Parnell Hall - The Wrong Gun

“Two, Timberlaine brings me the gun he found, I switch it for Taylor’s gun, he doesn’t switch it, in which case Taylor’s gun is the murder weapon, and the gun he bought is this one and the gun he found is in my safe.

“Three, Timberlaine switches guns before and after coming to my office. In that case I have the gun he bought in my safe, he had Mark Taylor’s gun in his safe-deposit box, and the gun he found is the murder weapon.

“And four, Timberlaine switches guns only before coming to my office. I have the gun he bought in my safe, Mark Taylor’s gun is the murder weapon, and this is the gun he found substituted.”

Tracy exhaled, shook her head.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Through all that, there is only one constant.”

“What’s that?”

He pointed to the bullets on the desk. “This bullet. The one marked RT-SUB. Whatever gun Timberlaine may have brought me, either the gun he bought or the gun he found substituted, whatever gun that was, this bullet came from it. That we know for sure. This bullet came from it, and therefore had absolutely nothing to do with the murder. Absolutely nothing to do with any of the exhibits in court. Because the gun it came from-whichever gun it is-is in my safe, and has been ever since Timberlaine first came to my office.”

Steve pointed. “So this bullet-which Vaulding has made such a big deal of and which I’ve been ordered to produce in court-is the one thing in this case that is utterly meaningless and has nothing to do with anything.”

Steve smiled. “So you talk about me being happy. If it weren’t for Timberlaine pressing me to turn over the gun, turning over these bullets would be an absolute pleasure. Because Vaulding’s going to choke on ’em. He’s gonna compare ’em and come up empty. Be left with egg on his face. And it will be all his own doing.”

“I can see you’re crying all over.”

Steve shrugged. “Hey, those are the breaks.”

There came a crash of the outer office door flying open and Mark Taylor burst into the room, wide-eyed and breathing hard.

“Shit’s hit the fan!” he gasped out.

“What the hell?” Steve said.

Taylor held up his hand, waved it while he caught his breath. “I just got a call. That reporter.”

Steve’s mouth dropped open. “Vaulding held another press conference?”

Taylor waved his hand. “No, no. Not him. Timberlaine.”

“Oh, good lord.”

“Right. He spilled the beans.”

“About what?”

“Everything. You name it, he said it. About testing the bullets. About buying the gun. Once he got started he just couldn’t stop.”

“Shit. What, specifically, did he say?”

“Well, first he confirms everything Walcott said. About finding the gun and bringing it to you and having the bullets tested. Then he confirms everything that other witness said. About buyin’ the other gun.”

“And grinding the number off and carving an R in the handle?”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Hey, I don’t make the news, I just bring it.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve said. “But what else? Did he say he switched guns and put the one I tested in a safe-deposit box?”

“Oh, sure.”

“Did he say he wrote me out a power of attorney and told me to get it?”

“Yeah. The way I hear it, he was really worked up over that.”

“Shit,” Steve said. “Then we haven’t much time.”

Taylor frowned. “Time? Time for what? I don’t want to-Say! Is that my gun?”

“Is what your gun? Oh, good lord!”

There came a sound from the outer office.

Steve whirled around as if at a gunshot, lowered his voice and barked out orders. “Someone’s here. Tracy, get out there and stall him. Mark, go with her, but whoever it is, just keep on going. If it’s the papers, no comment. If it’s the cops, same deal; if they hold you, I’ll be there. Now go.”

Taylor turned, found Tracy was already out the door before Steve had finished. He hurried after her into the outer office, closing the door behind him.

The moment the door was closed, Steve whirled and grabbed the gun and the bullets. He rushed to the safe. Felt a moment of panic when he realized he didn’t have the combination. Then he remembered where Tracy had left it written down for him. He jerked open the drawer of his desk, looked up the combination, spun the dial. He jerked open the safe, thrust the gun and bullets in, slammed the door and spun the dial again.

Steve straightened up and hurried away from the safe, expecting the door to burst open at any moment. It didn’t. He crossed to the door, pulled it open.

The outer office was not, as he’d feared, full of cops. A lone man in a suit and tie stood next to Tracy’s desk.

The man turned to face him. “Steve Winslow?”

“Yes.”

The man thrust a paper into his hands. “Subpoena duces tecum. You’re a lawyer, you know the drill. It’s all in there. Don’t blame me, I’m just doing my job.”

The man nodded to Steve, nodded to Tracy and walked out.

“What do you make of that?” Tracy said.

Steve held his finger to his lips, pointed to the door.

Tracy got up from her desk, went to the door, opened it and looked out. “No, he’s gone,” she said. “A process server, just like he said. So what is it?”

“Just what I thought it would be. The natural consequence of Timberlaine’s interview. A subpoena duces tecum, ordering me to produce the gun in court.”

“Then why are you grinning?”

“Because of the wording.”

“What about it?”

“Listen to this,” Steve said. He read, “‘… hereby ordered to produce the gun described by your client, Russ Timberlaine, to wit, the Colt.45 revolver with the serial number ground off and the initial R carved in the handle, given to you by him for the express purpose of testing and identifying bullets from said gun.’”

“Son of a bitch,” Tracy said.

“Do you get it?”

“Yeah, I get it. But in legal terms, what does it mean?”

“Legal terms, hell,” Steve said. “What it means is I’m off the hook. In terms of switching guns, I mean. It’s the best of all possible worlds. He doesn’t ask for the gun from the safe-deposit box, he asks for the gun Timberlaine gave me to check. And do you know what that means?” Steve grinned and pointed to the subpoena. “ Vaulding just switched guns.”

Judge Hendrick looked around the crowded courtroom, pursed his lips, cocked his head and said dryly, “Yesterday I began by remarking on the media coverage.”

That produced a roar of laughter from the spectators in the courtroom, who could not have missed the barrage of headlines such as, PISTOL PETE: TIMBERLAINE TALKS and PISTOL PETE: ANOTHER GUN, which assaulted their eyes on their way into the courthouse.

When the laughter had subsided, Judge Hendrick held up his hand. “Yes, I know, Mr. Vaulding. This is not of your doing. Let’s press on. This is the time Mr. Manning was to have returned to court having made a comparison of the two test bullets. Is he here?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Vaulding said.

“I assume he has made the comparison?”

“Yes, he has.”

“That’s good. Though recent matters would seem to have rendered the matter moot. Now, with regard to the other bullets. Mr. Winslow?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Yesterday you were ordered to produce the test bullets referred to in the testimony of the witness, Donald Walcott. Do you have those bullets with you?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Produce them please.”

Steve Winslow opened his briefcase and took out the two test tubes. “Here, Your Honor.”

Judge Hendrick motioned to a court officer to bring them to him. He picked them up, said, “Let the record show in response to my order the defense has produced two sealed tubes, each containing a single bullet. One is marked RT-ORIG, the other, RT-SUB.” He handed them back to the officer to give to the court reporter. “Let’s have these marked for identification as People’s Exhibits-what are we up to?”