her a sharp look and she held up her hand. “But the fact is, you got a kick in the chops just as much as Timberlaine did. And for the same reason. You’re sitting in court, and as far as you know, there’s no way in hell People’s Exhibit Six fired the fatal shot.” She smiled. “I believe it was just last night you told me that was the one thing in this case you knew for sure. Then it blew up in your face. You’re blaming yourself for not anticipating that? No lawyer in the world could have anticipated that.”
“That doesn’t help.”
“I know it doesn’t help. But if you don’t mind the question, what the hell happened?”
“What do you mean?”
“With the gun and the bullet?”
“It’s the fatal bullet. It’s the fatal gun. A slight physical impossibility, but there you are.”
“Yeah. So what’s the explanation?”
“Are you trying to piss me off?”
“No, I’m trying to get your opinion on the problem. I have a feeling you could think your way out of anything, if you weren’t emotionally involved.”
“Thanks for your support.”
“Don’t mention it. Hey, you got a right to be pissed. Let’s get beyond it and figure out what the hell happened to you.”
“Hey,” Steve said. “You think I haven’t been trying to do that?”
“I’m sure you have. I just think you’re too emotionally involved to think straight.”
“And you feel that simply telling me that will enable me to do so?” Steve said sarcastically.
She shrugged. “No, but at this point things are so fucked up, I figure it couldn’t hurt.”
Steve shook his head. “You got me there. You’re absolutely right. There’s nothing I can do at this point that can make it any worse. There’s a certain consolation in that.”
He looked at Tracy and started laughing. So did she, and they were both laughing hysterically when Mark Taylor walked in the door.
“What the hell is this?” he said.
“Tracy found the silver lining,” Steve said.
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
“The case is now so totally fucked up, there’s absolutely nothing we could do that could make it any worse.”
“You could drag in the other gun,” Taylor said.
Steve looked at him, sobered up, snapped his fingers. “Son of a bitch,” he said.
Mark Taylor’s eyes widened in alarm. “Hey, hey, I was only kidding. You wouldn’t do that, would you?”
“Right now, Mark, I don’t know what I might do.”
“Steve. I mean, think what you’re doing.”
Steve Winslow held up his hand. “Take it easy, Mark. I’m not doing anything right now. I’m just exploring possibilities. All we got left is possibilities.”
“It seems to me, all we got left is impossibilities,” Taylor said.
“Ain’t that the truth.”
“And that bullet matchin’ up,” Taylor said. “I don’t know what gun you gave them-and I sure as hell don’t want to know-but think about it and the mind boggles. I mean, unless there’s another gun in this case I don’t know about-and there’re already way too many guns in this case-the gun you produced was either the gun Timberlaine kept locked in his safe-deposit box, or the gun you kept locked in the safe. In either case, neither gun could have done it. And yet one did.”
“Thank you for your assessment of the situation,” Steve said.
“Hey, I have to call ’em as I see ’em,” Taylor said. “Now, I know this makes problems for you, but doesn’t it make problems for Vaulding too?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, as far as he’s concerned, you gave him the gun from Timberlaine’s safe-deposit box. And Timberlaine’s been in jail since the murder. There’s no way he was out switching guns around. If you gave them the gun from Timberlaine’s safe-deposit box, how the hell can Vaulding claim that gun committed the murder? See what I’m saying?”
“Yeah, I do, Mark. Unfortunately, it doesn’t wash.”
“Why not?”
“ ’Cause Vaulding only has my word for it that that’s where that gun came from.” Steve raised his hand. “And never mind maybe I substituted a gun. Think like Vaulding. Assume I didn’t. Assume I’m giving him the gun he asked for, the gun Timberlaine had. Now, Timberlaine and I can claim that gun’s been in a safe-deposit box since well before the murder and I just got it out, but he’s only got our word for that. For all he knows, I could have told Timberlaine we had to produce the gun, and he could have said, ‘Oh, all right. After the murder I hid it in the shrubbery out behind my mansion. Go get it.’”
Mark Taylor’s eyes widened. “Son of a bitch.”
“See, Mark. Even without any substitution, Timberlaine can’t prove he put a gun in that safe-deposit box and I can’t prove I took one out. Which is too bad, ’cause if we could, the gun would theoretically have an alibi for the murder.”