Parnell Hall - The Wrong Gun

“That’s right.”

“You could not say which gun it was?”

“No, I could not.”

“In other words, you can’t tell these guns apart, can you?”

“No, I cannot.”

“It could have been either gun you saw the first time?”

“Yes, it could.”

“And it could have been either gun you saw the second time?”

“Yes, it could.”

“Can you swear it was the same gun you saw both times?”

Kessington frowned. “I think it was.”

“But can you swear to it? You say you can’t tell the guns apart. Then how could you tell that the gun that you saw when you first entered the room was the same gun that you saw lying there when you returned from calling the police?”

Kessington frowned again. “Actually, I guess I couldn’t.”

“And you were gone calling the police for how long?”

“About five minutes.”

“Who was present in the gun room when you left to call the police?”

“Mr. Winslow and Miss Garvin.”

“Who was present in the gun room when you returned from calling the police?”

“Mr. Winslow and Miss Garvin.”

“No one else?”

“No one else.”

“And you cannot positively identify the gun you saw lying next to the body when you first entered the room? And you do not know whether or not it was the same gun you saw lying there when you returned from calling the police?”

Kessington took a breath. “That’s right.”

Vaulding smiled. “Thank you. That’s all.”

Steve Winslow shook his head. “It’s insidious.”

“I know,” Tracy said. “What can you do about it?”

Steve leaned back in his desk chair, shook his head again. “Nothing. That’s the problem. Vaulding’s within his rights. Everything Martin said was true. We were left alone with the body. And he can’t tell one gun from another. Two indisputable facts. But taken together in just that way, it’s devastating. I mean the son of a bitch is virtually accusing me of switching guns.”

“You did switch guns.”

“Not then.”

Steve looked up to find Tracy grinning at him. “All right,” he said. “I know it’s ironic. But it’s not at all the same thing. What he’s accusing me of. Or at least insinuating that I’m guilty of. Switching guns with the murder weapon. There’s a big difference between doing that and switching guns a couple of days before the murder. In one instance I’m obstructing justice, compounding a felony and conspiring to conceal a crime.”

“Right,” Tracy said. “And in the other case you’re just a good ol’ boy switchin’ guns.”

“There’s a huge difference.”

“Granted,” Tracy said. “But clear something up for me. What would have been the point of your switching guns?”

“That’s the thing,” Steve said. “In the clear light of day, when you think the thing out, not much. But the way things stand, it’s a little different. Throughout the whole trial I’ve been harping on the fact that maybe the cops got the wrong gun. Even in my opening argument-keep your eye on the gun. Then leaning on Lieutenant Sanders about his marking the guns and wasn’t it possible he made a mistake. And making the ballistics expert jump through hoops. Always with the insinuation maybe someone mixed up the guns. And here’s Vaulding throwing it back in my face-‘if anyone switched guns, you’re the most likely person to have done it.’”

“Or ‘Miss Garvin,’” Tracy mimicked. “Think you could point out I ought to be addressed as Ms.?”

“That’s the least of your worries. If they get me for gun switching, you’re at least an accessory and most likely an accomplice.”

“You still didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?”

“What did you have to gain by switching guns? For the murder weapon, I mean. The way Vaulding’s insinuating. You told me why he’s making the argument. That’s obvious. But what’s your motivation? What reason can he give for your doing it?”

“To protect my client, of course. I see the gun lying next to the body and recognize it as Timberlaine’s gun. The one he consulted me about. Which the jury already knows about from Donald Walcott’s testimony. I send Martin off to call the cops. Then I take the gun, dash upstairs and show it to Timberlaine. Ask him if it’s the gun he was wearing at the auction. He says, ‘Hell, no, I’ve got that gun right here.’ I tell him he’s in deep shit, and ask him for something to scratch up the barrel of the gun. He gives me the rat-tailed file. I take it, rough up the barrel, swap that gun for his, take his gun back downstairs and plant it next to the body just before Martin gets back from calling the cops.”

“Yeah, but why?” Tracy said. “For what reason? What good does all that accomplish?”

“It screws the facts of the case up to the extent that the evidence all comes out cockeyed. It lets me make the arguments I’ve made against Lieutenant Sanders and this ballistics expert. It lets me imply the cops are the ones who screwed the evidence up. If the cops screwed the evidence up, there’s no way Vaulding gets a conviction, and my client goes free.”

Tracy frowned. “Yeah, but …”

“But what?”

“That still doesn’t make sense.”

“Why not?”

“Because in that case the cops got the wrong gun.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, no, they don’t. They’ve got the murder weapon. It was in Timberlaine’s holster. And it’s there because you put it there. After scratching it up with the rattailed file. But that would mean that gun was the gun originally found next to the body. Before you switched it. Right?”

“This is getting very messy,” Steve said. “We really should have a map with push pins, you know?”

“Stick with me a moment. This one’s simple. If you swapped the gun next to the body for Timberlaine’s gun, and that’s how the gun in Timberlaine’s holster turned out to be the murder weapon, that would mean the gun we originally found next to the body was the duplicate, and the gun in Timberlaine’s holster that you swapped it for, the gun he was walking around with all day, would be the original Pistol Pete Robbins gun.”

“Yeah. So?”

“It doesn’t add up at all. How do you explain that Timberlaine’s ‘got the real thing, baby,’ instead of the can of Coke?”

“Commercials? You’re throwing commercials at me?”

“You know what I mean. If the real gun was stolen, how did Timberlaine get it back?”

“We’ve only got his word for that. If he made it up, then he’s got both guns, and he can plant them wherever he pleases.”

“In which case he’d be guilty of the murder.”

“Exactly.”

Tracy gave him a look.

Steve cocked his head. “Sweetheart, in those books you read the client is always innocent. Otherwise there’d be no book. It doesn’t always work out that way. Believe it or not, occasionally a person is accused of a crime because he actually did it.”

“You think Timberlaine’s guilty?”

“No, I don’t. But when you start trying to explain facts away and negate theories, if you want to dismiss guilty motives as possible explanations, you’re really narrowing your sights.”

Tracy frowned. “Yeah, I know.”

“And,” Steve said. “You have to take into account the fact that, since Timberlaine came to call on us and laid this story in front of us with all due candor, we have found out he neglected to tell us that he had purchased an identical gun.”

“Right.”

“So, naive as Timberlaine may seem to be, we still have to consider what if that’s at least partly an act. For instance, what if Timberlaine wanted to kill Potter for some other reason, something that hasn’t come out yet? What does Timberlaine do? He sets up a reason for him to kill Potter that won’t hold water. That is on its face absurd. See what I’m saying? He employs the moron factor. He goes through the elaborate routine of having Crumbly bid against Burdett on a gun, knowing that Burdett will realize Crumbly is bidding for him and outbid him. And then pretend he’s angry at Jack Potter for letting the information out. It’s a ridiculous motive that won’t stand much scrutiny. You heard Burdett say it wasn’t the type of gun Crumbly would bid on, and he’d never bid that high anyway. Timberlaine had to know that. So the deception had to fail. And even with circumstantial evidence against him, how can you convict him of murder with a motive as shaky as that?”