hallucination—became absolute fact over the course of rough interrogation.
Ransom knew this too well. He’d employed the same methods to win a much wanted confession and subsequent conviction. These men were trained so well that they could convince an innocent man of any guilt they wished.
Seeing the result of this type of pressure applied to a man he loved, Ransom felt a pang of guilt and shame in himself. Further, he condemned himself on Philo’s behalf.
Why in the name of all that was holy hadn’t he seen this subterfuge reaching toward Philo in its snaking course toward Ransom himself? Foresight appeared to have abandoned him.
Looking across the bare table now at Philo, seeing him stripped of all personal dignity this way—stripped of his cameras, his shield in a sense, and stripped of his gift and his confident manner, left without his calling, without his art—the man looked a child. This image tore at Ransom like a pair of horns coming out of nowhere; terribly disheartening as it was, he could not imagine the depth of Philo’s own feelings at what he’d endured here. How much fear Philo must be harboring. Fear not so much over losing his life on the gallows, but losing his art and all future time with his craft.
Ransom stared into Kohler’s eyes and spoke to him. “Unless you have some more compelling evidence, I’m taking this man home.”
“Home,” Philo repeated the single word, his dry throat cracking.
276
ROBERT W. WALKER
“He blackmailed Trelaine with a series of disgusting nude photos of Miss Mandor. She did not have them made for du-plicating, but he kept the negatives, and without her consent or knowledge, he sent a set to Trelaine and attempted to ex-tort money.” Ransom gritted his teeth and recalled Philo’s new camera.
For a moment he thought of lashing out at Philo, but it would serve no purpose here and now.
“I swear it is a lie,” said Philo, sensing Ransom’s disappointment. “It is all a lie, all of it, including my bogus confession starved and sweated from me!”
“Don’t you see, Ransom,” said Griffin. “He knew Polly . . . knew Miss Mandor . . . knew Trelaine.”
“And the Polish girl, likely pregnant with his seed!” added Kohler.
“So he is guilty of knowing too many people?”
“Too many dead people, yes.”
“Two of whom he admits to having had sex with!” added Kohler.
Ransom’s eyes did a saber dance with his one-time trusted partner, Griffin. “Do you have one thing, one document, one fingerprint match, one object, anything to link him to the killings? Does his handprint match the two we found?” “What of this?” asked Kohler, shaking a small envelope and letting its contents, a ring, roll free. This act surprised everyone in the room.
“Whose is it?” asked Philo.
Nathan dug in. “I trust you can identify the ring, Inspector Ransom.”
Ransom had frozen in place, staring at the ring. His mind trying to wrap around the power of this incriminating diamond ring.
Kohler dug in deeper. “After all, it belonged to your Polly Pureheart, your Merielle, did it not?”
“You found this where?” he croaked, lifting the ring.
“In your friend’s pocket.” Kohler’s look of triumph was clean and cold. Ransom hated him for it.
CITY FOR RANSOM
277
“In his pocket, Rance,” began Griff, “as he was brought in, as you always taught me—log all possessions taken.”
Ransom grabbed Philo roughly by the lapels, lifting his friend from his seat with the sudden surge of power. “Where did you come by the ring?”
“She owed me . . . money . . . she must’ve slipped it into my coat pocket without my knowing. She offered it up once, but Ransom, I refused it, reminding her that I was your friend and could not accept it.” “Why did she owe you money?”
“She was constantly borrowing. She played the horses every weekend.”
“With whom did she book the races?”
“That scum-bucket Jervis . . . her old keeper, Ransom.”
“Damn that ugly man. He’s back? Bastard’s ten times more likely your killer, Griff!”
“I checked early on, and Jervis is not in the city but back at his old haunts in Alton, Illinois.”
Ransom felt his back to the wall. He grabbed up the pieces of the confession and threw them into the air. Then he added,
“Send men after that prick Jervis, now you’ve your explanation for the ring, and if this is all the nonsense you have to book Philo on, you’ll be fined for a nuisance, Nathan. Judge Artemis’ll dismiss it before it sees a jury, I tell you.” “You are not taking him out of here,” Kohler coldly responded. “We have put it out. We have our man. I am not about to send him skipping out the door with you on his arm like a pair of faggots. And as for going to Alton, you do that . . . go right ahead.” “What bloody fools you are, giving it out to the papers, holding a man on evidence of dubious value out of some sense of
“He stays in jail until he is arraigned, bail is set—if any—and then you can have him if you can make his bail, but not before!”
Ransom looked from Kohler to Drimmer, finding both resolute and standing firm and covering the only door out. He 278
ROBERT W. WALKER
looked back at Philo, who appeared about to fall off his chair from fatigue. “At least”—began Ransom—“find the man a cot to lie down on and show him a modicum of decency and—”
“We’re not running a juvenile detention center here,” interrupted Kohler.
“Fine . . . fine . . . but if I hear this man has been further mistreated, this cane”—he slammed it flat on the table, a gunshot result—“this sir’ll find its way into a dark cavity.”
He lifted the tip toward Kohler, “And you’ll look as twirly as a pinwheel. As for you, Philo, not another word to these two!
Speak to no one but your lawyer.”
“Lawyer? What lawyer?” asked Philo.
“He’s on his way!” Ransom stormed past Kohler and Griff and out, slamming the door, in search of a moment’s peace. Then he realized he still had Merielle’s ring in his hand. He’d just accidentally removed the most damaging piece of evidence against Keane. He pocketed the ring, believing Philo’s story, and should the ring disappear, it could only help his friend’s cause. He felt no compunction about making the ring disappear since he knew in his heart two truths: Philo was the wrong man for the killings, and Kohler only went after Philo to piss on Alastair. The investigation into Philo Keane was on its face bogus.
But where to put the ring?
No doubt Kohler would be sending a frantic Griffin after him within minutes.
He saw Jane as Tewes with a lawyer in tow coming toward the doors. He rushed to greet them. “
“Not today. Interrogation Room number two, upstairs,
279
against him is as weak as the chance of women voting in the next election.”
Jane frowned at this.
Ransom then asked her, “Dr. Tewes, any chance you might have a headache powder in that bag of yours?”
