Lawrence Block - Enough Rope

“I’m sure we’ll uncover the explanation of Mrs. Keppner’s calumny,” he said gently. “For now, why don’t we go over what actually happened.”

“Certainly. I was at my home that evening when Howard called. He was in a mood and wanted to see me. I drove over to his house. He made drinks for both of us and paced around a great deal. He was extremely agitated.”

“Over what?”

“Leona wanted him to marry her. Leona Weybright.”

“The cookbook writer?”

“Yes. Howard was not the sort of man to get married, or even to limit himself to a single relationship. He believed in a double standard and was quite open about it. He expected his women to be faithful while reserving the option of infidelity to himself. If one was going to be involved with Howard Bierstadt, one had to accept this.”

“As you accepted it.”

“As I accepted it,” Evelyn Throop agreed. “Leona evidently pretended to accept it but could not, and Howard didn’t know what to do about her. He wanted to break up with her but was afraid of the possible consequences. He thought she might turn suicidal and he didn’t want her death on his conscience.”

“And he discussed all of this with you.”

“Oh, yes. He often confided in me about his relationship with Leona.” Evelyn Throop permitted herself a smile. “I played a very important role in his life, Mr. Ehrengraf. I suppose he would have married me if there’d been any reason to do so. I was his true confidante. Leona was just one of a long string of mistresses.”

Ehrengraf nodded. “According to the prosecution,” he said carefully, “you were pressuring him to marry you.”

“That’s quite untrue.”

“No doubt.” He smiled. “Continue.”

The woman sighed. “There’s not much more to say. He went into the other room to freshen our drinks. There was the report of a gunshot.”

“I believe there were three shots.”

“Perhaps there were. I can only remember the volume of the noise. It was so startling. I rushed in immediately and saw him on the floor, the gun by his outstretched hand. I guess I bent over and picked up the gun. I don’t remember doing so, but I must have done because the next thing I knew I was standing there holding the gun.” Evelyn Throop closed her eyes, evidently overwhelmed by the memory. “Then Mrs. Keppner was there — I believe she screamed, and then she went off to call the police. I just stood there for a while and then I guess I sat down in a chair and waited for the police to come and tell me what to do.”

“And they brought you here and put you in a cell.”

“Yes. I was quite astonished. I couldn’t imagine why they would do such a thing, and then it developed that Mrs. Keppner had sworn she saw me shoot Howard.”

Ehrengraf was respectfully silent for a moment. Then he said, “It seems they found some corroboration for Mrs. Keppner’s story.”

“What do you mean?”

“The gun,” Ehrengraf said. “A .32-caliber revolver. I believe it was registered to you, was it not?”

“It was my gun.”

“How did Mr. Bierstadt happen to have it?”

“I brought it to him.”

“At his request?”

“Yes. When we spoke on the telephone, he specifically asked me to bring the gun. He said something about wanting to protect himself from burglars. I never thought he would shoot himself.”

“But he did.”

“He must have done. He was upset about Leona. Perhaps he felt guilty, or that there was no way to avoid hurting her.”

“Wasn’t there a paraffin test?” Ehrengraf mused. “As I recall, there were no nitrite particles found in Mr. Bierstadt’s hand, which would seem to indicate he had not fired a gun recently.”

“I don’t really understand those tests,” Evelyn Throop said. “But I’m told they’re not absolutely conclusive.”

“And the police gave you a test as well,” Ehrengraf went on. “Didn’t they?”

“Yes.”

“And found nitrite particles in your right hand.”

“Of course,” Evelyn Throop said. “I’d fired the gun that evening before I took it along to Howard’s house. I hadn’t used it in the longest time, since I first practiced with it at a pistol range, so I cleaned it and to make sure it was in good operating condition I test-fired it before I went to Howard’s.”

“At a pistol range?”

“That wouldn’t have been convenient. I just stopped at a deserted spot along a country road and fired a few shots.”

“I see.”

“I told the police all of this, of course.”

“Of course. Before they gave you the paraffin test?”

“After the test, as it happens. The incident had quite slipped my mind in the excitement of the moment, but they gave me the test and said it was evident I’d fired a gun, and at that point I recalled having stopped the car and firing off a couple of rounds before continuing on to Howard’s.”

“Where you gave Mr. Bierstadt the gun.”

“Yes.”

“Whereupon he in due course took it off into another room and fired three shots into his heart,” Ehrengraf murmured. “Your Mr. Bierstadt would look to be one of the most determined suicides in human memory.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“But I do believe you,” he said. “Which is to say that I believe you did not shoot Mr. Bierstadt. Whether or not he did in fact die by his own hand is not, of course, something to which either you or I can testify.”

“How else could he have died?” The woman’s gaze narrowed. “Unless he really was genuinely afraid of burglars, and unless he did surprise one in the other room. But wouldn’t I have heard sounds of a struggle? Of course, I was in another room a fair distance away, and there was music playing, and I did have things on my mind.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“And perhaps Mrs. Keppner saw the burglar shoot Howard, and then she fainted or something. I suppose that’s possible, isn’t it?”

“Eminently possible,” Ehrengraf assured her.

“She might have come to when I had already entered the room and picked up the gun, and the whole incident could have been compressed in her mind. She wouldn’t remember having fainted and so she might now actually believe she saw me kill Howard, while all along she saw something entirely different.” Evelyn Throop had been looking off into the middle distance as she formulated her theory and now she focused her eyes upon the diminutive attorney. “It could have happened that way,” she said, “couldn’t it?”

“It could have happened precisely that way,” Ehrengraf said. “It could have happened in any of innumerable ways. Ah, Miss Throop” — and now the lawyer rubbed his small hands together — “that’s the whole beauty of it. There are any number of alternatives to the prosecution’s argument, but of course they don’t see them. Give the police a supposedly ironclad case and they look no further. It is not their task to examine alternatives. But it is our task, Miss Throop, to find not merely an alternative but the correct alternative, the ideal alternative. And in just that fashion we will make a free woman of you.”

“You seem very confident, Mr. Ehrengraf.”

“I am.”

“And prepared to believe in my innocence.”

“Unequivocally. Without question.”

“I find that refreshing,” Evelyn Throop said. “I even believe you’ll get me acquitted.”

“I fully expect to,” Ehrengraf said. “Now let me see, is there anything else we have to discuss at present?”

“Yes.”

“And what would that be?”

“Your fee,” said Evelyn Throop.

Back in hisoffice, seated behind a desk which he kept as untidy as he kept his own person immaculate, Martin H. Ehrengraf sat back and contemplated the many extraordinary qualities of his latest client. In his considerable experience, while clients were not invariably opposed to a discussion of his fees, they were certainly loath to raise the matter. But Evelyn Throop, possessor of dove-gray eyes and remarkable facial bones, had proved an exception.