The Lieutenant and I were sitting in the sun on the rear steps of the courthouse directly across the driveway separating it from the jail. “And so, Lieutenant,” I said, “that pretty well brings you up to date on my trip to Thunder Bay.”
“Looks like you had a busy day, Counselor,” the Lieutenant said.
“Faint praise from the master,” I thought. “Middling,” I said, thinking that he did not know the half of it, that there was much that I had merely hinted at to him, and still much else that I did not tell him at all, including the reluctance of the people around the Thunder Bay Inn to tell us what they knew. Telling him thatâat least nowâwould only worry and upset him more than he already was; after all I needed him insane only at the time of the shooting, not at the trial as well.
Nor did I tell him what we had learned about Mary Pilant and her midnight tryst on the beach with the young Army officer; however true, this still smacked too much of dreary small-town gossip, and beyond that I had a growing feeling, however vague, that whatever value this tidbit might possess for the defense lay in its
not
becoming common knowledge. If everybody knew, then ⦠“Surely, Biegler,” I thought, “surely you wouldn't be contemplating a sort of genteel blackmail, would you?” But blackmail was never genteel; however one dressed it up it was an ugly word; perhaps it was prettier to say that I was dimly appraising the possibilityâsomeâhow, somewayâof exchanging with Mary Pilant a continued discreet silence for, say, a little helpful truth. Yes, that sounded much better. I turned back to my lieutenant.
“Were you aware before that night, Lieutenant, that Barney Quill was an expert shot, especially with pistols?”
“Yes, I'd heard about it and seen his medals on the bar and heard some of the other officers commenting on itâthe man apparently made no secret that he was good. But personally I never shot against him.”
“Only the one time, you meanâwhen he lost,” I reminded him. “Did you know or ever hear that he owned a lot of guns and pistols and was reputed to keep some behind the bar?”
“It was common talk around the village that he owned quite a collection of guns, including side arms, and that he kept some behind the bar.”
“Good. What else?”
“Now that you speak of it I recall that one of our officers told me that this Barney and a group of our boys were discussing small arms one day in his bar and thisâthis Barney reached down behind the bar and produced a semi-automatic.”
“Good. Very good. And you knew about that, then, the night of the shooting?”
“Naturally I knew before the shootingâI've been in the jug ever since.”
“True,” I said. “But the officer could have come and told you after the shooting. Still I prefer it your way. You never saw any of these guns yourself, then?”
“No, I didn't cotton to this Barney character and avoided both him and his place as much as I could. We were never chummy.”
I tried to imagine this aloof client of mine being really chummy with anyone, but gave it up. “And this officer that saw Barney produce the pistolâwhere is he now?” I said.
“Doubtless on his way to Georgia if the Army pulled out, as you say.”
“Hm ⦠.” I said. “Did you also know or had you heard that Barney was good at personal combat, that is, with his dukes and Judo and all?”
The Lieutenant shrugged. “Well, I'd heard all about thatâthis Barney was not one to hide his light, you knowâ; about how he'd cleaned the lumberjacks out of his place and had done in some husky young boxer. Then Laura confirmed all that when she told me how he'd carried on with her that night bragging about how good he was at Judo and all the rest.”
My heart sank. “You mean, she told you this before the shooting?”
“No, laterâeither here at the jail or on the way.”
My heart rose again or whatever it is that hearts do after they stop sinking. “I see,” I said, “but at any rate that night you knew when you went to the tavern that you were about to face a tough customer, a man who was widely reputed to be pretty well able to take care of himself against all comers?”
The Lieutenant seemed reluctant to concede that there was anything good about Barney Quill, in any department. “Yes,” he grudgingly admitted, “yes, I'd heard that the man was pretty good.”
“And nevertheless you had the guts, the raw courage to walk in on him?” I said wonderingly.
He looked at me sharply. “All hell could not have stopped me,” he said in a low intense voice.
We were getting on dangerous ground and my impulse was to veer away, and then I thought of the question that Parnell had asked me to ask him. Should I risk asking such a loaded question? But if I didn't, wouldn't the People do so later? Wasn't it better to face up to it now?
“Lieutenant,” I said quietly, “I'm going to ask you a question and I want an honest answer. All I ask is that your answer be honest and that you consider well before you answer.”
“Shoot,” the Lieutenant said.
“If you didn't intend to kill Barney Quill that night when you went to his bar with a loaded gun, just what
did
you intend to do?”
“Toâto grab him,” the Lieutenant answered quickly. “Toâto get my hands on him and hold himâto stop him.”
A dim light was beginning to dawn. Had shrewd old Parnell won again? “What do you meanâgrab him and hold him?” I said.
“IâI don't exactly know. Just what I said, I guess ⦠. If thisâthis man had done what Laura had said he'd done, what I believed he'd done, then I knew he shouldn't be at large.” The Lieutenant paused and spoke rapidly. “Don't you see ⦠I couldn't rest with thisâthis animal still at large ⦠. It was all so crazy ⦠. If he could have done that how could I know that he wasn't still lurking out there, or that he might come back again or try to skip or that he might even come for me ifâif I didn't go grab him and hold him?”
“Grab him and hold him for whom?” I asked, scarcely above a whisper. The brilliance, the audacity of Parnell's shrewd gamble was slowly coming to me.
“For the cops, I guess. All I knew is that I had a feeling I had to go get him before he skipped or somehow got me. I simply
had
to.”
“To kill him?” I said.
“No, noânot to kill himâto stop him.” The Lieutenant's eyes darkened. “But I'll be honestâI would have killed him if he'd made a false move.”
“Did he?” I said. “Did he make a false move?”
“IâI really can't say.” The Lieutenant brushed the heel of his thumb across his eyebrows. “It's all so kind of blurred.”
“Suppose you try to tell me what you remember,” I said. “Think hard.”
The Lieutenant blinked his eyes. “When I got near the side of the hotel I parked my car and stood by the side of it for a moment to adjust myself to the light,” he began. “Then I went quickly into
the bar. Thisâthis Barney was behind the bar facing the rear mirror, his back to me.” The Lieutenant spoke jerkily now, as though it were all happening as he spoke. “I see him and he sees me. We watch each other ⦠I see nothing elseâthe bar may have been deserted for all I know ⦠the scene is frozen, like in a picture ⦠. I move forward, we're still watching each other ⦠then when I'm about halfway, perhaps more, between the door and the bar he turns aroundâwhirls, more likeâand drops his left forearm across the bar, in front of him, like this. His right arm is down out of sight ⦠his lips are curled and moving ⦠.” The Lieutenant paused and sighed. “Then I guess I let him have it . . It's all cloudy after that.”
I lit a cigar and puffed away in silence. An inmate of the jail came out and quickly knelt and retrieved one of my cigar butts. I stood up and silently handed him a fresh one and ground the butt under my heel. He mumbled and squeezed past us with his pail and a mop. âExcuse it, please.' The Lieutenant mopped the sweat off his face. This was the first time I had heard the actual story of the shooting. What carelessness or intuition had ever made me wait till now? I recalled the pea that had rattled vaguely in the back of my mind the day I had pondered the possible significance of the fact that a Barney Quill at large after the rape was an unarrested felon. The pea was sounding like castanets now. Shrewd old Parnell. But there were still some loose ends to gather up ⦠.
“If you felt this man had to be âgrabbed,' as you say, didn't it occur to you to go wake up the deputized old caretaker to arrest Barney?” I said. “You knew he was deputized, didn't you?”
Lieutenant Manion laughed briefly and without mirth. “Yes, I guess I knew the old man was a deputy. But I never thought of it or him. Even if I had I wouldn't have bothered him.” He turned and looked at me. “Ifâif this thing had happened to you, Counselor, would
you
have sent your aged father?”
I puffed my cigar and stared at the intricate stonework of the barred jail across the way. “I guess that's the complete answer, Lieutenant,” I said. Mitch could do with that what he would. “Yes, I guess we'll leave it rest right there.”
I sat and thought, a dead cigar in my mouth. Good old Parnell had at last possibly solved one of our biggest headaches:
Why
had this man gone to the bar? The pieces were beginning to fall into place. I wanted to go find him right away and break the big news. “Hm ⦠.” I said.
“I wish I had my camera,” a woman's voice said. “You two look as though you were planning a fishing trip.” It was Laura Manion and her little dog. Laura quickly kissed the Lieutenant, glancing at me, and then shook my hand and joined us sitting on the sun-lit steps. She was dressed in a becoming dark linen suit and wore sheer stockings and high-heeled shoes and a little straw hat with a short veil that fell over her eyes. This was the first time I had seen her dressed up and I calculated that with glasses and a few yards of hawser to lash her in that, yes, I might risk showing her before a jury.
“I'm glad you came, Laura,” I said. “Manny'll tell you about my Thunder Bay trip later but there are some questions.” I laughed. “With a lawyer there are always more questions.”
The Lieutenant arose as though to leave. “Sit down, Lieutenant,” I said. “I don't think there's anything we can't all discuss together. If there is I'll send you back to Sulo. In fact I want both of you to help if you can.” I turned to Laura. “Did you remember to have the pictures taken and go visit the doctor?”
“Yes, Paul, I've been photographed and pawed over and peered at like a Hollywood starlet. The pictures will be ready tomorrow.”
“Good. Now take this Mary Pilant galâhad both of you met her?”
“Yes,” Laura said. “And isn't she charming?”
“Yes,” I agreed, remembering a succinct earthy phrase that old Danny McGinnis had for all attractive women: “She'd make a dog break his chain.” “Yes, she's certainly charming. Can either of you tell me anything more about her? She worked for Barney, you know.” I not only wanted'to learn how much Laura and Manny knew but also how little they knew.
“Well,” Laura said, “there were stories about her and Barney.” She paused. “But as far as I knew she was a perfect lady. One of our young officers was rather sweet on her, too.”
“Who was that?”
“I don't rememberâManny might.”
I turned toward the Lieutenant. “Sonny Loftusâsecond lieutenant,” he said briefly.
“Were theyâwas this serious?” I said.
Laura and Manny looked at each other and shrugged. “Lord, I don't know, Paul,” she said, smiling at Manny. “These devilish Army men, you know ⦠. All work and no play ⦠.” She held up her hands. “Serious? A summer flirtation? Who knows?”
“And you, Manny?” I said.
He shook his head. “I wouldn't know,” he said, forever helpful.
“How about the bartender, Paquette?” I said.
“He made the best old-fashioneds in town,” Manny said. “It was a drink, not a fruit salad.”
“He was always courteous to me,” Laura said. “I guess he was just an alert smart bartender, a good man for the house. And he was thoughtful to us after the shooting.”
I sat up. “How do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, he came and offered to drive me down to the jail to see Manny that first SundayâI was in no shape to driveâand he brought Manny a carton of his favorite cigarettes.”
I pricked up my ears. “Anything else?” I said.
“On the way driving down he told me how sorry he was for Manny and me and saidâhow did he put it now?âhe said he could have told me that Barney was a wolf.”
I stared at her. One of the endless fascinationsâas well as frustrationsâof the law are the constant surprisesâboth good and badâthat its practitioners get from their clients and witnesses. “You mean,” I said, hot on the scent and in full cry now, “you mean Barney's bartender said that he could have warned you that he, Barney, was a wolf? He used that word? He said âwolf'?”