me with her fists, and told the crowd in no uncertain terms, and in a voice to wake the dead, that my mother was”-he shook his head-“‘nothing but a whore’ and such. Finally the management ejected her.”
“Was your mother in love with Joe?”
He looked at me sharply. “Of course not. They were friendly. That’s the extent of it.”
“When did you and your mother leave Bolton’s office?”
“Yesterday? About one thirty. Mrs. Bolton was announced as being in the outer office, and we just got the hell out.”
“Neither of you lingered.”
“No. Are you going to talk to my mother?”
“Probably.”
“I wish you wouldn’t,” he said glumly.
I drank my beer, studying the kid.
“Maybe I won’t have to,” I said, smiled at him, patted his shoulder, and left.
I met with public defender Backus in a small interrogation room at the First District Station.
“Your client is guilty,” I said.
I was sitting. He was standing. Pacing.
“The secretary was in te outer office at all times,” I said. “In view of other witnesses. The Winstons left around one thirty. They were seen leaving by the elevator operator on duty.”
“One of them could have sneaked back up the stairs…”
“I don’t think so. Anyway, this meeting ends my participation, other than a report I’ll type up for you. I’ve used up the hundred.”
From my notes I read off summaries of the various interviews I’d conducted. He finally sat, sweat beading his brow, eyes slitted behind the glasses.
“She says she didn’t do it,” he said.
“She says a lot of things. I think you can get her off, anyway.”
He smirked. “Are you a lawyer now?”
“No. Just a guy who’s been in the thick of this bizarre fucking case since day one.”
“I bow to your experience if not expertise.”
“You can plead her insane, Sam.”
“A very tough defense to pull off, and besides, she won’t hear of it. She wants no psychiatrists, no alienists involved.”
“You can still get her off.”
“How in hell?”
I let some air out. “I’m going to have to talk to her before I say any more. It’s going to have to be up to her.”
“You can’t tell me?”
“You’re not my client.”
Mildred Bolton was.
And she was ushered into the interrogation room by a matron who then waited outside the door. She wore the same floral print dress, but the raccoon stole was gone. She smiled faintly upon seeing me, sat across from me.
“You been having fun with the press, Mildred, haven’t you?”
“I sure have. They call me ‘Marble Mildred.’ They think I’m cold.”
“They think it’s unusual for a widow to joke about her dead husband.”
“They’re silly people. They asked me the name of my attorney and I said, ‘Horsefeathers.’” She laughed. That struck her very funny; she was proud of herself over that witty remark.
“I’m glad you can find something to smile about.”
“I’m getting hundreds of letters, you know. Fan mail! They say, ‘You should have killed him whether you did or not.’ I’m not the only woman wronged in Chicago, you know.”
“They’ve got you dead bang, Mildred. I’ve seen some of the evidence. I’ve talked to the witnesses.”
“Did you talk to Mrs. Winston? It was her fault, you know. Her and that…that boy.”
“You went to see Joe after the boy was fined in court.”
“Yes! I called him and told him that the little degenerate had been convicted and fined. Then I asked Joe, did he have any money, because I didn’t have anything to eat, and he said yes. So I went to the office and when I got there he tried to give me a check for ten dollars. I said, ‘I guess you’re going to pay that boy’s fine and that’s why you haven’t any money for me.’ He said, ‘That’s all you’re going to get.’ And I said, ‘Do you mean for a whole
“He was punishing you.”
“I suppose. We argued for about an hour and then he said he had business on another floor-that boy’s lawyer is on the ninth floor, you know-and I followed him, chased him to the elevator, but he got away. I went back and said to Miss Houyoux, ‘He ran away from me.’ I waited in his office and in about an hour he came back. I said, ‘Joe, I have been your wife for fourteen years and I think I deserve more respect and better treatment than that.’ He just leaned back in his chair so cocky and said, ‘You know what you are?’ And then he said it.”
“Said it?”
She swallowed; for the first time, those marble eyes filled with tears. “He said, ‘You’re just a dirty old bitch.’ Then he said it again. Then I said, ‘Just a dirty old bitch for fourteen years?’ And I pointed the gun at him.”
“Where was it?”
“It was on his desk where I put it. It was in a blue box I carried in with me.”
“What did you do with it, Mildred?”
“The box?”
“The gun.”
“Oh. That. I fired it at him.”
I gave her a handkerchief and she dabbed her eyes with it.
“How many times did you fire the gun, Mildred?”
“I don’t know. He fell over in his chair and then he got up and came toward me and he said, ‘Give me that gun, give me that gun.’ I said, ‘No, I’m going to finish myself now. Let go of me because my hand is on the trigger!’” Her teeth were clenched. “He struggled with me, and his glasses got knocked off, but he got the gun from my hand and he went out in the hall with it. I followed him, but then I turned and went back in his office. I was going to jump out of the window, but I heard him scream in the hall and I ran to him. The gun was lying beside him and I reached for it, but he reached and got it first. I went back in the office.”
“Why?”
“To jump out the window, I told you. But I just couldn’t leave him. I started to go back out and when I opened the door some people were around. You were one of them, Mr. Heller.”
“Where did you get that gun, Mildred?”
“At a pawn shop in Hammond, Indiana.”
“To kill Joe?”
“To kill myself.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t. I had plenty of time to do it at home, but I wanted to do it in his office. I wanted to embarrass him.”
“He was shot in the back, Mildred. Twice.”
“I don’t know about that. Maybe his body turned when I was firing. I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
“You know that the prosecution will not buy your suicide claims.”
“They are
“I know they aren’t. But they won’t buy them. They’ll tell the judge and the jury that all your talk of suicide is just a clever excuse to get around planning Joe’s murder. In other words, that you premeditated the killing and supplied yourself with a gun-and a reason for having a gun.”
“I don’t know about those things.”
“Would you like to walk away from this?”
