Read Online Anatomy of a Murder by Robert Traver - Free Book Online

murmured after Sulo had retired. “Hope you enjoy your lunch.”
    â€œThanks,” I said. “Same to you. See you at two.”

chapter 5
    I drove to the Iron Bay Club and had a leisurely lunch. After lunch I played Billy Webb at cribbage and won over thirteen dollars. I was going hot and skunked him twice. By two I was back at the jail and was pleased to find that Sheriff Battisfore was still away. Perhaps I still wouldn’t have to go up in the cell blocks to see my man.
    â€œDo you mind if we use the Sheriff’s office again, Sulo?” I inquired sweetly. I was afraid I had offended him by failing to stay for lunch.
    â€œSure, sure, sure, Polly,” Sulo replied, ever good-natured. “Sheriff he still be out on patrol.”
    I waited for Sulo to fetch Lieutenant Manion down from his cell. I reflected that while sheriffs rolled up more patrol mileage (and consequent mileage fees) than almost all other species of flatfoots and cops put together, that during their wanderings they were, as a class, not unlike the three wise monkeys: they heard no evil, spoke no evil, and resolutely saw no evil. I tried to recall the occasions when any sheriff I had ever known or heard about (but one) had ever regularly made any arrests on his very own. The effort was not fruitful. Though sheriffs and their men relentlessly scoured the highways and byways, day and night, lo! no drunk drivers seemed ever to cross their paths, speeders were totally nonexistent, and nobody, but nobody, ever ran a stop sign or a red light. All the public had to do to abolish crime, apparently, was to ignore it—at least crime seemed to flee underground whenever the sheriff was around. It was little short of miraculous. It was also part of the dreary system; a sheriff couldn’t possibly change it if he would—that is, and still stay in office.
    Old Pamell McCarthy had hit the nail on the head. “How,” he once asked me, “how in the name of the blessed saints can you expect a man to turn around and arrest the very people who elect him and keep him in office? It’s contrary to human nature and our rare ‘good’ sheriffs are political freaks whose lot is swift and total political oblivion. We don’t want good sheriffs. How could we when the only qualification we ask for in a sheriff is that he be twenty-one?” Parnell had paused and rolled his eyes. “And, merciful Heaven, we get what we ask for, that we richly do—they’re invariably twenty-one … .”
    Â 
    â€œHello, there,” my man said. “Did you have a good lunch?”
    â€œLook, Manion,” I said, suddenly blowing a small gasket, “my
name isn’t There—it happens to be Biegler.” If I was going to represent this aloof bastard I was certainly not going to have him calling me “There.”
    Coolly: “Excuse me, Mr. Biegler. Did you have a good lunch this noon?”
    â€œExcellent,” I said. “And you, Lieutenant Manion?”
    â€œI was just beginning to forget it.” He closed his eyes and wrinkled his nose. “Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
    â€œâ€˜Courage, Camille! This pain, too, must pass away,’” I quoted abstractedly. “Sit down,” I went on. “I’ve been thinking about your case during the noon hour.”
    â€œThat’s good,” the Lieutenant said. “What’s the verdict?”
    â€œSit down,” I repeated, “and listen carefully. Better break out your Ming holder. This is it.”
    â€œYes, sir,” said Lieutenant Manion, obediently sitting down and producing the Ming holder. His lawyer was making ready to deliver the Lecture.
    And what is the Lecture?
    The Lecture is an ancient device that lawyers use to coach their clients so that the client won’t quite know he has been coached and his lawyer can still preserve the face-saving illusion that he hasn’t done any