Roger Torrey - 42 Days For Murder

Crandall kept his grin. “Mrs. Wendell isn’t a citizen of this state, Amos. She won’t be for another month. Naturally she can’t sue now. For that matter, she may never sue. She may change her mind; it’s a woman’s privilege, I’ve always heard.”

Mard started to get red in the face, which was something I’d been afraid of. The trouble with a young man, going up against an old-timer, is that losing temper business and I’d warned him. I broke in with:

“Now look, Crandall. There’s no sense or reason in this screwing around. Wendel, naturally, doesn’t want his wife to divorce him. That’s understood. But if that’s what she insists on doing, I don’t think he’ll fight it. There’s no reason for you two to put on this snarling dog business for my benefit. If she divorces him he’ll provide for her as a matter of course. Whatever’s right. All we’d like to know is what’s your idea of right.”

Mard turned and frowned at me. After all, he was the lawyer and supposed to be doing the bargaining. But I frowned back and kept on at Crandall with:

“Let’s get down to earth on this. What’s it going to cost Wendel if it goes through? If it’s too steep he’ll fight it. He can afford to fight if it will mean a reduced settlement and alimony payments. So let’s keep it clean.”

Crandall kept that irritating grin. “Now how would I know what Mrs. Wendel wants? What her idea of fair and reasonable is? After all, Wendel is wealthy, or so I understand.”

I said to Mard: “He won’t talk. Let’s go. We’re wasting time.”

Crandall held up his hand and said: “I just wanted to see if I could take you over the hurdles a bit, Connell. You’ve got that flary Irish temper and I always enjoy seeing a man lose control of himself. I’ll tell you approximately what Mrs. Wendel thinks is fair. Understand, this is tentative; it will bear discussion.”

I’d lost my temper and was sore at myself for doing it. He acted on me that way, as he did on Mard. I’ve always hated the fat, smooth toad type and he was the perfect example. He knew he could drive me crazy mad and gloried in the knowledge and I gritted my teeth and got a bit of control on the ball. I said: “Okey! What’s the bad news?”

He said: “She wants to be fair. Wendel is worth, at a conservative estimate, two million dollars. Of course that isn’t in cash. We think this kind of settlement would be easy on him; one hundred thousand dollars at once, and fifty thousand dollars a year for three years. This, you will understand, will give Mr. Wendel a chance to raise the money without bleeding his business. And it will make income tax payments easier for Mrs. Wendel. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in all. With interest, of course, on the delayed payments.”

I said, and tried to keep from choking on the words: “Is that all?” All I wanted to do was get my hands around the fat yegg’s throat and be left alone for three minutes.

He grinned back at me and said: “Well, of course that’s only the cash settlement. Mrs. Wendel naturally feels she’s entitled to alimony as well. But we’ll make that a nominal sum.”

Mard was as mad as I was. He asked: “Such as?”

“Let us say thirty-six thousand a year. Three thousand a month, though there will be no objection as to how payment is made. Any time convenient with Mr. Wendel will be all right with her I’m sure. She doesn’t want to work a hardship on Mr. Wendel; that is why she’s asking for such a ridiculously low settlement.”

I said: “I think it’s mighty white of her to only ask for chicken feed like that. Of course you know and I know that Wendel hasn’t two million dollars. What he has is tied up in property. Foreign property and a steamship line and both are nothing that he can take around the corner to Uncle Benny. He can’t hock that kind of stuff every day in the week. The guy can’t pay anything like that and you know damned well he can’t.”

Crandall shrugged and grinned. “Well, of course, we can leave it up to the judge. You can trust him to be fair, you know.”

“Sure. To Mrs. Wendel.”

Mard said: “That isn’t fair, Connell. The judge is all right. He’ll be fair if he knows the facts.”

Crandall made a steeple of his fingers and looked over them at us. “Do you gentlemen know that Mr. Wendel spent three days in our little town a short time ago?”

I said: “Sure. He told me about it.”

“Did he tell you what he did?”

“Yes, you bet. He got chased out of town.”

“Do you know why?”

“Sure. You put the bee on him.”

Crandall shook his head sorrowfully. “That’s hardly right. I advised the father of the girl to make no charges. A scandal would only hurt the girl. But he’s very bitter about the matter and may change his mind and press the matter. If he does, it will naturally influence the judge. That is only natural. The girl’s a Reno girl and the judge has known her all her life. We respect women in this state; I can’t understand Wendel’s action. You understand, Amos, the position your client is in.”

Mard mumbled something and I said: “Cut out the crap, Crandall. What’s the frame?”

“Frame!”

“What’s this business about a Reno girl and her father?”

He opened his eyes wide, shook his head at me in a pitying way. “I might have known, Connell, you wouldn’t have worked for him if you’d known of it. You seem a decent sort. It’s merely this. He assaulted a sixteen-year-old girl during the time he was here. Her father, on my advice, didn’t press charges. The police rushed him out of town; if the local people had heard of it they possibly would have lynched him. As I said, we respect women in this state.”

I said: “Let’s go, Mard. This will bear a bit of thinking over.”

Mard mumbled something and turned and followed me to the door. Crandall got from behind the desk, came to the door and held it open, then said apologetically:

“I’m sorry about it, Connell, but I thought you knew of the assault. If I’d realized you didn’t; that you were here and working for Wendel in good faith, I wouldn’t have advised my clients as I did this morning.”

“Now what’s this?”

“I have three clients. Tony Marsello, Tommy Ryan, and Walter Rans. They happened to be the three men you assaulted last night at the Three C Club. Thinking you were here in an effort to whitewash Wendel on this assault matter, I advised them to file charges against you. Naturally I had no sympathy for you. I’m really sorry about it now.”

I said: “This is getting better and better. What charges did they file?”

“Assault with a deadly weapon, I’m afraid.”

He was wearing his Cheshire Cat grin and he was just the right distance away. I clipped him on the chin with all I had and he went sailing back and landed all at the same time. Feet, back end, and back of head. He was out colder than any man I ever saw. I said to Mard:

“Well, let’s get the hell out of here.”

Mard said: “My God, man! They’ll hang you for this.”

“Nuts!” I said. “He’ll probably claim I hit him with a piece of lead pipe, expect that in this town. Too much is too much.”

We sailed out past his flunkey in the front office and I said: “The mister, he wants to be alone. Get it?”

He opened his mouth and gawked and said: “The mister?”

I said: “Yeah! Mr. Bastard!” and jerked my thumb back over my shoulder toward the inside office and Crandall.

Len Macintosh was waiting for me when I got back to the hotel. Sitting in the lobby and smoking his sissy cigarettes. He climbed up out of his chair, met me, and said:

“Hi there! I’ve been waiting.”

“Long?” I asked.