The Underground Man

consistent. Unfortunately, that’s not as conclusive as if the man had some teeth on which work had been done, so we’d be able to show several points of similarity. As it is, we have only one point of similarity, the lack of teeth. However, in the face of the preponderance of the other evidence in the case, I would think that should be sufficient.”

“Sufficient for what? To prove a certainty, or indicate a likelihood?” Steve said. ‘You could also reason this way: Jack Walsh was a man, the decedent was a man, therefore the decedent was Jack Walsh.”

Judge Grimes’s gavel cut off Dirkson’s angry retort. “That will do. Mr. Dirkson, do you have any other evidence that the body of the decedent was that of Jack Walsh?”

“Not at the present time, Your Honor. I had not anticipated this problem would arise. I need time to look into the matter, to confer with my associates. At this point, I’d like to request a continuance.”

“Any objection on the part of the defense?”

“None, Your Honor.”

“Very well,” Judge Grimes said. “That would seem to be the proper course of action. I must confess, I myself need time to look into the aspects of the defense attorney’s motion.” Judge Grimes banged the gavel. “Court is adjourned until ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”

33

Tracy Garvin pushed the hair out of her eyes, leaned forward in her chair and said, “Is it true?”

Steve Winslow was slumped back in his desk chair. After court he’d had a long and frustrating session with Jeremy Dawson, yielding practically nothing new. Jeremy remembered vaguely that there’d been a bum sleeping on the platform when Uncle Jack had written the will, but he had no idea at all whether the clean, spruced up gentleman he’d seen in court was actually the grubby man he’d seen there. Not, Steve realized, that knowing the answer would have done him any particular good-he simply wanted to know.

Nor had Jeremy Dawson been of any help on any of the other points Steve raised. Jeremy’s answers had all been so typically teenage punk, that as usual, had it not been for the wire mesh screen, Steve would have had a hard time restraining himself from giving him a good, swift kick in the butt.

Steve had returned to the office in a foul mood, pushed past Tracy Garvin, gone into his office and collapsed in his chair to try to think.

Tracy Garvin wasn’t about to let him. She’d followed him right in, pulled up a chair determinedly and popped the question.

Steve Winslow opened his eyes to find Tracy Garvin glaring at him. “Is what true?”

Tracy snatched off her glasses, folded them up. “Dammit, you know what. Jack Walsh. The body. Is it him?”

Steve sighed. “How the hell should I know?”

Tracy glared at him. “I know you don’t know. I mean what do you think? What you said in court-was it all bullshit? Or do you think it might be true? I mean, I know what you’re doing. You’re stalling because you don’t want to cross-examine the witness. But is that all it is, or do you think there’s some truth to it?”

Steve shrugged. “You’re right on both counts. Yeah, I don’t wanna cross-examine the witness. And do I think the body could be someone else? Yeah, I think it’s a good shot.”

“Why?”

“Because of Jack Walsh.”

Tracy frowned. “Don’t get cryptic on me, say what you mean.”

Steve tipped his chair forward, leaned in on the desk. “All right, look. We know Jack Walsh. We know what kind of a man he was. He was a nut, but he was a clever nut. There was a method to his madness. And I look at this murder, and the whole thing is so typically Jack Walsh.”

“How so?”

“O.K., take the will. He gets the kid out of school, takes the kid down in the subway and writes the will. Presumably leaves everything to the kid. Just the sort of thing that will drive the rest of the relatives bananas. Not twenty-four hours later he’s dead, the kid’s got the will, and the relatives do go bananas. And the will is drawn without a final signature so it may or may not be legal, and even if it is, the kid may not be able to inherit because he may be found guilty of murdering Jack Walsh. From the point of view of a vindictive madman who wanted to get back at his relatives, it couldn’t be better.”

“But that would have to mean-”

Steve nodded. “That he did it himself. Exactly. This is what I’ve been looking for all along. Someone who could have done this crime besides Jeremy Dawson. Someone with motive, method and opportunity. Well, the motive is clear. Method and opportunity? Well, the big stumbling block is Jeremy Dawson’s gun which was in Jeremy’s locker. But if somehow Jack Walsh had the combination to that locker-which isn’t that farfetched a premise-well, Jesus Christ, here he was on the day of the murder hanging out in the hallway of Jeremy Dawson’s school.”

“You mean he could have taken the gun?”

“Sure he could. I’ve been pounding Jeremy Dawson over the head all afternoon, trying to get him to remember if he saw the gun in the locker before he left with his uncle that afternoon.

And wouldn’t you know it, the fucking kid can’t remember. Yes, he opened the locker before he left with his uncle. No, he can’t remember for sure whether he saw the gun.”

“So you think Jack Walsh-”

“It’s not what I think,” Steve said. “It’s a case of what might have happened. I have to create reasonable doubt. To explain the facts of this case by a reasonable hypothesis other than that of guilt. Well, that’s the hypothesis. Say Jack Walsh takes the gun. Gets Jeremy down there, writes the will. Sends Jeremy away. What happens then? Jack Walsh finds some old bum-probably has the guy already lined up. The requirements aren’t that rough. Has to be an elderly white man about Jack Walsh’s size and weight, and he’s gotta have no teeth. So what does he do? He takes the man to the 66th Street Station, gives the man his coat with his wallet in the pocket. Probably gets the man drunk so he passes out. Then he probably waits until an express is going through the station so no one will hear the shot, and he takes Jeremy Dawson’s gun and plugs the guy in the back of the head. Then he douses the body with gasoline, sets it on fire, and gets out of there. Sometime later that night he breaks into the high school, sticks the gun back in the locker, and takes off free as air, leaving his relatives to stew over the results.”

Steve shrugged. “And there you are. A reasonable hypothesis other than that of guilt.”

“Yeah,” Tracy said. “Very reasonable. You’re trying to prove the corpse committed the murder.”

Steve smiled. “There is that one small drawback.”

The phone rang.

Tracy leaned forward, scooped it up. “Steve Winslow’s office.” She listened a moment, said, “O.K., come on down,” and hung up the phone. “Mark Taylor. Says he’s got something hot.”

“Good or bad?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Christ, let it be good for once. It’s about time we got a break.”

Tracy looked at him. “Are you serious? About Jack Walsh, I mean. About Jack Walsh doing all that? I mean, do you really believe it?”

Steve shook his head. “Hell, I don’t know. Tracy, I’ll tell you honestly, I sift through the facts, and I make up this bullshit off the top of my head, and sometimes I think it’s right. Sometimes I think it’s true.” Steve took a breath and looked her right in the eye. “And sometimes I’m just like you. Sometimes I think Jeremy Dawson’s a lying little punk who set the whole thing up and killed Jack Walsh to feed his crack habit. I have to put that behind me, ’cause I’m his lawyer and I can’t think that way. But if you want the truth, the truth is I’m insecure and I always have doubts, and defending this case is not exactly my idea of a good time.”

They looked at each other for moment.

Tracy said, “Hey look, I’m sorry if-”

“Forget it. I understand you not liking this case. But do me a favor. Every time you get too pissed off at me