Chapter 52

	Let him not quit his belief that a popgun is a popgun, though the ancient and honorable of the earth affirm it to be the crack of doom.
	RALPH WALDO EMERSON

“So what do you think of that?” said Jimmy. “And Charley’s fingerprints on it as pretty as can be? I’ll tell you how I feel, and that’s a whole lot more comfortable. The pistol’s so. small Charley could have stuck it right in his pocket. So the problem we had with Arthur Furry not seeing any weapon is solved. Good boy, for sticking to his guns. Ha, ha, no pun intended.”

The D.A.’s voice sounded tired and buzzy over the phone. “Was it one of Goss’s old guns, too?”

“Sure. It was one of a pair of flintlock duelling pistols he had in that highboy.” Jimmy looked at his notes. “Engraved Wogdon and Barton, made in London around 1800. That kind usually came in a case, so they tell me, a fancy case fitted up for two pistols. But Ernie didn’t have a case, so they just lay loose in the drawer. So nobody noticed that one was gone. Charley should have spoken up that it was missing. So should his brother, for that matter. And Kelly cussed himself out for not having noticed it. You should’ve heard him.”

“What about the flint?”

“Well, of course, this one still has a flint. Which is annoying. The only flintlock without a flint in the whole collection was the musket. But this thing has Charley’s prints on it, and the ball fits it perfectly, and it’s been fired. The prints were well preserved. That shed’s nice and dry, but not too hot.”

“But the musket? What about that? Why did Charley bury that?”

“Well, that’s one of the things we’ve got to work out yet. We grilled Charley and he said, yes, he’d killed his father twice, once with the musket and once with the pistol. Then he denied knowing anything about the pistol. Said he must have handled it, putting away the night before, but he hadn’t seen it since.”

The District Attorney rocked gently in his chair with the phone tucked against his ear and looked at the beer can he was holding on his stomach. “What about Charley’s lawyer? Has he requested a delay in the trial?”

“No. He wanted to, but Charley wouldn’t hear of it. So all we’ve got is ninety days.”

“Hmm,” said the D.A. sleepily. “Don’t forget this is an election year. Let’s hurry it along faster than that. I’d like to try this case myself, and get a fat conviction before November 4th.”

Miss O’Toole, listening humbly in the corner, raised her eyebrows and looked worried. The last time her boss had tried a court case her elaborate system of communication by notes had proved impossibly cumbersome, and the D.A. had fumbled badly. She would have to think up something else. What about a set of hand-signals? If she touched her hair it would mean, “No further questioning.” Putting her glasses on would mean, “Make an objection.” Yes, perhaps that could be worked …