Ed McBain: Puss in Boots

“I have to tell you frankly,” Frank Summerville said, “I don’t appreciate your having taken on this case.”

“It’s the first real case I’ve had since July,” Matthew said.

“By that, I assume you mean the other petty little legal matters that have been occupying your time here are all fake cases.”

“Frank, this is an important one.”

“Every case we handle is important.”

“Yes, I recognize that preparing eviction papers for the owner of a condominium... ”

“His tenant stopped paying the rent. In that respect, the eviction papers are important to him. And if something is important to a client, it’s important to us.”

Matthew knew many people who maintained that he and Frank looked alike. He figured these were the same people who insisted that married couples of many years standing (or sitting, or lying abed) resembled twins. Actually, he could see no resemblance between him and Frank but their dark hair and brown eyes.

Matthew was thirty-eight years old. Frank had just turned forty. Matthew was an even six feet tall and weighed a hundred and seventy pounds; his partner was two and a half inches shorter and twenty pounds lighter. Frank’s face was round — what he himself called a “pig face” — and Matthew’s was narrow, a “fox face” in his partner’s lexicon. Moreover, Frank was originally from New York, and Matthew’s hometown was Chicago.

“Suppose you lose it?” Frank said.

“I don’t intend to lose it.”

“What’ll you do then? Take an ad in the paper? Matthew Hope, Attorney at Large, desperately seeks clients charged with sundry misdemeanors or felonies... ”

“No, I won’t take an ad in the paper.”

“Why not? Desperate dentists take ads,” Frank said.

“I’m not a dentist. Desperate or otherwise.”

“I know. You’re a criminal lawyer.” The emphasis was on the word criminal , as though Frank felt there was something criminal about being a criminal lawyer. “Even unemployed actors take ads,” he said. “In Variety .”

“And remain unemployed,” Matthew said. “And I’m not unemployed. And when did you start reading Variety ?”

“Leona subscribes to it.”

Leona was Frank’s wife. Another difference. Matthew was divorced.

“Well, I’m not going to lose it, so I won’t have to take an ad,” Matthew said. “In Variety or anyplace else.”

“Zack Norman takes ads in Variety .”

“Is Zack Norman a dentist?”

“He’s an actor. The point is, Matthew, if a person suddenly decides — for no apparent reason that I can discern — that he wants to specialize in criminal law—”

“I didn’t suddenly decide,” Matthew said.

“That’s right, you were dabbling—”

“Not dabbling.”

“That’s right, flirting would be the more appropriate word. Flirting with murder cases that took you away from real estate, and probate, and all the other petty concerns of the legal profession, which I’m sure must seem terribly humdrum to Mr. Perry Mason.”

“Is Perry Mason a dentist or an actor?”

“Matthew, I’m trying to make a point here,” Frank said. “You may think it was enough to start studying the Criminal Laws and Rules book as if it was the Bible... ”

“ Were the Bible—”

“—and having lunch with every criminal lawyer in town, picking their brains—”

“Picking his brain—”

“—but just between you and I—”

“You and me —”

“Well, all right, if you want to repeat everything I say instead of listening to me—”

“I am listening to you, Frank. And I hear what you’re saying. I have not been a raging success, I know that.”

“That’s right.”

“But this is a big one—”

“Homicide? No kidding? A big one?”

“And if I can get Markham off—”

“I’m concerned about what might happen if you don’t get him off. What repercussions will that have for the firm, Matthew? Will a potential client automatically assume we’re lawyers who lose cases? Lawyers who lose cases don’t make money, Matthew.”

“If I wanted to make money, I’d become a dentist,” Matthew said. “And take an ad in the paper.”

“All of a sudden, money doesn’t matter to him,” Frank said to the air. “All of a sudden, he doesn’t care about alimony payments, or the private school for his daughter, or his tennis club, or his—”

“I care about all those things, Frank. But—”

“ All of a sudden, those of us who are concerned with the finer things in life are all of a sudden crass and grasping—”

“You said it, not me.”

“Matthew, listen to me, okay? Ask Benny Weiss to take over, okay? Or Jim Willoughby. They’re both fine criminal lawyers, and I’m sure either of them would love representing a pauper who—”

“Markham isn’t a pauper.”

“From what I understand, the man owns a clock shop.”

“Clocks are important, Frank. Everybody has to know what time it is.”

“In Calusa, nobody gives a damn what time it is. Calusa isn’t New York, Matthew.”

“No place is, Frank. We all know that.”

“In New York, it’s important to know what time it is. In Calusa, does anyone take a clock to the beach? Selling clocks in Calusa is like selling ice cubes in Nome, Alaska.”

“Or refrigerators.”

“Or refrigerators, right. What I’m saying—”

“I know what you’re saying.”

“What am I saying?”

“You’re saying don’t lose it.”

In Calusa, there are two local law enforcement agencies. The Calusa Police Department handles any crimes committed within the city limits. The Calusa County Sheriff’s Department handles any crimes committed beyond the city limits but still within Calusa County. Uniformed Police Department cops are called officers. Uniformed Sheriff’s Department cops are called deputies. Plainclothes detectives from either department are called just that: detectives.

Carlton Barnaby Markham lived in the city of Calusa, but his wife had been slain out on Rancher Road, well beyond the city limits, and the homicide had been investigated by the Sheriff’s Department. Among the discovery papers supplied by the state attorney’s office was a report written by a Sheriff’s Department detective named Jonas Crier:

At ten o’clock on a bright December morning, it was difficult to believe that the parking lot at Anvil Studios had been the scene of a violent stabbing not two weeks earlier. The white gravel driveway glistened like snow in the sunshine, the pink stucco building behind it reflecting a hue that touched the ground like a blush, echoing more deeply in the hibiscus bushes and bougainvillea that crowded the walls. The words anvil studios, fashioned of wrought-iron letters, were affixed to the front side of the building above a wrought-iron black anvil logo. Matthew parked his Karmann Ghia in a space just below the anvil, and then walked to the front door and opened it.

Wood-paneled reception area, bookshelves on one wall, white Formica-topped conference table, four black vinyl-covered chairs around it, white decorator filing cabinets on another wall, a small decorated Christmas tree in a stand on top of one of them. A young girl sat behind a desk just inside the door, telephone receiver to her ear. She looked no older than seventeen, a round-faced brunette with a stunning figure, sparkling blue eyes, and hair cut in bangs on her forehead and molding her head like a sleek black helmet.