Parnell Hall - The Wrong Gun

“I’m an accessory.”

“No, you’re an unwitting accomplice,” Tracy said. “They hardly ever go to jail.”

Taylor looked back and forth between the two of them. “O.K. the two of you rehearsed this pretty well. I’m gonna assume we’re not really in trouble, or you wouldn’t be kidding about it.”

“Well, you’re half-right, Mark,” Steve said. “It’s a mess, but it could be worse. The cops are holding our gun, yes, but only so it doesn’t get mixed up with the murder weapon. It looks just like it, you see.”

“Gee, what a surprise. And which gun is the murder weapon?”

“Apparently, the original gun we set out to copy. Now, wait a minute. That’s confusing. Because the gun we set out to copy was not the original. It was the first substitute.” Steve grinned. “Sounds like the Miss America Pageant. The First Alternate Gun. In the event the real Pistol Pete gun was unable to fulfill its duties, then-”

“Jesus Christ,” Taylor said. “What the hell is with you?”

“We’re punchy, Mark,” Tracy said. “We’ve been living a murder mystery out of a storybook for two days and it just came true.”

“Plus we snuck out on our police guards, so we feel like school kids getting away with something,” Steve added.

Steve and Tracy had slipped out of the dining room just in time to intercept Mark Taylor and hustle him down to one of the gun examination rooms. Since that was at the opposite end of the building from the gun room, it seemed a place where they would have a good chance of not being found.

Taylor exhaled. “Great. I’m glad you’re having so much fun. Would you mind telling me why you got me out here? Or was it just to have a good laugh at my expense?”

“Didn’t Tracy ask you if you had any police ties out here?”

Taylor made a face. “This is Nassau County. I don’t know from Nassau County. I’m trying to find out about Nassau County, but it happens to be the weekend and everybody’s off. I reached my receptionist, and I got her callin’ around trackin’ down all my operatives asking them if they got any ties out here. But it’s the weekend, reachin’ ’em is gonna be a bitch, I don’t know if she can do it. If I can get to a phone, I’ll call in and find out.”

“Hold up on that.” Steve said. “You might get picked up looking for one.”

“Get picked up for what?”

“You’ll get mistaken for a witness and confined to the dining room.”

“Fuck that,” Taylor said. “In the meantime, what do you want me to do?”

“We’ll get you a phone as soon as we can,” Steve said. “In the meanwhile we’re all kind of on hold. What we do depends on what the cops do. So far they haven’t charged anyone. If they do, it only concerns us if it’s Timberlaine.”

“Will it be?”

“Sure looks like it. It was his gun. He can tell all the fancy stories he wants about it being stolen, the cops are only gonna half care. Right now the cops are down the hall listening to fifty witnesses telling their stories. All of ’em are going to testify Timberlaine came to the auction this afternoon wearing a cowboy suit and a gun. At least half of ’em will testify Timberlaine stalked out of the auction in a huff. Some of ’em will testify later they heard a shot-that was nothing, that was down on the pistol range, but still it was Timberlaine firing off the gun.”

Steve held up his hand. “Now, Mark, that is not the murder weapon. It’s the substitute gun. The one you bought.”

“Oh, shit.”

“But it is not the murder weapon. Now, the cops may try to claim it’s the murder weapon.”

“How can they do that? Ballistics will prove it wasn’t.”

“Right,” Steve said. “That’s not what I mean. They won’t claim the gun you bought was the murder weapon. They’ll claim the gun Timberlaine was wearing at the auction was the murder weapon. See what I mean?”

“Right. Will they do that?”

“I don’t know. But if they did, who could disprove it?” Steve waved it away. “Anyway, that’s a side issue. The problem is a lot of people will be able to testify that Timberlaine was angry about the auction.”

“Why?”

Steve gave Taylor a rundown of Timberlaine’s attempt to fool Burdett by having Crumbly bid on the cavalry piece. “That’s the motive,” he said. “The cops will claim Timberlaine figured Potter was the one who tipped Burdett off, confronted him, made him confess and shot him.”

Taylor frowned. “Is that sufficient motive for murder?”

“Not at all. It’s thin as all hell. But if the cops can’t come up with any other obvious suspect, what do you bet they go for it?”

“No takers.”

“What makes the whole thing really stupid is the odds are no one tipped Burdett off at all.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“I mean Burdett may be obnoxious, but the man is no dope. And Timberlaine’s plan of having Crumbly bid for him was transparent as glass. In the second half of the auction, there was only one gun of any import, Timberlaine’s a sucker for a gun with a history and this gun had one, and yet he sits on his hands and doesn’t make a bid, but his buddy Crumbly does. Even without a tipoff, it wouldn’t take a genius to see through that one.”

“Which blows the cops’ motive?”

“No, because Timberlaine was angry. Which means he was acting like he believed there was a tipoff. I can show it’s stupid, but in the end it’s really my client I’m showing who’s stupid.”

“Right,” Taylor said. “So that’s the worst case scenario? The cops grab Timberlaine and make a case he shot this guy out of spite?”

“Oh,” Steve said.

Taylor looked at him sharply. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Well,” Steve said. “Actually, there’s a slightly worse scenario, Mark.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“Well, Timberlaine’s been shooting off his mouth a lot.”

“Yeah. So?

“And he’s claiming the gun found next to the body was stolen from him a week ago.”

“I don’t think I wanna hear this,” Taylor said.

“Probably not. Anyway, to back up his claim, Timberlaine whips out the test bullets you had your expert compare. The one he gave us matches the murder weapon just fine. But the one fired from the gun he gave us doesn’t happen to match the gun he’s got now, and the cops want to know why not.”

Taylor thought that over. He nodded glumly. “I was right. I didn’t wanna hear that.”

Mark Taylor consulted his notebook, punched in a number. “Never seen such a big house with so few phones,” he said.

His claim was justified. There were no phones in any of the guests rooms, hallways, or public rooms of the mansion. They were using the one Tracy had used to call him, which was located in a small office alcove on the first floor.

“Hello, it’s me,” Taylor said. “You got anything?” He listened a moment. “When’d you talk to him? … Uh-huh. Give me the number … O.K., good work.” He broke the connection, punched in another number. “Got a lead,” he said.

“Oh?” Steve said.

“Yeah. It’s indirect. Operative who knows a reporter.” Into the phone Taylor said, “Fred, it’s me. What you got?” He listened a moment, said, “Aces, where’s he now? … He gonna call you back? … How soon? … Fine, hang in there, I’ll get back to you.” Taylor hung up the phone, said, “That’s a break.”

“Oh?”

“We got a crime reporter for the Daily News, covers this county. Fred tipped him off to the murder. TV crews haven’t got here yet, so it’s still a hot tip, the guy’s gotta be grateful. Even though he didn’t need it.”