- Margolin - The Last Innocent Man

“Did you ever see the fella who was with the dead girl before that night?”

“Like I told the cops, he was out in the car and I didn’t pay no attention to him. She come in and I was readin’. Then she took up most of my attention, if you know what I mean. Nice tits, as much of ’em as I could see. I just didn’t have no interest in the john.”

“So you didn’t get a good look at him at all?”

“I didn’t say that. I seen him, but he didn’t make no impression. And it was only a little look, when he come tearin’ out of here after he killed her.”

“What do you remember seeing?”

“Nothin’ much. A man in a car. I already been through this with the cops.”

“I know,” David said, “and I appreciate your taking the time to talk to us now.”

They were on the landing and Grimes was leading the way toward a room at the end. Terry looked around, filing the layout away in his mind for future use. Grimes stopped and inserted his key in the door of the next-to-last room. The door opened. A large globe light to the right of the door hung above David’s head and cast a pale-yellow glow over the door. Grimes put his key in the lock and pushed the door open.

“There she is. Course it’s cleaned up now. It was some mess then, I can tell you.”

Grimes stepped aside, and David entered the unlit room. He turned and saw the neon signs on the boulevard. A reminder of the life outside. Here, in the sterile, plastic room, there was no sign of life or death. Just a twentieth-century motel limbo devoid of feeling. The shadowy figures of Grimes and Conklin wavered in the doorway like spirits of the dead. Grimes reached around the wall and found the light switch.

“There isn’t much we can learn here,” Terry said when he had toured the bedroom and bathroom. “The DA will have pictures of the scene.”

David nodded.

“The papers say it was some young lawyer,” Grimes said.

“That’s right.”

“That fits with what I seen. Fancy car he was drivin’ and the long hair.”

“You saw his hair?” David asked.

“I said so, didn’t I?”

“I must have misunderstood you. I thought you said he didn’t make an impression on you.”

“He didn’t. But I seen the hair. Brown hair.”

“You’re certain about that?” David said, casting a quick look at Conklin.

“I’m gettin’ along, but I ain’t senile. Say, you think they’ll put it in the papers when I testify?”

“No doubt, Mr. Grimes,” Terry said. Grimes smiled and nodded his head.

“I was in the papers once before. They had a robbery here and they listed me as the victim. I got the clipping in my desk.”

“I think I’ve seen all I want to. How about you?” David asked Conklin. The investigator just nodded. He and David walked onto the landing, and Grimes switched off the light and locked the door.

“Thanks for the tour,” David said when they reached the office.

“Anytime.”

“See you in court,” Conklin said.

The old man chuckled and shook his head. “That’s right,” he said. “That’s right.”

He was shuffling toward the back room as they drove away.

The main entrance to the county courthouse was on Fourth Avenue. David entered through the back door on Fifth. The rear corridor was jammed with police officers waiting to testify in the three traffic courts located there. Lawyers in three-piece suits huddled with straggly-haired dopers and stylishly dressed young women about defenses to their traffic citations. Court clerks shuffled people back and forth between the courtrooms and the large room where the fines were paid. An old lawyer listened patiently to the complaints of a young member of the bar, and an even younger district attorney tried to understand the testimony of a police officer as he prepared to try his seventh straight speeding case.

David pushed through the crowd and into the narrow alcove that housed the jail elevator. The courthouse jail was used to hold prisoners who had court appearances and for booking new arrestees.

The elevator stopped at seven, and David stepped up to a thick glass window and called through an intercom to a guard who was seated at a control panel.

“I’d like to see Larry Stafford. Do you have an empty booth?”

“Try two, Mr. Nash,” the guard said over his shoulder. David signed his name in the logbook. The guard pressed a button and a floor-to-ceiling steel gate swung open. David walked into the narrow holding area and waited for the gate to close. As soon as it clicked shut, the guard pressed another button. There was an electronic hum, and the solid-steel door at the other end of the holding area swung open. David walked to a door that opened into the conference area. Several identical booths were set up side by side. Each booth was divided by wire mesh that started halfway up from the floor. There was a chair on each side of the mesh and a ledge underneath it.

David took some papers out of his attache case and read them while he waited for the guard to bring Larry Stafford. Stafford arrived a few minutes later, smiling and looking thinner than he had at the arraignment.

“It’s good to see you, Dave,” he said through the mesh. There was no tremor in his voice, as there had been the last time they were together.

“How are you getting along?” David asked.

Stafford shrugged.

“I guess you can get used to anything. In a way, it’s not all that bad. No clients yelling at me. No partners making demands. Plenty of sleep. If the food was a little better, I’d recommend the place.”

David smiled. Stafford seemed to have developed a sense of humor, and that was essential if he was going to get through his ordeal.

“You do look a little thinner than when I saw you last.”

“Yeah, well they cut down on all those fancy sauces here. It definitely helps the waistline.”

David took the appointment book out of his attache case and held it against the wire mesh.

“We have some time before the bail hearing, so I want to go over some stuff. Does this help you remember any more about the night of the murder?”

Stafford read over the entry for June 16.

“Right. I was going to talk to you about that. I talked to Jenny and she mentioned the book. Call Dietrich. He’ll tell you. We had a conference that night. Remember I told you about that securities case? Well, we were together until six, six-thirty. You can check the time sheets we keep at the firm for billing clients.”

“Okay,” David said, making a notation on his pad, “but that doesn’t help us too much. Hersch started her shift around ten-thirty, and she was killed about midnight.”

“Oh,” Stafford said, momentarily dejected. Then he brightened.

“It would still be good circumstantial evidence that I’m innocent. I mean, it doesn’t make sense, does it, for me to have a normal business day, confer on a securities case, then slice up a policewoman. I mean the two are pretty inconsistent, aren’t they?”

“Not necessarily. There are plenty of businessmen who use the services of prostitutes. Why should you be any different?”

“Okay,” Stafford answered eagerly, “I’ve been thinking about that angle. But it won’t work. Jenny will testify that we’re happily married. You’ve seen Jenny, haven’t you? What jury would believe that a guy married to someone as good-looking as that would waste his time with a whore? Right? It doesn’t fit in.”

Stafford sat back and smiled, satisfied that he had won his case. David looked up from his notes and waited a moment before speaking. He noticed that his palms were damp, and for the moment he felt certain that he was more unsure of himself than was his client.