“Yes. In my desk.”
“You kept it in your desk so you would have it for those cash transactions?”
“That’s right.”
“Did you take the gun home with you?”
Clay shook his head. “Never.”
“Never?”
“That’s right. I kept it in the office.”
“These cash transactions-these deposits you made-were they in the evening after work?”
“Sometimes.”
“After you made a deposit, you’d go home, wouldn’t you?”
Clay shook his head. “No.”
“No?”
“No, I’d go back to the office and put away my gun.”
“Even if it was late at night?”
“Sure.”
“You could get into the office then?”
“Absolutely. There’s a night watchman. Twenty-four hours. I could always get in.”
“You always returned the gun to your office and never took it home?”
“That’s right.”
“And if your roommate, the man with whom you shared your apartment, should testify that he had seen the gun lying on your bureau, he would be mistaken, is that right?”
“Objection. Argumentative.”
“Sustained.”
“You say you never took the gun home?”
“Never.”
Dirkson stood staring at the witness a moment. “Mr. Clay, have you ever been convicted of a felony?”
Clay’s eyes blazed. He said nothing.
“Your Honor, would you instruct the witness to answer the question.”
“Mr. Clay,” Judge Wallingsford said. “You are required to answer.”
“Have you ever been convicted of a felony?” Dirkson repeated.
“Yes,” Clay snapped.
“What was the charge?”
“Embezzlement.”
“You were convicted of embezzling over a hundred thousand dollars from Castleton Industries, were you not?”
Clay glared at the prosecutor. He took a breath, let it out slowly. “Yes.”
“Mr. Clay, where do you currently reside?”
“Rikers Island.”
“You are in jail?”
“Yes.”
“For the embezzlement?”
“Yes.”
“How long have you been there?”
“Two years.”
“Mr. Clay, where were you on the night of June twenty-eighth?”
“There.”
“In jail?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Clay, did you kill David Castleton?”
“No.”
“Thank you. That’s all.”
“Does the defense wish to cross-examine?” Judge Wallingsford asked.
Not on your life, Steve thought. But he merely smiled and said, “No questions, Your Honor.”
“Call Jeff Bowers,” Dirkson said.
Jeff Bowers took the stand and testified that he knew Herbert Clay and had shared an apartment with him up until the time that he’d been sent to prison.
“Mr. Bowers,” Dirkson said, “during the time that Herbert Clay shared your apartment, did you ever see him with a gun?”
“Yes, I did.”
“I show you a gun marked People’s Exhibit Three and ask you if that is the gun you saw in the possession of Herbert Clay?”
“It looks like it. I don’t know if it’s the same gun.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bowers. Now when you say Herbert Clay had the gun in his possession, what do you mean?”
“I mean he had it on him. He was wearing it, in a holster on his belt.”
“In your apartment?”
“That’s right.”
“On more than one occasion?”
“Oh yeah. Several times.”
“Did you ever see the gun when he was
“Oh, sure.”
“When was that?”
Bowers shrugged. “I can’t remember exactly. Again, it was several times. When he came home with the gun, he wouldn’t walk around wearing it all evening. He’d take it off and leave it on his dresser.”
“His dresser?”
“Yeah. Or he’d stick it in one of the dresser drawers.”
“You saw him do that?”
“Yes, I did.”
“On more than one occasion?”
“Several.”
“Did he ever
“Yes, he did.”
“On more than one occasion?”
“That’s right.”
“How many times?”
Bowers shrugged. “I don’t know. Several times.”
“It was common practice, then, for him to leave his gun at home?”
“Objection.”
“Sustained.”
“You say he left the gun at home several times?”
“Yes, he did.”
“For how long? Just one day, or longer?”
“Longer.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“How can you be sure?”
“He talked about it. He bragged about it, you know. About the gun and how much money he was carrying on
