photographing the body. He snapped off a few more shots and stood up.
“Okay, doc, he’s all yours,” he said.
The medical examiner, who’d been standing with the other cops, moved in and bent over the body.
Sergeant Stams spotted Farron, and moved over to him.
“Okay, what have we got here?” Farron asked.
“A dead man.”
“I can see that. Who is he?”
“Can’t tell. He had no identification on him.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing in his pockets except this.”
Stams held up a key. Farron started to take it, then stopped.
“Oh, you can take it,” Stams told him. “There’s no prints on it.”
Farron took it and looked it over. It appeared to be a simple door key, and fairly new.
“Okay,” he said. “Trace the key and find out who he is.”
“I traced the key,” Stams said, somewhat smugly.
Farron stared at him. “How the hell did you do that?”
Stams pointed to the front door to the apartment “It fits that door there.”
Farron whistled. “What does the girl say?”
“Says she’s never seen him before. According to her, she just came home and found him lying there.”
“That’s helpful.”
“Isn’t it.”
Farron frowned, rubbed his forehead. “Tell me…”
“Yes?”
“Is she… I mean, it’s her, isn’t it?”
“Her?”
“Sheila Benton.”
“Oh, yeah. It’s her.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
The medical examiner stood up.
“What have you got, Doc?” Farron asked.
“Offhand, I’d say he was killed within the last two hours. I can pin it down better when I get him to the morgue.”
“Pin it down, Doc. It’s gonna be important.”
Stams looked at Farron. “Your three bodyguards didn’t do too well, did they?”
Farron sighed. “What a mess. Wrap things up here, will you?”
“Where you going?”
“I’m going to take the girl downtown, hunt up the D.A. and see if I can get us out of the shithouse.”
7
District Attorney Harry Dirkson, like many elected officials, had two faces, the genial, harmonious one he showed his constituents, and the other one. Dirkson’s other one was something else. Police officers walked softly around him, and for good reason. This plump, bespectacled, balding man was a tiger when aroused. His sarcasm could put Lieutenant Farron to shame, and Farron was no slouch in that department himself. But under Dirkson’s gaze, the usually unflappable Farron actually found himself beginning to squirm.
“Now,” Dirkson said, ominously. “Let’s see if I’ve got this straight. Yesterday the girl came to you with a blackmail note. You sent her away. You made no investigation whatsoever. And today she winds up with a corpse in her living room.”
Farron sighed. “That’s right.”
“She asked for help. You didn’t give it. Result-a corpse.”
“Sounds like hell when you put it that way, doesn’t it?”
“Well, how do you want me to put it? It’s as if the girl, having failed to interest you in her blackmail letter, decides to see if she can attract your attention with a corpse.”
“Come off it, Harry,” Farron said somewhat irritably, in spite of himself. “You’re not arguing in front of a jury.”
“No, but I will be, won’t I?” Dirkson shot back. “How’s it gonna sound then? You tell me. How’s it gonna sound?”
Farron shrugged and shook his head. “It’s gonna sound like hell.”
“It’s gonna sound like shit,” Dirkson corrected. He took a deep breath, blew it out again, and shook his head. He collected himself, and went on in a quiet tone of voice that somehow managed to seem more intense than if he’d shouted. “I don’t know if that means anything to you, Lieutenant. You are a hired official. If you go on the witness stand and make an ass out of yourself, people may laugh at you, but you’ll still have your job. I’m an elected official. I’m responsible to the people. I’ve gotten a million fucking morons out there watching me who have the power to kick me out of office if they don’t like what they see.”
Farron nodded. All this was true, and more direct than he would have expected Dirkson to put it. It was no secret that Dirkson had political aspirations, though no one was sure just how high those aspirations were. But Dirkson had made a point of seeing that the district attorney’s office piled up an impressive percentage of convictions, particularly in cases he handled personally. And if there was anything in the world he didn’t want, it was to be made to look foolish.
“I know how you feel,” Farron said.
Dirkson raised his eyebrows. “Do you, Lieutenant? All right, then, let me ask you one thing. If you had followed this up yesterday, do you think the murder might have been prevented?”
Farron shrugged. “It’s possible.”
“There you are.”
Farron reached into his briefcase, pulled out a thick manila file, and threw it on Dirkson’s desk.
Dirkson eyed it suspiciously. “What’s that?”
“Glad you asked. That’s our file for the last thirty days. Blackmail letters, threats of bodily harm, crank phone calls. I don’t run ’em all down. If I had a hundred more men I would. I don’t, so I don’t.”
Dirkson shook his head, condescendingly. “Lieutenant. It’s not a question of what’s fair.” He pointed to the file. “These letters are trash. You could take ’em out and burn ’em. I wouldn’t say a word.” He picked up the blackmail letter. “This letter is important. And you should have done something about it.”
Farron sighed. “In hindsight, even I know that.”
Dirkson frowned. “I’m not talking hindsight. You knew who the girl was, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You knew she was Maxwell Baxter’s niece?”
“Everyone’s related to someone.”
“Everyone is not related to Maxwell Baxter.”
“I know.”
Dirkson sighed and settled back in his chair. “Well,” he said. “There’s nothing to be gained by going into all that now.”
Farron’s smile was somewhat strained. What the hell did Dirkson think they’d been doing?
“No, sir.”
Dirkson pressed the intercom. “Send her in.”
An officer ushered Sheila into the office. A stenographer entered with them and began setting up a small table.
Dirkson immediately reverted to his constituent face. “Sit down, Miss Benton,” he said, smiling graciously, as
