Kessler get
away scot-free. While that was certainly true, it wasn't good
enough. I could secretly want that to happen, but that was a far cry
from making it happen. From giving up my client. From telling on
the guy. It really went against the grain.
And yet I'd done it.
It was like a knife in the gut to realize why.
Crowley wasn't that much older than my son, Tommie. I was
feeling paternal toward the boy.
Not that he seemed inclined to accept my help." I think we can
rule the schoolteacher out."
I gawked. "Rule him out?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"Let me be sure I understand this.You're not taking the teacher
seriously because he has no record?"
"And because he has an alibi. He was teaching school when the
hit went down. Makes it hard to consider him a serious candidate."
"Has the doorman had a look at him?"
"Why?"
"To see if he was the guy who was with the decedent last
night."
Crowley's eyes narrowed. "Why are you pushing this?"
"I'm not pushing it. I'm just trying to see how you conduct
your investigation"
"Well, you be sure and let me know if I'm doing okay,"
Crowley said ironically.
"You're not even close," I told him. "You're pushing your own
agenda, you're asking questions and not paying attention to the
answers, and you're ignoring useful information if it doesn't fit
with your own, preconceived notion of the crime. Aside from
that, you're doing great."
Crowley had had enough. He frowned, regarded me as if I were
something to be scraped off his shoe.
"Okay, let's do it the hard way."
17
THE STENOGRAPHER WAS SLOW. I've never had a slow one
before. Usually, speed is one of the abilities they're hired for. This
woman, who couldn't have weighed more than a broom straw,
attempted to make up for it with an irritatingly ponderous manner.
Her notes were scrawled in a meaty hand. She asked for repetitions
in a booming voice. She scowled more frown lines than face. I got
the impression the cops would have fired her if they weren't afraid
of her.
"What was the charge again?" she demanded.
"Obstruction of justice"
"You're accusing me of obstruction of justice?" I said.
"I'm not accusing you of obstruction of justice"
"Could you stop saying obstruction of justice," the stenographer
complained.
"Abbreviate it."
"Huh?"
"You'll get her confused with the Simpson trial," I suggested.
Crowley took a ten-minute break, came back with a stenographer who could write. I'm sure the other one wasn't fired. Probably promoted.
"All right," Crowley said. "Investigation into the death ofVictor
Marsden. Interrogation of the witness, Stanley Hastings. He has
been read his rights and declined to have a lawyer present."
"I didn't decline to have a lawyer present. I called my lawyer, he
didn't want to come."
"So you're waiving your right to an attorney?"
"I'm not waiving anything. I have the right to an attorney at
any time in this proceedings. If you ask nie a question I don't like,
I'm going to get one."
"With regard to the decedent, Victor Marsden, of East Eightyninth Street, have you ever been to that address?"
"Let me clear about this. I've never been to Victor Marsden's
apartment. I've been to that apartment building. I was there last night."
"What were you doing there?"
"I observed the decedent in the company of another nian go
up in the elevator. I approached the doorman, said I recognized the
tenant, wasn't he so-and-so"
"Wasn't he who?"
"I don't remember what name I gave him. It wasn't important.
I made it up."
"Why?"
"To get the name of the tenant."
"Did it work?"
"Yes. The doorman said, no, that's not him, that's Victor
Marsden"
"And what did that tell you?"
"The doorman wasn't very bright."
"What did you do then?"
"I asked him to call upstairs, see if the guy with him was so-andso." I saw no need to point out I hadn't thought to do that until the
doorman suggested it. Particularly after impugning his intellect.
"He did so?"
"Yes."
"What name did you give?"
We
away scot-free. While that was certainly true, it wasn't good
enough. I could secretly want that to happen, but that was a far cry
from making it happen. From giving up my client. From telling on
the guy. It really went against the grain.
And yet I'd done it.
It was like a knife in the gut to realize why.
Crowley wasn't that much older than my son, Tommie. I was
feeling paternal toward the boy.
Not that he seemed inclined to accept my help." I think we can
rule the schoolteacher out."
I gawked. "Rule him out?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"Let me be sure I understand this.You're not taking the teacher
seriously because he has no record?"
"And because he has an alibi. He was teaching school when the
hit went down. Makes it hard to consider him a serious candidate."
"Has the doorman had a look at him?"
"Why?"
"To see if he was the guy who was with the decedent last
night."
Crowley's eyes narrowed. "Why are you pushing this?"
"I'm not pushing it. I'm just trying to see how you conduct
your investigation"
"Well, you be sure and let me know if I'm doing okay,"
Crowley said ironically.
"You're not even close," I told him. "You're pushing your own
agenda, you're asking questions and not paying attention to the
answers, and you're ignoring useful information if it doesn't fit
with your own, preconceived notion of the crime. Aside from
that, you're doing great."
Crowley had had enough. He frowned, regarded me as if I were
something to be scraped off his shoe.
"Okay, let's do it the hard way."
17
THE STENOGRAPHER WAS SLOW. I've never had a slow one
before. Usually, speed is one of the abilities they're hired for. This
woman, who couldn't have weighed more than a broom straw,
attempted to make up for it with an irritatingly ponderous manner.
Her notes were scrawled in a meaty hand. She asked for repetitions
in a booming voice. She scowled more frown lines than face. I got
the impression the cops would have fired her if they weren't afraid
of her.
"What was the charge again?" she demanded.
"Obstruction of justice"
"You're accusing me of obstruction of justice?" I said.
"I'm not accusing you of obstruction of justice"
"Could you stop saying obstruction of justice," the stenographer
complained.
"Abbreviate it."
"Huh?"
"You'll get her confused with the Simpson trial," I suggested.
Crowley took a ten-minute break, came back with a stenographer who could write. I'm sure the other one wasn't fired. Probably promoted.
"All right," Crowley said. "Investigation into the death ofVictor
Marsden. Interrogation of the witness, Stanley Hastings. He has
been read his rights and declined to have a lawyer present."
"I didn't decline to have a lawyer present. I called my lawyer, he
didn't want to come."
"So you're waiving your right to an attorney?"
"I'm not waiving anything. I have the right to an attorney at
any time in this proceedings. If you ask nie a question I don't like,
I'm going to get one."
"With regard to the decedent, Victor Marsden, of East Eightyninth Street, have you ever been to that address?"
"Let me clear about this. I've never been to Victor Marsden's
apartment. I've been to that apartment building. I was there last night."
"What were you doing there?"
"I observed the decedent in the company of another nian go
up in the elevator. I approached the doorman, said I recognized the
tenant, wasn't he so-and-so"
"Wasn't he who?"
"I don't remember what name I gave him. It wasn't important.
I made it up."
"Why?"
"To get the name of the tenant."
"Did it work?"
"Yes. The doorman said, no, that's not him, that's Victor
Marsden"
"And what did that tell you?"
"The doorman wasn't very bright."
"What did you do then?"
"I asked him to call upstairs, see if the guy with him was so-andso." I saw no need to point out I hadn't thought to do that until the
doorman suggested it. Particularly after impugning his intellect.
"He did so?"
"Yes."
"What name did you give?"
We
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