The Wrong Gun

“My rooms are on the second floor back,” Timberlaine said. He led the way to a door halfway down the hall. “Here we are.” He turned the doorknob, pushed open the door.

“Unlocked?” Steve said.

“Of course, unlocked. Why would it be locked?” Timberlaine said.

They followed him in. It was a huge suite. The room they had entered was a living room/sitting room with desk, couch, table, chairs, TV. Through double doors was the bedroom, dominated by a massive, four-poster bed, with carved wooden end tables. On one of these was a hat and gun belt. The hat was sitting on the gun belt, covering the holster.

“There you are,” Timberlaine said.

He started for the gun belt, but Sanders grabbed his arm. “You’ll pardon me, I’m sure,” he said. He reached in his pocket, pulled out a plastic evidence bag. “If you don’t mind, I’ll do that.”

Sanders walked over to the end table.

Tracy Garvin, whose wildest fantasies were coming true and who was hanging on every move, half expected the gun belt to be empty, but when Sanders picked up the hat, there was a gun in the holster. Sanders took a pen out of his pocket, used it to ease the gun out of the belt. He held up the gun with the pen, sniffed the barrel.

“The gun’s been fired recently.”

“That’s right,” Timberlaine said.

“Did you fire it?”

“Yes, I did.”

“When and where?”

“After the auction, I went out and fired it at the pistol range.”

“Oh? And why did you do that?”

“That’s hardly relevant,” Steve said. “In the first place, Mr. Timberlaine, you’re answering questions about this gun, and you haven’t identified it. You barely looked at the gun downstairs and you stated that it is genuine. I don’t think you know that. You’re just assuming that. You barely looked at this gun at all, and you’re claiming it’s the copy and the gun you fired at the pistol range this afternoon.”

“Well, it is,” Timberlaine said irritably.

“Maybe so, but the point is, you don’t know.”

“And the point is well taken, counselor,” Sanders said with a grin. He slipped the gun off the pen into the plastic evidence bag, zipped the bag shut. He crossed over to Timberlaine, held up the bag. “All right, Mr. Timberlaine. We now have a second Colt.45, also fully loaded with one shot fired. For the record, can you identify this gun?”

“Of course,” Timberlaine said.

“Fine,” Sanders said. “Please look at it carefully and tell me that you can recognize it as the gun you said it was.”

Timberlaine took the evidence bag, held it up, looked closely at the gun.

Tracy Garvin squeezed Steve Winslow’s arm. She knew this was when Timberlaine was going to notice the substitution.

But Timberlaine merely said, “Absolutely. This is the fake gun. The one I found substituted for the real gun. The one I wore today and fired at the pistol range.”

14

Steve Winslow leaned back in his chair, inclined his head toward Tracy Garvin and said in a low voice, “Think you can get out of here long enough to use the phone?”

They were sitting at one of the dining room tables. The police had herded all the guests into the dining room and were holding them there while Lieutenant Sanders conducted the questioning. Steve and Tracy, by virtue of having found the body, had been among the first questioned. This had been brief, due to the fact that Steve had taken the position that Russ Timberlaine was a client, and therefore anything he had told them was a confidential communication. As a result, all he and Tracy could testify to was the actual finding of the body. Even then, they refused to discuss any reasons for being in the gun room and finding the body, but merely the fact they had done so. Their statements, both similar, were basically this: that they had gone to the gun room and found the body; that Steve had remained with it while Tracy went for help; that she had located Martin Kessington and brought him to the gun room; that he had left her and Steve there and gone to phone the police; and that he had rejoined them and waited with them until the police arrived. While that was somewhat less than Lieutenant Sanders might have wanted, he soon came to the realization it was all he was going to get, and Steve and Tracy were now confined to the dining room while Sanders finished with the other guests. Since he was taking them one at a time, and conducting all the examinations personally, they appeared to be in for a long stay.

“Piece of cake,” Tracy said. “What do you need?”

“Call Mark. Tell him to get his ass out here.”

“On a Saturday night? He’s not going to like that.”

“Tell him it’s murder.”

“He’ll like that even less.”

“Yeah. I don’t care for it much myself. Can you swing it?”

“No sweat.”

Steve jerked his thumb at the cop stationed at the dining room door. “What about him?”

“Hey, they’re letting people out to go to the bathroom. It’s not like we’re being held as suspects.”

“Not yet.”

“What do you want me to tell Mark?”

“Spare him the details. Just tell him there’s been a murder and I need him to investigate. If he’s got a pipeline into the cops out here that would help.”

“You really think Timberlaine’s in trouble?”

“I know it.”

“Why’d you jump in upstairs, make him identify the gun?”

Steve grimaced. “Because he wouldn’t shut up. Sanders was asking him why he fired off the gun at the pistol range, and he was about to say because he was pissed off about the auction. Which is just about the worst admission he could make right now. It won’t take much for Sanders to put it together. Timberlaine’s pissed off about the auction, he thinks someone tipped off Burdett, the one he thinks did it is Potter and Potter winds up dead. Once Sanders cops to that, Timberlaine’s apt to find himself assisting the police with their inquiries, as they say in British detective fiction.”

“What’s your obligation at this point?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you accepted a retainer from the man with regard to a stolen gun. Does that mean you have to represent him for murder?”

Steve looked at her. “You don’t want me to?”

“I didn’t say that. I’m just asking.”

“Yeah, but why?”

“Because Timberlaine won’t shut up and refuses to follow your advice. He’s spilling his guts to the cops now, and we’re cooling our heels here ’cause he didn’t want you with him. I’m just wondering why you’re not telling him to go to hell.”

Steve took a breath. “There’s a good chance I will. But not until after the cops I.D. the murder weapon.”

“How come?”

“Because until they do, the other gun, the one Mark bought and I altered, is still evidence in the case. I need to keep my hand in to make sure that evidence doesn’t come out.”

“Great. You gonna tell Mark?”

“Tell him what?”

“What do you think? About the substituted gun.”