Blood on Their Hands Read online

  “Sure, I liked her. She was pretty, but not much of a tipper.”

  “Did she like you, too, Willy?”

  Claymore snapped out an objection, and the Judge denied it.

  “Lots of women do,” Willy said. “Some even want to get friendly with me. But most of them, well, they’re not much to look at.”

  “If you liked Mrs. Howard, why did you hurt her?”

  “It was just something that happened! She picked up this knife, and I got scared, and I tried to take it away from her. And then she got stabbed in the back, and I stabbed her again, this time in front. I guess I was afraid she would tell somebody...”

  “But you still contend that it wasn’t your fault?”

  “No! It was her fault!”

  “How could it have been her fault, Willy?”

  “Because she acted the way she did,” Willy Lauber said. “Like she didn’t want me to be friendly, even though she was the one who asked me there.” He gave the judge a look of triumph. That’s the truth. Judge. She asked me to come there, to be friendly with her!”

  The jury deliberated for less than two hours.

  There was barely a rustle in the courtroom when the foreman, a used car dealer named Houseman, read the Guilty verdict. No one had expected to hear anything else. But the foreman remained standing, hesitant.

  “Your Honor, if you don’t mind, the jury would like to make a recommendation.”

  The judge frowned. “Are you talking about the sentencing? That’s a separate aspect of the trial. But go ahead, say what you have to say.”

  The foreman cleared his throat. “Well, sir, we’re all sure the defendant committed this crime. But it seemed to us that he didn’t really know what he was doing.”

  Austin would have stood up and said something, but Libby’s hand fell on his arm.

  “What we mean is, Mr. Lauber doesn’t seem too smart to us, that his intelligence is pretty low, and maybe that ought to be taken into consideration when...you know.”

  The judge said, “We appreciate your thoughts, Mr. Houseman, but they’re inappropriate at this time. It’s the responsibility of the bench to make that judgment. Sentence will be passed at ten a.m. tomorrow.”

  He rapped his gavel once, stood up, and there was an “all rise” from the bailiff. The day was over.

  There was silence in the car as Paul Manners drove Austin and Libby back home. Austin stared out the window, seeing nothing beyond it, his thoughts almost audible.

  Libby said: “Please don’t worry, Austin. I’m sure it’s going to be all right.”

  “Is it? You heard what the foreman said. They’re already looking for excuses for that murdering boy! Maybe they even believed what he said, that Delores wanted him to—” He stopped, choking on the words.

  Paul said: “Nobody believed him, Austin. Put that thought out of your head.”

  Libby stroked his hand. “Besides, it doesn’t matter what they do to Willy now. If they don’t execute him, they’ll put him away for life.

  “It’s not good enough! Delores is dead. Willy has to die, too. It has to come out even.”

  At ten the next morning, the judge asked Willy to rise. He stood up, only mildly concerned about what the judge had to say.

  “William Lauber, a jury of your peers has found you guilty of the crime of murder in the first degree. It’s now my duty to pass sentence upon you as required by the laws of this state. Yesterday, the court heard a heartfelt plea from the jurors to consider leniency in your case because of diminished capacity...”

  In the silence of the room, they could hear Austin’s sharp intake of breath.

  “However,” the judge continued, “the crime you committed was so heinous, so brutal, so unforgivable, I cannot in all conscience allow it to receive anything but the most serious punishment. For this reason, I sentence you to be put to death by lethal injection, this sentence to be carried out on October 31st of this year...”

  The first thing Austin did when he arrived home was find a wall calendar. Then he marked off the date.

  October 31st.

  Austin Howard didn’t take much with him when he left the stone house on Willow Drive for a single room at the Hotel Holland. Two changes of clothing, a few toilet articles, and the calendar.

  On the evening of the 7th, he was in a Scotch-induced sleep when the telephone rang. He had a visitor. “Who?” he said thickly. But the doorbell was already ringing.

  It was Libby. He admitted her reluctantly, and she said:

  “Well, well. Will the real Austin Howard stand up and shave?”

  “How did you find me here?”

  “If you must know, Paul told me... God, you look awful! You know how awful you look?”

  “Paul promised me—”

  “You look as if you belong in this room! That’s how awful!” She threw her purse on the sofa and sat down.

  “What did you expect me to do?” Austin said. Stay in that house? Wake up every night thinking Delores was still lying beside me...”

  “You could have found a better room than this!”

  “This isn’t a hotel room, Libby. It’s a waiting room.”

  He looked at the wall calendar, and Libby followed his gaze.

  “Oh, Austin,” she said sadly. “You poor dope. Is that what your whole life has come down to? Staring at the calendar and waiting for them to inject that dim-witted boy…”

  Someone was knocking at the door.

  “It’s Paul,” Libby said. “He brought me here. But I asked if I could see you alone first.”

  Libby admitted him. From the moment he saw his pained face, Austin knew something was wrong.

  “I couldn’t tell him,” Libby said. “I just couldn’t, Paul.”

  The lawyer looked at the calendar on the wall. “Austin, there isn’t going to be any 31st.”

  “What are you talking about? There’s always a 31st!”

  “I mean there isn’t going to be any execution. David Lenrow’s appeal was granted by the appellate court. They had Willy Lauber examined by psychiatrists. They agreed about ‘diminished capacity.’”

  Libby clutched Austin’s arm.

  “They’ve reduced Willy’s sentence to life imprisonment. He’s already been removed to the Highland State Penitentiary.”

  The silence that fell on the room seemed endless. Austin, deadly calm, turned to Libby.

  “Would you mind leaving us alone?”

  She hesitated, but then picked up her purse and went out.

  “I know this is hurting you, Austin. But life behind bars is a terrible punishment, too. For a boy like Willy, maybe worse than death.”

  “He’ll be a model prisoner. He’ll be up for parole, and he’ll smile for the Board, and they’ll see that he’s just a nice all-American boy, and deserves another chance...”

  Austin put down the glass.

  “He’s not going to get another chance. I’ll make sure he doesn’t. You’ll have to help me make sure.”

  “How can I do that?”

  “I’m going to kill him, Paul. I have to kill that animal or stop living myself. And whether you help me or not, that’s what I’ll do.”

  “The man’s in prison! You can’t get near him!”

  “It’ll probably cost money, but that doesn’t matter. I’ve got a profitable business, don’t I? I’ll spend all the money I have to, as long as I can reach an arm into that penitentiary...”

  “That’s crazy, Austin! You wouldn’t know how where to begin such a thing. You haven’t had any contact with—people like that!”

  “But you have, haven’t you? You were in criminal practice, once. You know people. You could help me if you wanted to.”

  “But I don’t want to!” Paul said. “It can’t be done. And even if it could, I won’t stand by and watch you murder someone—even at long distance!”

  “Just tell me one thing.” Austin went to the window. The city view was bleak, a panorama of rooftops. “Tell me whose life you want to
save, Paul. Willy Lauber’s…or mine.”

  The Steamer Bar was in a dreary neighborhood two blocks from the waterfront. It was early in the day. The bartender displayed no curiosity when Austin asked for the “billiard room.”

  The small Brunswick pool table looked like it hadn’t seen any action in years. There was another table in the room, and Paul was sitting at it with a heavyset man who had shaved carelessly that morning.

  “Austin, like you to meet Joe Lotts.”

  The stranger smiled pleasantly.

  “Let’s just get down to business,” Paul said briskly. “Austin, Mr. Lotts was a client of mine, about four years ago. Mr. Lotts is in the transportation business.”

  “Long-distance hauling,” Lotts said.

  “Mr. Lotts has a brother, Leonard.”

  “A good guy,” Lotts said.

  “Unfortunately, the brothers got into a little trouble, involving a hijacking accusation. I got Joe off, but Leonard wasn’t that lucky. He’s serving a ten-year sentence.” He paused. “At Highland State Penitentiary.”

  “Leonard’s a good guy,” Lotts repeated. “He’s made a lot of friends in the joint. In fact, he’s a trusty.”

  “It’s true. He’s a trusted inmate, and even though he’s made some mistakes in his life, he doesn’t like cold-blooded killers, especially when they kill women... He could easily learn to hate Willy Lauber as much as you do.”

  Joe Lotts looked worried. “We ain’t talking about ‘favors,’ you know?”

  “We’ve agreed on a price,” Paul said. “Twenty thousand dollars, with a bonus of five more if the...assignment is completed before the end of the month. Is that all right with you, Austin?”

  “I want it in plain English.” Austin put his palms flat on the table. “Will your brother kill Willy Lauber?”

  Lotts looked surprised. “That’s what we’re talking about, right? Yeah, Leonard’ll whack him. That’s what you want, right?”

  “It’s what I want.”

  “Leonard will handle it. Leonard’s a good guy.”

  Paul walked Austin back to the hotel. At the entrance, he said something about returning to his office. Austin didn’t stop him. He went into the lobby, and saw Libby sitting in a plush chair. He looked at her guiltily, as if she could read his mind and know what he was planning to do to Delores’s killer.

  “I have to talk to you,” she said. “About money.”

  That’s funny,” Austin answered. “I was going to call you about the same subject. Do you know what I have in my checking account?”

  “Don’t you ever look at your bank statements?”

  He shrugged. “I’m going to need some cash soon.”

  Upstairs, in his room, Libby said: “It’s not your personal checking account I’m concerned about. It’s your business account.”

  “Paul has been taking care of that since—” He stopped. “Paul said he would handle the business finances until I was feeling better. I expect that to be very soon.”

  Unconsciously, he looked at the wall calendar.

  Libby was glad not to meet his eyes. She said: “There are payments I can’t account for, Austin. Two payments that don’t have any matching expenses, at least not in writing.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Two company checks were drawn a week apart. Both were for cash. Forty thousand and sixty thousand, respectively. Did you authorize their withdrawal?”

  “No. I haven’t thought about money for months.”

  “They were endorsed by Paul. The money went into his pocket, Austin. I know he’s your best friend, I know how much you think of him. But I can’t help suspecting that Paul Manners is stealing from you.”

  Austin was in no mood to be the victim of another crime. When he arrived at the attorney’s office, he dropped the canceled checks on his desk, and asked for an explanation. He felt a perverse satisfaction in seeing Paul pale underneath his tan.

  “Did you think I stole this money from you, Austin?”

  “If you did, I’d understand why. That ex-wife of yours is trying to bleed you to death, isn’t she?”

  “It’s true. Fleur won’t be satisfied until I’m sleeping in a doorway someplace.” He sighed deeply. “All right. I’ll tell you the truth, as much as I can afford to tell you...I took the money, Austin. I used it on your behalf.”

  “On my behalf?” Austin bristled.

  “I had to buy something. From David Lenrow. From the prosecution.”

  “Buy what?”

  “A piece of evidence. A small piece. It wouldn’t have saved his client, Lenrow was smart enough to realize that. But it might have slowed things down, give the jurors something to disagree about...I knew how anxious you were to have a swift trial, to see Willy punished.”

  Austin’s thoughts were frozen for a moment. Then he said:

  “And what was this small piece of evidence?”

  “I’m sorry, Austin. I can’t tell you that. It might cost me a client—or worse, a friend. But I just can’t tell you.”

  The yard was crowded. So was the prison, for that matter, housing a population of two thousand when it was planned for less than one.

  Leonard Lotts had no complaints about the overcrowding, not today. It was going to work in his favor. The guards would be blindsided by the density of cons shifting about the courtyard, moving restlessly, aimlessly within the confines of the walls.

  From two-thirty on, he never took his eyes off Willy Lauber.

  The kid was an enigma. He never lost his dreamy smile. His vacant blue eyes looked out on his dreary surroundings without interest.

  It was two minutes to three. His pals, Phil and Matty, were off by themselves, their eyes on Willy’s blond head, too. They looked at Leonard for the signal.

  Leonard nodded. The three inmates moved into the thick of the crowd where Willy was standing, looking up at the leaden skies. Phil brushed by Willy, hard enough to make the kid indignant. Before he could voice a protest, Marty came from another direction, hit him hard with his shoulder, making Willy stagger.

  “Hey!” Willy said. “What’s the big idea?”

  Now it was Leonard’s turn. He raced into the group, pulling the knife out of his shirt as he did, driving the blade deep into Willy’s chest. A burst of derisive laughter from some card players nearby covered up the sound of the young man’s gasp. There were so many cons pressing around him that it took him a full five seconds to fall to the ground.

  Paul telephoned Austin in his bad-news voice.

  “It happened,” he said. “But maybe not the way you wanted.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They got to Willy in the prison yard. He was stabbed in the chest. But apparently the blade was deflected by his rib cage. Willy’s in the hospital, but—he’s alive.”

  It could have been the same seedy bar where Austin and Paul had met Joe Lotts the first time. But Tucker’s Tavern was on the other side of town, and Joe Lotts wasn’t nearly as cocky as he had been on their initial encounter.

  “Look, stuff happens,” he said, looking back and forth at their solemn faces. “I know guys who took four, five bullets and lived to brag about it—”

  “You were paid twenty thousand dollars,” Paul said stiffly. “But you didn’t make good on the deal.”

  “We didn’t make no guarantees. You want your money back, forget it!”

  “It’s not the money,” Austin said. “All I want is Willy Lauber’s obituary. And I’m willing to pay if you still think you can make that happen.”

  Lotts’s round face brightened. “Hey, that’s just what I was thinking! Nobody pinned the job on Leonard. The kid himself said he didn’t know who knifed him! And he won’t be in that hospital forever—”

  “Another ten thousand dollars,” Austin said. “Twenty, if he can get it done before the 31st.”

  “Hey!” Lotts chuckled. “For another twenty grand, Leonard will walk right into that ward and finish the job!”

  Paul wal
ked Austin back to his hotel room. He looked at the suitcase on the bed and asked: “Were you leaving?”

  “I was,” Austin said bitterly. “I was going back home, put the house up for sale. I thought I could go back to some kind of normal life.”

  They had a drink. They had two. When Austin poured his third, Paul tried to distract him by turning on the television. He regretted it the moment the six o’clock news began, and the newscaster’s first words were: “—Willy Lauber.”

  “What? What?” Austin shouted at the screen.

  “—the convicted murderer of Delores Howard escaped from the ambulance transferring him to a city hospital where he had been expected to receive emergency surgery—”

  “Escaped!” Austin cried. “Did you hear that?”

  “They got careless,” Paul said. “They must have thought he was too weak—” He gripped Austin’s shoulder. “There’s no reason to worry,” he said confidently. “They’ll catch up to him.”

  “But Willy’s a lucky boy, remember? He gets away with murder.”

  “They’ll get him, probably in a matter of hours. The kid is wounded, he took a knife in the chest! How far can he get?”

  “And what if they don’t? What if Willy hops a boat for South America, or sneaks across the border to Mexico, finds some obliging spinster only too happy to shelter a handsome young boy?”

  “Forget it! Willy’s not smart enough to do any of those things. Look what he did after—after what happened at your house. He went home! He went home to sleep!”

  “Yes,” Austin said. “And I haven’t slept since...’’

  He felt a strong desire to see Libby again. He called her at home.

  The restaurant was called Cielo’s. She was already at a table when Austin arrived, with a bottle of Chianti in front of her. It was half-empty.

  “I didn’t know you could drink so much.”

  “I learned how in these past two years,” Libby said. “First my divorce, then Delores, now you. Reason enough, right?”

  “I’m no reason,” he said.

  “But you are.” She filled his glass and then her own again. “Don’t you remember?” She smiled briefly. “We weren’t just acquaintances when I introduced you to my sister. For a while I thought we were heading someplace. Obviously, I was wrong.”